Heaven Scent (59 page)

Not that this was about meeting someone new, Guy told himself. He had a long way to go before he was ready for that. Giving Cat a heartfelt smile, he hoped his gratitude towards her was obvious because without her suggestion that counselling might work for him, he was sure he wouldn’t be on the road to recovery. Cat returned Guy’s smile and nodded to Delphine. She was taken aback to detect the ghost of a smile on the old lady’s face. My God, Delphine had looked almost friendly for a second! The smile slipped away but her eyes remained friendly. Effortlessly elegant, Delphine looked the epitome of the stylish older woman in a sparkling, oyster-coloured suit with a floor-length skirt and a fitted jacket with a stand-up collar that made the most of her fabulous diamond earrings and pretty make-up.

Perplexed but secretly delighted by the warmth in Delphine’s eyes, Cat stole a glance at Leoni and realised she was clutching the armrests and biting all her red lipstick off.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Cat assured her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Cat didn’t know what had gone on in Paris with Ashton but Leoni seemed very upset by it. She had also mumbled that she had finished with Jerard, but oddly she didn’t seem overly bothered about that. She seemed far more distraught about her trip to Paris and Cat couldn’t help wondering if Leoni had finally figured out she felt more for Ashton than just friendship.

Thinking about Xavier briefly, Cat felt her stomach flip over. Angelique’s venomous words were still clear in her head but the woman clearly had her own agenda – basically, getting Xavier back – so Cat realised she shouldn’t trust her. But Xavier had made no effort to clear the air with her when he had returned from Morocco and Paris – at least, not that Cat was aware of.

But he had ridden after her and he had kissed her. Or had he? Cat gave up. She wouldn’t know what the situation was until she saw Xavier again and had a chance to talk to him.

Paris looked gorgeous in the early evening sunshine as the private jet touched down on the concourse. Unclipping her seat belt, Cat followed the Ducasse family out and they all ducked into waiting limos. At the George V, Cat gaped at her stunning room, charmingly named the ‘Suite Anglaise’. It was large enough for six and came with elegant columns and a four-poster bed. It was on the seventh floor and it had a balcony overlooking the Marble Courtyard.

Cat quickly changed into the beautiful turquoise dress Leoni had treated her to and touched up her make-up. She caught sight of an envelope on the bed. It was addressed to her and when she opened it, she found a stiff card inside with the hotel motif at the top. In handwriting she recognised as Xavier’s, she read: ‘Not everything is as it seems. Trust me. Xavier.’

Cat stared at it. What on earth did that mean? Wishing Xavier would sometimes just talk to her, she grabbed her handbag. She stuffed the card inside it as an afterthought and went downstairs to meet the family. They were driven to the shop in the limos. Cat tried to take in the sights as they whisked past the window but she only really got a good look at the Champs-Élysées, which was lit up majestically.

At the shop, Cat and the Ducasse family gasped in unison as they climbed out of their limos. The front was lit up with discreet spotlights that played on bottles of perfume positioned on white columns of different heights. The beams of light picked out the silvery glass and ornate stoppers, and swathes of rich, deep purple satin were draped luxuriantly around the base of the perfume bottles. Cat tried to get a glimpse of the name of the fragrance but it was out of view and the perfume bottles were too far away to see. A matching dark purple carpet reached from the open door to the pavement edge, which was lined with photographers. Behind barriers and security men a crowd of fans jostled to hold up phones and cameras to get shots of the celebrities.

As Cat joined the guests in their dinner jackets and brightly coloured couture gowns, she was suddenly very grateful for the shimmering turquoise sheath dress Leoni had bought her and that Seraphina had worked her magic with her hair. She could see the Hollywood actor Delphine had invited to the party at the château to her left, his arm loosely round his gorgeous wife’s shoulders (he in Armani Privé and diamonds, she head to toe in Chanel and sapphires) as well as a former president and a bunch of young, trendy French, American and English celebrities recognisable from films, pop groups and billboards.

Not for the first time, Cat realised how well connected the Ducasse family were. This was essentially the opening of a new perfume store, yet the purple carpet outside resembled Leicester Square at a major box office premiere.

