Authors: Lulu Taylor
Tara took in the woman’s appearance from top to toe. She’d hoped for a typically elegant French woman and Claudine Deroulier did not disappoint. She was probably in her forties but she had an elegant agelessness that came from a lifetime of looking after her complexion and figure. Her thick dark hair brushed her jaw line in a chic bob, and her make-up was so expertly applied she appeared to be wearing nothing but the bright red lipstick
that
contrasted with her creamy, smooth skin. Her clothes were subtle but clearly very expensive. She carried a silver Chanel 2.55 bag over one shoulder, and her low pumps were also discreetly engraved with the linked Cs of Chanel.
‘And I’m delighted to meet you. Thank you for meeting with us – it is a great honour. You come very highly recommended, Mademoiselle.’
‘
Merci
. But I cannot say I am surprised – I am very good at my job. That is why you want me, I know that.’
‘Absolutely. If you’re ready, my sisters are waiting for us in the boardroom.’ As Tara led the way down the hall, she said, ‘I trust the hotel is satisfactory?’
‘
Oui, oui
, very good. I am most comfortable. It is not quite as fine as the Crillon in Paris but it will do.’
‘It is hard to match the Hôtel Crillon. I stay there myself when I’m in Paris.’
‘An oasis of luxury in a terrible world,’ agreed Mademoiselle Deroulier. She sighed longingly. ‘I mees Paris already.’
‘You left yesterday, didn’t you?’ Tara asked. She was impressed by the woman’s excellent English, and found the strong French accent charming.
Mademoiselle Deroulier’s smile dropped. ‘
Oui
. But to be away from Paris even for a day is like a lifetime.’
‘How lovely to feel so strongly about your city. I don’t think I feel quite the same way about London.’
‘London ’as its charms but … I agree, it does not have the true elegance of Paris.’
‘Here we are.’ Tara opened the door and led the way into the boardroom. Once again a selection of
the
Trevellyan scents were laid out on the table, along with plenty of paper testing slips and refreshments. ‘May I introduce you to my sisters?’
Jemima stood up and came round the table. In honour of their French guest, she was wearing white Yves Saint Laurent wide-legged trousers and a dusky pink Dior scoop-neck top, looking as fresh and springlike as the day outside.
‘Mademoiselle Deroulier, what a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jemima Calthorpe. Please call me Jemima.’
‘The pleasure is mine,’ murmured Claudine Deroulier. She looked approvingly at Jemima’s outfit. ‘Charming.’
‘And I am Poppy Trevellyan.’ Poppy stood up. She had decided to go a little wild today and was a wearing a leopard-print blouse with black trousers, her coppery hair brushed back in a long curling mane.
Claudine raised her eyebrows. ‘
Enchantée
. And you three ladies are sisters,
n’est-ce pas?
’
‘
Oui, Mademoiselle. Nous avons herité la maison de notre père
,’ said Jemima in pretty French. ‘
Un de nos ances-tres a fondé la maison au dix-neuvième siècle et maintenant nous voudrions sécuriser l’avenir de nos parfums célèbres
.’
Claudine made a little bow. ‘You speak French delightfully, but I beg that you will allow me to speak English. I treasure every opportunity to improve. Now, you say you have inherited this perfume company. I understand you need my help.’
‘Exactly. Would you please sit down?’ Tara gestured to the seat at the top of the table, where the fragrances were lined up.
Claudine went to take her place, sitting down and looking intently at the bottles ranged before her. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured, and muttered something under her breath that the sisters couldn’t hear. She looked up at the three of them as they watched her. ‘I can tell that your expectations today are very great – and rightly so. I am a master perfumer. I grew up in Grasse, the home of perfume,’ she said proudly, ‘and my father was a master perfumer before me. He worked for Givaudan and created some divine fragrances, classics, masterpieces! I’m sure you’ve heard of
L’été et la Mer
. A wonderful blend of citrus and aquatic. It was created in 1947.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Tara. ‘You’re going to find us woefully ignorant.’
Claudine looked puzzled. ‘But you own a
maison des parfums
. How ignorant are you?’
‘Very,’ said Poppy. ‘I hardly ever wear perfume, except for the jasmine one Daddy made for me. I’ve got a couple of Body Shop things I quite like.’
‘
Body Shop?
’ Claudine echoed incredulously. She turned to Tara. ‘And you?’
