“Well?” She crossed her arms.
I sighed. It was always urgent with Maman. I should have taken her call. Now the rest of the day would be wasted. “What is it?”
“Michael Lever rang again. He’s willing to double his offer.”
My eyes widened. The fifty hectares of land we owned in Grasse had captured the attention of several real estate developers in recent years but I’d been adamant about turning them away. Yet, this offer meant I would never have any debt again, as long as I kept Maman away from Monte Carlo’s casinos. But where would our jasmine and cloves and tuberose grow then? To imagine the rows of brilliant lavender flattened by a plow took my breath away. I didn’t care about the money, not when it meant destroying everything I loved and had worked for my entire life, and which Papa and my grandfather had worked for so tirelessly before me.
“Non,” I said definitively. “It doesn’t matter what the offer is, my answer is still no.”
My mother’s eyes tightened. “I am tired of watching you chase your tail, just to make ends meet. We are barely covering our expenses.”
I clenched my jaw to hold back the comments that rose to my tongue. She could stop wasting our money on her late-night spending sprees for one, and two, she could work for a change. Oversee the factory so we could cut expenses, or perhaps she could help develop a new partnership with a detergent company, and I could strike that off my growing list of ideas to expand Duval. With the new fragrance I was developing and tourist season just beginning, I could use the help. But dear Maman worked best from her chaise longue with a glass in her hand, barking orders at a maid we couldn’t afford.
“I’m on the verge of something breathtaking, Maman. I’ve just mastered a combination of—”
“You are just like your father,” she cut in, waving a hand dismissively. “Full of ideas and promises that do nothing but cost us more.”
A flush of anger rushed to my cheeks. My father had been full of hope and longing and believed in our future, and I was just the same. We were dreamers, Papa and I, but we also worked hard and with passion—neither of which Maman could, or even tried to, understand. Her love of books and gardening, her interest in anything really, had withered away with her drinking, curling in on itself like the leaves on the sunflowers that grew in our garden.
And you are so full of spite, I wanted to say. Instead, I clenched my teeth, trying to tamp down my temper. She always brought out the worst in me.
The doorbell jingled. Natalie popped her head around the office door.
“I’ll just pull this shut,” she said, discreet as ever.
Maman’s gaze flicked to Natalie, taking in her floral dress, the elegant sweep of silver hair brushing her shoulders. When Maman glanced at me again, her lips pinched as if she’d eaten something sour. She had never liked Natalie, but her dislike had only grown over the years.
Graciously, Natalie smiled back at Maman in her ever-charming way, as if she’d noticed nothing, and closed the office door for our privacy.
“I need a little more time, Maman,” I said, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice. “I will prove to you this can work and then we won’t have to sell. I’m really close.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are wasting your time. You know as well as I do that the market is shrinking. More and more parfum is made from synthetics now. Soon enough, our fields of flowers will be unharvested and left to rot, then nobody will pay the price we deserve.”
I hated this topic of conversation, the possibility of the artisan side of the industry disappearing and with it, our craft and all the beauty it brought to the world. Each time my assistants broached the subject at the factory, I shut it down quickly. It crushed the joy I took in my work and destroyed a little piece of my soul. I couldn’t imagine a world composed only of chemicals and plastics and manufactured food. Fake this, fake that. Didn’t anyone care anymore about the true essence of nature and beauty, and a life well-lived? I couldn’t imagine how Papa would feel about this new world in which we lived. In some ways I was glad he wasn’t here to see it.
I rubbed my temples. “Maman—”
She held up her hand. “You have until the end of the year to develop this new fragrance, and the spring to launch it. I’ve already spoken to Lucien about it, and he agrees. If we don’t see a solid increase in sales by next summer, we will meet with our lawyer and Monsieur Lever.”
I smiled. “By next summer I will tell Michael Lever what to do with all of his British pounds.”
How to handle Lucien was another matter entirely.
* * *
I breathed a sigh of relief as my mother left. I had just enough time to finish a few things before we closed, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t spend all evening working. For months I had mixed new scents and taken notes until midnight—until my temples ached and rosemary began to smell the same as gravel. My nose needed a rest. I needed a rest.
The telephone interrupted my thoughts.
Wiping my hands on a cloth, I reached for the receiver and cradled it on my shoulder. “Bonsoir, Duval.”
“Bonsoir, may I speak to Miss Sophie Duval?” A soft American accent drifted through the line.
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that voice. “Oui, I am Sophie Duval. How can I help you?”
“Miss Duval, this is Grace Kelly. We met the other day when I took refuge in your shop. I hope you remember.”
How could I forget? There was something about meeting one of the most famous women in the world that had a way of sticking with you. “Yes, Miss Kelly. Of course. It is lovely to hear from you again.”
“I have your business card here in my hand and it has the most wonderful smell.” She laughed lightly. “Of course it does, you’re a perfumer.” She cleared her throat as if she, too, was a little nervous.
I tried to remember when I had given her my business card. I couldn’t recall. . . .
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. Sometimes I feel like a silly American in this town. The French women are all so effortlessly glamorous.”
Her sincerity made me like her even more.
“I’m calling because my sister Lizanne is getting married soon, and I would love to bring her a special gift,” she continued. “One of your luxurious perfumes would be perfect, I think. Do you have a suggestion?”
I smiled as pride swelled in my heart. “I’m sure I can find something she would like, but I need to know a little about her.”
Grace paused on the line for a moment as if thinking. “Well, Lizanne is very athletic. Loving and strong. And a little wild. She’s the youngest so she always gets her way.”
“Can you tell me a few of her favorite things? Her favorite holiday, her favorite clothing, her favorite memory, perhaps? Memories, dreams, and desires are entwined with scent. Since I cannot meet her, I need to grasp a little of who she is to make the best choice.”
“I see, yes. Well, Lizanne has done some acting as well. She’s pretty and confident. Funny. She loves her old wool sweaters and thick socks, and hiding under a blanket with a book. She never hides who she is, not for a minute. We all wish we could be more like her,” she added quietly. “She is rather a favorite.”