The shop was jaw-droppingly gorgeous inside, classy and upmarket. It felt both spacious and intimate at the same time. The finish was superb and it felt like an Aladdin’s cave, full of must-have fragrance and goodies. Billboards, covered with yet more purple fabric, hung from the high ceilings and sat propped up on different surfaces. A screen had been set up at the back, presumably to play the new advert for Xavier’s fragrance and the air was thick with expectation.

Max immediately grabbed glasses of champagne for himself and Madeleine. Guy and Delphine pretended not to notice. They were fairly sure Max had calmed down sufficiently enough not to have to be monitored like a child and it was only a glass of champagne, after all. As far as Guy was concerned, and on Elena’s advice, Max would obviously benefit from some fatherly guidance but he could also do with some freedom as an adult. Guy planned to ask him what he wanted to do about college and careers later on, and he fully intended to listen to whatever Max had to say. Seraphina, looking more serene than she had in a long time, was resolutely ignoring the champagne and the mouth-watering canapés that were doing the rounds. Instead, she simply stood at the back of the shop and watched everything that was going on.

Cat glanced at Leoni. She was dressed in a navy silk dress with a plunging neckline and a long skirt and she looked pale and thin. She was wearing contact lenses, which seemed to make her brown eyes look huge, but she looked fragile, as though she could faint at any moment.

‘Leoni, do you think you should eat something? You look awfully pale,’ Cat commented worriedly.

Leoni shook her head, her shiny brown bob grazing her chin. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, sounding anything but.

‘Is it how you imagined it?’ Cat asked, knowing this must be momentous for her. After all, this store had been her dream.

Leoni smiled sadly, noting Jerard’s exquisite candles sitting stacked up on a curved shelf. ‘Better,’ she asserted. ‘The light in here, it’s wonderful. And the way the counters have been designed, well, they are just perfect for the products. It’s as though Ashton knows me inside out . . .’ Her voice faded.

About to ask Leoni about Ashton, Cat caught sight of the name of the fragrance as a celebrity moved out of the way and exposed an enormous billboard by the till area. ‘La Spontanéité’, it said, in purple, swirly writing. And underneath: ‘L’Amour . . . Le Risque . . . La Spontanéité . . .’ Love, risk, spontaneity. Cat sucked in her breath. Romantic spontaneity, a notion Cat had cited as a way to live life and one Xavier had defensively rejected, at the time. Cat didn’t dare hope that the name of the new fragrance meant anything.

Ashton appeared in the store from the flat above. Cat saw Leoni swallow and meet his blue eyes. They stared at each other in agonised silence. Breaking the tension, Leoni moved out of his line of vision and slipped behind a group of anorexic models. Hearing a commotion at the door, Cat turned to see what was happening.

Xavier had arrived. Resembling one of the many celebrities milling around, he looked devastatingly handsome in a discreetly expensive black dinner suit with a snow-white shirt and an undone black silk tie around his neck. The light played on his tanned face for a moment as he stood in the doorway, highlighting his arrogant nose and the wide, sexy mouth that was curved into a polite smile. His sleepy-looking, chocolate-brown eyes slid around the store as though he was looking for someone and then they came to rest on Cat. She almost felt he was trying to say something to her but then she saw something that made any hope she might be feeling dissolve.

Behind Xavier but very clearly with him was Angelique, wearing a racy dress in her favourite shade of scarlet, killer heels and an extremely smug smile. From the way she was clutching him possessively, Cat was pretty sure they’d been glued together in the limo all the way from the hotel to the store.

Feeling very much as though she was going to be sick, Cat realised the tag line on the billboard meant nothing. Or maybe Xavier did feel that way about life now, but very evidently he didn’t feel that way about
her
. Cat bit her lip, forcing back the tears. She must have imagined the kiss after he had rescued her and any hopes she had been harbouring about him were clearly foolish, just an embarrassing fantasy. Forgetting about the message Xavier had given her on the card in her handbag and unable to stomach the sight of Angelique smirking and cosying up to Xavier any longer, Cat looked round for the nearest exit.

 

‘Ashton.’ Marianne slid her arms round him and made him jump.

‘Marianne!’ Ashton frowned and extricated himself from her grasp. Glancing over his shoulder, he wondered if Leoni had witnessed Marianne’s overly flirtatious greeting. He sincerely hoped not, although it probably didn’t matter anyway as Leoni obviously wasn’t speaking to him. Ashton sighed. He was consumed with regret; it was probably far too late for him and Leoni now. What a mess, he thought. Talk about bad timing. It was like that film,
Sliding Doors
. Except that the main characters in the film hadn’t been manipulated by a spoilt, self-indulgent idiot like Olivier, Ashton thought angrily.

