The Memory of Scent (21 page)

* * *

I don’t recall sleeping, but I must have when I hear the maid clattering about trying to assemble some sort of breakfast on a tray.

‘Rachel, will you do some baking today and ask your sister to help you? I want to have a dinner party tonight. In fact, I want to have a dinner party every night until George comes back. I feel like having lots of people around me.’

I spent a lovely afternoon on the Champs-Élysées ordering wine, chocolate, cakes and then consulted for half an hour with the butcher on a range of meats and fowl to be delivered over the coming days.

I only had to entertain for two evenings and happily cancelled on the third because George came home.

* * *

I have been listening to the gravel crunch of carriages and the dimming of the whip cracks as they pull away from the front of the house at regular intervals. Carriages disappear further down the tree-lined avenue leaving trails of dust clouds. I watched from my bedroom window as George’s mother waved goodbye with a regal wave, her white handkerchief delicately clutched and flapping with the effort.
I am plaiting my hair into yet another elaboration while I wait for George to come and get me. Finally, the soft rap on the door and as it opens, George’s head pops around it, as if asking permission for the rest of his body to enter the room.

‘Just checking if you were awake.’

‘My goodness, how could I not be with all the coming and going this morning. Had you many visitors?’

‘Just a couple of aunts and then some cousins.’

‘I feel as if I have been very rude staying up here in my room. I would have joined you all.’

‘
Maman
thought you should be left to rest. She has this idea that country air fills the lungs of the city dweller in a way that they are not used to, that their sleep is longer and deeper the minute they lay their head on a pillow here.’

‘Yes, but darling, there is no need to have my food sent up to me on a tray. It was very thoughtful yesterday morning but I was well rested by lunchtime and then I could hear all that laughter around the dinner table yesterday evening, which made me feel terribly left out as you can imagine. I’d very much like to join you for lunch today.’

He kisses my forehead. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll have a place set for you, though you will be in the company of some rather tedious neighbours who have popped around.’

He blows me a parting kiss as he closes the door behind him. Good. Now, how do I look? It is a difficult business trying to determine how best to present yourself as a future daughter-in-law. You want to give the impression, through each minute detail of your appearance, that you will be loving and reliable and discreet and a credit to the family name. This is why I have already discarded a jewel-encrusted comb that I had tucked into an earlier mound of plaited hair and have opted instead for this simple style of a low bun,
pinned at the back of my neck. I am hoping that this white ruffled blouse and grey skirt with the subtle black lines, says that I am suited to life in the country and not accidentally foisted upon it. I don’t know why I keep returning to the grooming habit of leaning into the mirror and smoothing my eyebrows with my middle fingers. This will hardly be a feature on which I will likely be adjudicated by George’s mother. I shouldn’t think that wayward eyebrows will be my downfall. Another knock and I am ready, I hope. But instead of George, a large maid bustles towards me with a weighted tray and places it on the highly polished circular table by the window which overlooks the garden.

‘What is this?’

‘Madame thought you would be happier having lunch in peace because some guests have dropped by unexpectedly.’ The maid gives me a withering glance and turns her back to leave.

‘I want you to lift this tray and bring it back downstairs with you this second. I will not be eating in my room.’

She emits a low clucking noise and lifts the tray without saying another word. I have had enough of this. Why am I even here? It was clearly on the invitation of George’s family. I did not arrive unannounced like some bothersome guest who must be tolerated for the sake of manners. He promised he would introduce me to them and I was so relieved when everything was set in place. He re-assured me that this was a good thing and mocked my reluctance. My treatment so far has been, in my opinion, outrageous. Am I to remain cooped up here out of view of friend and neighbour? Am I a carrier of some vile and contagious illness? Her son loves someone who has had a past. There is little either of us can do about it.

With one final reassuring glance in the mirror, I smooth
my skirt, raise my chin and make my way down the sweeping staircase towards the conversation which is coming from behind a closed door. I open it and the men immediately stand up. Quickly seeking out George’s face, I am relieved to see him smiling broadly at me as he comes towards me. With his arm lightly draped around my waist he steers me towards the table and pulls out a chair for me.

