Read Online Scent of a Woman by Joanne Rock - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joanne Rock
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Businesswomen, Cruise Ships, Perfumes industry, Mediterranean Sea
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meetings wherever possible. Adam was working today, too, and the knowledge spurred her to be all the more industrious about pursuing business over pleasure.
Still, there had been no sign of Ahmed Ramnathan, the quiet and studious-looking businessman who’d been so receptive of her pitch for Les Rêves’s new Arabian Nights line. A Parisian perfumer told Danielle he thought Ahmed had attended a conference-sponsored tour of Valletta to see St. John’s Co-Cathedral. It boasted an extensive collection of Flemish tapestries and—if Danielle’s memory served—a Caravaggio that her mother had seen once. Danielle wished now she had taken the tour.
Leaving the last of her meetings behind, she took a set of stairs to deck ten in an effort to burn off a few extra calories from the fantastic food served on the ship. Apparently the head chef was new to Alexandra’s Dream , but Danielle had read about his culinary exploits before, since he used to have a successful restaurant just down the French coast from her. Everything about the cruise seemed decadent and delightful, although she had noticed the bath products in her stateroom weren’t top of the line. She’d made a mental note to seek out the cruise line’s purchasing agent when she returned home to see if she could work up a deal to have some of Les Rêves’s new soaps and lotions on board instead.
She had almost reached her destination when she spotted a familiar figure on his way down the stairs.
“Father Connelly?” She paused to address the priest who’d given the lecture on classical antiquities.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” The priest, a gray-haired, robust-looking man in his fifties, extended his hand.
His companion, an officer with two and a half stripes, nodded briefly to her before continuing down the stairs.
“I’m Danielle Chevalier, Father.” She shook his hand and found herself tugged into the corner of the staircase landing. “I attended your cocktail party and part of your lecture yesterday.”
“Ah, yes!” He snapped his fingers in recognition. “You stood in the back while I was speaking.”
An older woman descended past them and Father Connelly winked at her, eliciting a blush. Apparently the priestly calling hadn’t dimmed his love of flirting.
“I wanted to ask you about the Bast statue in the ship’s collection.” She was already designing perfume bottles and potential scent combinations inspired by the piece.
“You plan to test the poor clergyman when his notes are nowhere in sight?” he teased, patting his pockets as if searching for a lost notebook. “You are a cruel woman, Ms. Chevalier.”
“I don’t need to know anything specific,” she assured him. “But I am curious about the goddess in general and I thought you might be able to tell me more than what you included in the lecture.”
Perhaps she’d been attracted to Bast because of the lack of warrior-like qualities in herself. The longer she thought about Marcel’s phone call and his insistence she stay away from Adam, the more certain she became that she had not fought hard enough for independence and respect from her family.
What woman couldn’t use a little warrior spirit in her life?
“Bless you for taking it easy on me.” He smiled. “Bast, or Bastet, is the daughter of the Egyptian sun god Re. And, like most ancient deity figures, the more you read about her, the more conflicting the information. But she is supposed to be the embodiment of the rage in Re’s eye, and she is a goddess of both household protection and vengeance. Her domain is as far-reaching as the stories about her powers and her importance.”
He went on to describe mummified cats found throughout the same region as the statue, and shared a few other facts that weren’t relevant to her plans for a new perfume inspired by the figure. When he seemed to have exhausted his knowledge on the subject, she shook his hand and left to find her
Still, there had been no sign of Ahmed Ramnathan, the quiet and studious-looking businessman who’d been so receptive of her pitch for Les Rêves’s new Arabian Nights line. A Parisian perfumer told Danielle he thought Ahmed had attended a conference-sponsored tour of Valletta to see St. John’s Co-Cathedral. It boasted an extensive collection of Flemish tapestries and—if Danielle’s memory served—a Caravaggio that her mother had seen once. Danielle wished now she had taken the tour.
Leaving the last of her meetings behind, she took a set of stairs to deck ten in an effort to burn off a few extra calories from the fantastic food served on the ship. Apparently the head chef was new to Alexandra’s Dream , but Danielle had read about his culinary exploits before, since he used to have a successful restaurant just down the French coast from her. Everything about the cruise seemed decadent and delightful, although she had noticed the bath products in her stateroom weren’t top of the line. She’d made a mental note to seek out the cruise line’s purchasing agent when she returned home to see if she could work up a deal to have some of Les Rêves’s new soaps and lotions on board instead.
She had almost reached her destination when she spotted a familiar figure on his way down the stairs.
“Father Connelly?” She paused to address the priest who’d given the lecture on classical antiquities.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” The priest, a gray-haired, robust-looking man in his fifties, extended his hand.
His companion, an officer with two and a half stripes, nodded briefly to her before continuing down the stairs.
“I’m Danielle Chevalier, Father.” She shook his hand and found herself tugged into the corner of the staircase landing. “I attended your cocktail party and part of your lecture yesterday.”
“Ah, yes!” He snapped his fingers in recognition. “You stood in the back while I was speaking.”
An older woman descended past them and Father Connelly winked at her, eliciting a blush. Apparently the priestly calling hadn’t dimmed his love of flirting.
“I wanted to ask you about the Bast statue in the ship’s collection.” She was already designing perfume bottles and potential scent combinations inspired by the piece.
“You plan to test the poor clergyman when his notes are nowhere in sight?” he teased, patting his pockets as if searching for a lost notebook. “You are a cruel woman, Ms. Chevalier.”
“I don’t need to know anything specific,” she assured him. “But I am curious about the goddess in general and I thought you might be able to tell me more than what you included in the lecture.”
Perhaps she’d been attracted to Bast because of the lack of warrior-like qualities in herself. The longer she thought about Marcel’s phone call and his insistence she stay away from Adam, the more certain she became that she had not fought hard enough for independence and respect from her family.
What woman couldn’t use a little warrior spirit in her life?
“Bless you for taking it easy on me.” He smiled. “Bast, or Bastet, is the daughter of the Egyptian sun god Re. And, like most ancient deity figures, the more you read about her, the more conflicting the information. But she is supposed to be the embodiment of the rage in Re’s eye, and she is a goddess of both household protection and vengeance. Her domain is as far-reaching as the stories about her powers and her importance.”
He went on to describe mummified cats found throughout the same region as the statue, and shared a few other facts that weren’t relevant to her plans for a new perfume inspired by the figure. When he seemed to have exhausted his knowledge on the subject, she shook his hand and left to find her
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