‘You’re not even invited,’ he told Marianne when he’d pulled himself together.

She smirked. ‘I know, isn’t it delicious? But, chéri, I had to come, you must know that.’ Wearing an emerald-green suit with a knee-length skirt and a jacket with a nipped-in waist and peplum edge, Marianne looked every inch the successful businesswoman she was. The colour complemented her long russet hair which was loose except for a pretty comb to one side. The well-cut suit made the most of her full curves, leaving little to the imagination. She eyed Ashton hungrily, regretting that things hadn’t become more intimate between them. He really was quite a catch.

Ashton courteously handed Marianne a glass of champagne. ‘Guy Ducasse. That’s why you’re here.’

She pulled a face. ‘Some people get under your skin, don’t they?’

Ashton stared at Leoni. ‘Don’t I know it,’ he murmured. He wanted to go to her, to talk to her. She looked so thin and pale, he wanted to gather her up protectively and never let her go again. He wondered if she had broke up with Jerard but refused to feel hopeful about the prospect. If it had caused her to look so horribly ill, he would rather that wasn’t the reason, even if it meant his love for her going unrequited indefinitely.

Ashton downed his glass of champagne in one go, wishing things were different.

Marianne’s teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. Feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable, she battled with herself. God, is this what it’s like to have a conscience? she thought irritably. She came to a decision. ‘I . . . have a confession to make,’ she informed Ashton rather grandly, feeling cross with herself. Did she really have to do this?

Ashton wasn’t listening. All he could think about was how achingly vulnerable Leoni looked with her fragile collarbone exposed in the deep V of the navy dress. Marianne, however, had made an unprecedented decision to be truthful, so she insisted on being heard. ‘There was a day some while back when Leoni Ducasse visited you here at the shop.’

‘I know. What do you think all the texts you’ve ignored have been about?’ Ashton glanced at her impatiently.

‘Yes, well. I need to tell you something about it.’ Marianne squirmed as she felt his cornflower-blue eyes boring into her intently. ‘I may have . . . misled Leoni somewhat.’

Ashton felt his stomach lurch. ‘What have you done?’ He knew that whatever Marianne had said, it would be part, if not all, of the reason Leoni was no longer speaking to him. Christ, wasn’t it bad enough that Olivier had destroyed any chance they had of being together?

Marianne coughed. ‘I may have mentioned that we came to a special agreement about the shop.’

He frowned. ‘We did. I wasn’t intending to tell Leoni that but if she knows, she knows.’ What did it matter any more? he thought to himself.

‘I didn’t tell her the actual details of the deal,’ Marianne confessed. ‘In fact, I do believe I made her think you and I had slept together. That the sacrifice you made was your . . . body.’

Ashton gaped at her. ‘You did what?’ Recoiling, he shook his head. ‘You didn’t . . . you wouldn’t. Marianne, you know how I feel about her! Why would you make her think I did something like that?’

Marianne flipped her russet hair over her shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other. Damn this conscience! ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, I really am. But Leoni looked like Bambi standing there with her big eyes and that … that Ducasse nose.’ She refrained from saying she thought Leoni was plain and drab looking; she knew Ashton’s feelings ran deeper than that.

Ashton stopped short. ‘She reminded you of Guy. That’s it, isn’t it? You looked at her, and she reminded you of Guy and you couldn’t help yourself. God, Marianne, you really should be ashamed of yourself.’ His temper was mounting and he couldn’t hide it. ‘Just because you once lost the one person you loved, you have no right to destroy Leoni’s opinion of me. We were friends. Do you even care about that?’

Marianne was shocked. Ashton was so mild mannered, so British. It was unnerving to see him so angry.

Furiously, he stabbed a finger in Guy’s direction. ‘If you love the man, go and fucking well tell him! It’s not a bloody crime to have feelings, you know.’ Ashton paused. ‘Isn’t this more about the fact that you let Guy down all those years ago?’ he added softly. ‘You feel guilty about that and about your feelings, but you’ll never know for sure if he’s forgiven you if you don’t speak to him.’