‘There
Maman
, I knew Babette would be perfectly happy to join us for lunch. These are our neighbours Monsieur and Madame Gouffé, and their daughter Madeline. I’m delighted to present, Mademoiselle Babette Fournière.’

I nod graciously at the guests, reserving a slow, deliberate nod for George’s mother.

‘You are very welcome to our home here and I am glad you are well rested after your journey.’

George’s mother, Madame Barré, fixes me with her eyes, and they are much warmer than I imagined they would be, almost friendly. George must have taken his colouring from her as her eyes are the same deep brown, her hair a glossy chestnut. Unfolding my napkin on to my lap, I declare that everything looks delicious. I have interrupted their conversation and now everyone must realign themselves to my presence as it would be completely improper to simply carry on as if I had not joined them. This, unfortunately, has the effect of me assuming the centre of attention, which is the last thing that I wanted. There is a pause, until George passes me a platter of meat and that seems to give everyone permission to resume their chattering, which is being conducted in little groupings.

‘Well, what do you think of our countryside, mademoiselle?’ Monsieur Gouffé is to my left and to the immediate right of George’s mother who is seated at the top of the table.

‘Monsieur Gouffé, I have only George’s word to go on as I have not yet been in a position to soak it up yet, though I am very much looking forward to taking in the sights. It has long been a source of inspiration for him.’

‘The garden here is the finest in the entire region. It is a credit to Madame Barré’s patience and skill.’

‘Yes, Babette, after lunch I must take you for a stroll around.’

I study her carefully to see if that invitation is being offered through gritted teeth, but on the contrary, she seems to be quite energised by the prospect.

‘You smell very nice.’ The small, tinkly voice is coming from my companion seated to my right, the young Mademoiselle Madeline.

‘Why thank you.’

‘And your bracelet is so pretty. It is so sparkling.’

‘Do you think you would like to try it on?’

The young girl glances across the table at her mother.

‘Now, now, Madeline. I have told you about being a nuisance at the table.’

‘I’d like a bracelet like that when I’m older.’

‘How old are you now?’

‘I shall soon be eleven.’

‘That is a very pleasant age to be.’

‘Maybe my son can tell you where he purchased it. Can you, George?’

George and Mimi’s eyes locked.

‘No, I’m afraid I can’t.’

Monsieur Gouffé chortles. ‘Ah yes, I remember the old days when I had to purchase my way through several suitors. I suppose you could call it competitive purchasing. And I have since be assured that it was never the most expensive but always the most thoughtful purchases that made the
greatest impression. Patience won me my prize. That would be your mother, Madeline.’

Madeline smiles broadly at both her parents. The lunch passes in random chatter, a little gossip about the antique dowager who lives on a nearby estate, some casual observations about the unseasonably warm weather and Madeline’s current preference in board games. Then Madame Barré delicately rings a small bell that is sitting close to hand and the maid appears immediately.

‘I think we’ll serve the
soufflé
and
café
in the sunroom while I steal Babette away to show her around the garden.’

George rises from the table to pull back his mother’s chair then does the same for me. As the guests file out, Madame Barré hooks my arm and leads me through the glass doors out on to the patio and into the garden. She passes me a warm wrap that she picked up from somewhere on our way from the table to the patio.

‘Each little area is like a present that you come upon. This first courtyard has a strong Italian theme with this wonderful mosaic tiling and statues imported especially from Italy.’

There are enormous terracotta pots and decorative iron benches tucked into alcoves, and one huge sundial that stands taller than me. We duck under a pergola.

‘This is so beautiful in June when the white jasmine is in flower. See, Babette, the way it twines through here and when you walk by, its wonderful scent completely envelopes you.’

‘I am very fond of white jasmine. It is almost unbearably pretty. My mother used to pick some and place it on my pillow when I was very young.’