‘I wear scent,’ Tara said quickly. ‘I mostly wear
J’adore
by Dior at the moment, although not today. I forgot to put anything on this morning.’
Claudine’s face cleared a little. She pouted and shrugged. ‘Yes,
J’adore
has a been a great hit. Huge. It is on the wane, though. For me, it is a little … predictable.’ She looked at Jemima. ‘And you?’
‘I have to admit to a secret obsession with perfume,’ Jemima declared. ‘At the moment I’m very fond of Jo
Malone’s
scents. I’m utterly addicted to her Lime Basil and Mandarin.’
Claudine nodded. ‘Yes, yes. A wonderfully innovative perfumer. Very modern and attuned to her clientele. I applaud her.’
‘And I also love
L’Air du Temps
by Nina Ricci,
Joy
by Jean Patou’ – Jemima was pleased that she had won in the perfume stakes, beating the other two hollow, and she gushed on – ‘and pretty much all of the Guerlain and Givenchy fragrances. Also, just last week I bought the new Marc Jacobs scent, which I adore.’
‘The newest one? The flower scent?’ Claudine raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely a little young for you?’
Jemima’s mouth fell open and the other two giggled softly.
‘I do not mean to offend,’ Claudine put in quickly. ‘It is simply that it is aimed at the … shall we say, less
sophisticated
market.’
A little mollified, Jemima said, ‘Perhaps. It’s something I would only wear on a summer’s day.’
‘Very wise.’
‘And of course, I wear
Chanel NO 5
when I’m feeling old-school glamorous.’
‘But of course.’ Claudine sighed. ‘
Chanel N
O
5
. We call it
le monstre
, you know. The monster has dominated fine fragrances for ninety years, always a bestseller. It is an extraordinary masterpiece, often imitated but never bettered. The dream of every perfumer is to create a fragrance that will topple the great
N
O
5
.’ She smiled at the sisters. ‘And perhaps now is that time. Explain what it is you wish from me.’
‘Well …’ Tara leaned forward eagerly. ‘Our company is on its last legs. Sales have plummeted …’
‘Oh yes, I know. A pity when something that was once great loses its way.’
‘We know nothing at all about the perfume industry but what we do know is that, for us, the scents we have just aren’t working any more. Some are better than others but we have no idea why some are so terrible – it doesn’t even seem possible that they were ever fashionable. That’s why we need you.’
‘A nose,’ put in Claudine. ‘A trained, expert nose to tell you what you need to know.’
‘Exactly. So first of all we want you to smell these scents and give us your impressions. But the one we are most concerned about is our signature scent.’
‘
Trevellyan’s Tea Rose
.’
‘Yes.’ Tara pushed the bottle towards her.
Claudine looked at it intently. ‘I have not smelt this juice for a long time. My father had a bottle in his laboratory. He told me it was one of the finest of the rose florals. The rose is the queen of flowers, the epitome of the feminine, floral scent. It speaks to all women, I believe. But one must treat the rose with the respect it deserves. Now, this is a 1912 creation, I believe,
non
?’
Tara and Poppy looked blank. ‘Yes,’ said Jemima. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve been reading through all the company files this week and discovered quite a lot. It was first launched in 1912, with instant success.’
‘May I have
une touche
please?’ Claudine gestured for a tester slip. Poppy passed it to her. Claudine took
up
the bottle and sprayed some liquid on to the paper. Then she held it under her nose as the sisters watched her anxiously. Closing her eyes, Claudine took a long sniff of the tester, then put her head back, seemingly lost in thought.
‘Well …?’ interrupted Tara, after some minutes had passed. ‘What do you think?’
‘In a word –
une calamité
. This is truly hideous.’ Jemima and Tara looked at each other, dismayed.
‘How can a classic scent like this be hideous?’ Poppy asked, worried.
‘Simple.’ Claudine made a face. ‘Your ingredients are appalling. I cannot believe that this is the scent my father admired so much; it’s terrible. The dominance of a cheap rose essence makes me feel ill, I’m not joking.’ She shuddered. ‘Really, it’s an insult to my skill. Why have you brought me here to smell this?’
‘We’re as surprised as you are!’ exclaimed Tara. ‘What do you mean, cheap rose essence?’
‘Exactly what I say. There is one simple question I must ask you, Madame,’ said Claudine. Her face was cold and her voice tight with disapproval. ‘Where do you buy your ingredients?’