‘It’s a little untidy at the moment and needs to be tied up and supported. This is why I look forward to April. There is so much to do in a garden. If you have any hope of getting
the best out of it, then you simply cannot leave it alone. Everything begins to burst into life with its early colour. You must divide your perennials and keep them well watered. Oh, and there is so much pruning to do. Look, those hydrangea stems need to be cut back and the climbers need support but then you have the promise of iris, lavender, dahlias, roses and Bougainvillea. Only, however, if you tend to things very carefully at this stage.’

Madame Barré ambles through to the Japanese garden and over to an ornate seat under the cherry blossoms. I follow closely behind. She gestures for me to sit down.

‘The wonderful thing about early spring in a garden is that it is not too late to right mistakes. You can still move plants about and anything you decided was in the wrong place last year can be removed to a more suitable place without causing any damage. This is the time to sew seeds, to look forward and prepare for the season ahead. Do you really love George, Babette?’

I as startled at this.

‘With all my heart Madame Barré.’

‘And I do not doubt that for one second. Nor do I doubt George’s love for you which is why I must put pressure on you.’

‘What’s wrong, Madame? Tell me.’

‘George cannot marry you. He, however, will never, ever come to that conclusion himself, which is why you must make the decision for him. Babette, this is our home and it has remained in this family for generations. George’s father is ill and does not have long left to live. George will be expected to take over his father’s responsibilities and that includes the upkeep of everything you see around you here. He can only do that if he marries someone with wealth of
her own. There are several young ladies his father and I have identified over the years and one in particular that I know George is very fond of, and in time, could grow to love. But it will never happen if you are in his life.’

I feel embarrassed as tears begin to sting my eyes.

‘You are a bright and lovely girl, and I can understand George’s feelings for you entirely, but only you can do what is best for him. Only you have that power. Come, let me show you the orangery. It is so peaceful and everything has such promise when you spend time in it.’

We walk in silence up several foot-worn steps, each one lined with a potted plant. A gravel path swirls around a large fountain where marble cherubs poise mid-frolic, their white, dimpled hands perpetually grasping skyward. Madame Barré flings open the high doors of the gleaming, glass house at the top of the path and we both step into its warmth. My heels clip the black and white tiled floor.

‘I love to sit here among the potted orange and lemon trees and the early blooms. Even all these busts of old Roman men have become reassuring company to me over the years.’

I stroll behind Madame Barré like an unwilling student of horticulture trying to feign attentiveness while my mind has, in fact, taken flight. Her directive, for that is what it was and not the entreaty that she packaged up and so delicately presented to me, is like an unpleasant echo resonating around my skull. ‘Cannot marry you. Cannot marry you.’

‘… or “Devil’s Trumpet”, as it’s more commonly known.’

‘I’m sorry, what was that? That plant there?’

‘This broad leafed plant,
Datura Stramonium
. It flowers later in the summer as a long white trumpet shape.’

Datura
. I am transported back to the heavy rich red curtains which opened on my very first opera. That thrilling
first flush as those sweet sounds from
Lakmé
and her servant Mallika and Lakmé’s lover, floated upward, like petals dancing on a gentle perfumed breeze, how I clasped the edge of my seat in awe while Philippe patiently guided me through this new world, how I glanced across to the next box where my eyes fell on George.

‘It is a lovely garden. Your patience shines through. Do you mind if I stroll a little on my own, Madame Barré? I am trying to instruct myself in the art of perfumery.’

‘Of course.’ She smiles and leaves me. I watch as she bends down to tug at a weed, discard it and then wipe her hands briskly in satisfaction.

Maurice looks so peaceful as I rock him. Maria is preparing some lunch and the stove crackles with freshly tossed kindling. This new apartment of hers is much more spacious and I’m relieved that living here in Rue Tourlaque keeps her close by to me. Old Madame Valadon has completely taken charge of the baby in an effort to speed Maria back to her modelling jobs. It was through a painter friend, that Maria had managed to find these rooms for her baby and her mother.