Tara opened a file and scanned it quickly. ‘According to our information, the fragrance ingredients come from
Maison Georges Montand
in Grasse.’
Claudine leapt to her feet. ‘That is enough!’ she cried. Her face was flushed and she was clearly furious. ‘Georges is a dear friend of mine. His essences and absolutes are of the highest quality. His rose and jasmine fields are second to none. I‘ve known fragrance houses
attempt
to buy his entire stock in order to stop their rivals getting their hands on his wonderful stuff. His jasmine sells at $12,000 a kilo! Do not insult me! Do not insult my friend, my colleague. Georges is like me – he is an artist. He would never supply you with the ingredients that are in this … travesty! There is a word for your perfume.
Merde
!’ She tossed her head in the air and began to walk away.
‘Wait, wait,’ cried Tara, also jumping up. ‘Please, Mademoiselle. There must be some mistake, some confusion. All we wish to do is discover where it is going wrong. I beg you to stay and help us.’
Claudine made a dismissive noise and continued for the door. Jemima got up and rushed forward to meet her before she got there. She put a hand on the French woman’s arm and said quickly, ‘
S’il vous plaît Mademoiselle – nous avons besoin de vous et votre nez magnifique. Je vous implore de restez ici
.’
Claudine stopped and looked at Jemima. Her eyes settled on the pretty dusky pink top for a moment and somehow it seemed to reassure her. She murmured, ‘Dior. You cannot be all bad.’ There was a pause. ‘Will you please admit that Georges cannot possibly have sent you the ingredients for
Tea Rose?
’
‘Certainly. We wish to do all in our power to correct this frightful error. There is obviously a mistake in our information. Please forgive us. Remember we are new to this.’ Jemima smiled, using all her charm to calm the other woman’s anger.
‘Mademoiselle, I think I may have an answer.’ It was Poppy. She pointed to a large crystal bottle of scent
sitting
on the table in front of her. It was an antique, with a pink silk-covered bulb pressed to spray the scent inside. It was half full of a golden liquid. ‘This is my mother’s
Tea Rose
. I would like you to smell it.
Claudine narrowed her eyes. ‘You want me to submit my precious nose to that stuff again? I don’t think so. I’ll need at least a day to recover from the last experience.’
‘Please.’ Poppy smiled her most winsome smile. ‘You may be surprised.’
The French woman looked at her hard. She made a
moue
and then smiled, though still coolly. ‘Very well. I have come a long way. I will give this perfume one more chance. You evidently have your reasons for asking me.’ She walked over to Poppy and sat down in the seat next to her. ‘
Une touche, s’il vous plaît
.’
Poppy passed her a paper slip.
‘
Merci
. Now we will see.’ She squirted the slip with the liquid inside the decanter. Closing her eyes, she lifted it up under her nose and inhaled. Then she frowned and inhaled again. There was a long pause and then she inhaled again. At last she opened her eyes. They held an expression of confusion. ‘But this is most strange. This juice is not the same as the one over there.’ She pointed across the table to the small glass bottle of
Tea Rose
. ‘This is quite different. It has structure, complexity … it was built quite differently to the other. The flower accord is pure tea rose: it is rich, real, velvety. And underneath I can find several other accords. There’s jasmine. There are aldehydes, most definitely, which give it its sophistication. The
other
juice’ – she grimaced – ‘is cheap, nasty. It is rough. It has no tenacity. It will never last on the skin, let alone develop into a finer, true fragrance. But this is genuine.’
There was a silence as everybody absorbed this information. Then Tara said slowly, ‘I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Deroulier, but I want to be quite clear that I’ve understood what you’re saying. The
Tea Rose
in this bottle is not the same as the one that we are currently selling?’
‘Absolutely. It is beyond a doubt,’ declared Claudine. ‘I would stake my reputation on it very happily. It is the difference between cashmere and acrylic.’ She suddenly smiled openly at them. ‘Quite a mystery, ladies.’
‘Indeed,’ said Tara. She looked grim. ‘Quite a mystery.’
22
POPPY STOPPED BY
the garden in the middle of her square. Like many old-fashioned squares in London, the centre was a stretch of green bordered by trees and shrubs, fenced off with iron railings, copies of the key to the gate only available to the residents of the houses that surrounded it. It was a lovely spring evening, still light and the sky a gentle blue, pinking gently in the west. The grass was a vivid green and she could smell the leaves of the trees and the white blossom on the cherry trees.