Read Online The Perfumer's Secret by Fiona McIntosh - Free Book Online

able to discern different smells – dozens and dozens of them – was divine, and could not be acquired. He was effectively sneering at what was part of my soul. ‘May I then at least have some input in the Delacroix range?’
    ‘No. Fleurette, your family’s business is under the captaincy of Henri. We remain rivals, albeit friendly ones, and indeed family now. Nevertheless, I do not wish any crossover at this stage when it comes to our respective perfume empires. Maybe in time . . .’ He made a tutting sound as though it was all laid out neatly now and should be set aside. ‘Now, settle yourself down into running this vast house, the prospect of motherhood, and I’d very much like you to take on some charitable duties. You might care to start planning the Christmas lunch for our workers. It’s only a few months away.’
    ‘Aimery.’ I pointed uselessly off towards the terraces somewhere in the blackness of the Grasse night. ‘All those workers are marching to the drum of war. They’re not going to be attending the De Lasset Christmas meal.’
    He smiled in a patronising way. ‘Nevertheless, the planning would be good for you, even if it is academic. This sort of skill can never be overlooked or overestimated. It’s excellent practice for the future.’
    I wanted to scream.
    ‘Now,’ he said, and I realised this was his favourite condescending opening to any sentence, ‘let us forget about perfume, war, or anyone else for a short while – let’s begin our own private offensive here in this room. I am going to bed my wife and I hope in the next short while we shall make our first child.’ He gave a tight grin as he crushed the life of the last embers of his cigar and my hopes. ‘If not, we shall try again . . . and again.’ Aimery’s patience with me had petered out. He stood and began undoing the last two buttons of his shirt. ‘Get into bed, Fleurette, and let me show you what I wish you to do for me.’
    I looked away as he began to undo his trousers. I felt the urge to run and yet my feet were leaden, weighted to the floor in a helpless lack of mobility. I had nothing to say. I couldn’t think; I knew this was it. I had to let it happen and stop hoping against hope that —
    Aimery cursed aloud as I swung around at the sound of banging on the door. ‘What the hell?’
    ‘Monsieur Aimery?’ The voice sounded familiar. It was his housekeeper, Madame Mouflard.
    I reached quickly for his dressing-gown and with an urging expression helped him into it. It was obvious he was furious by the way he pushed his arms into the sleeves and carelessly tied it at the front. Aimery flung the door open only just giving me time to hurriedly pull on a gown for my own modesty.
    ‘Madame Mouflard, what is this?’ he demanded with unconcealed rage.
    She quailed beneath his fury. ‘Forgive me, sir, forgive me,’ she pleaded, casting me a beseeching look. ‘The bells say it all, Monsieur,’ she said, trembling.
    ‘I am highly aware of them, Madame, and what they mean,’ he snarled.
    I gently pushed him aside, a calming hand on his arm, and was relieved he permitted me. ‘What is it, Madame Mouflard?’ I asked more gently. I eased into the little space left at the door’s threshold.
    ‘Captain Louis Drevan is here to see you, sir,’ she said, returning her attention to her employer. ‘He needs to speak with you.’
    ‘My captain?’ He spoke this title in a reverential tone. ‘Well, well . . . the decree has been signed, no doubt.’
    ‘We shall be down immediately, Madame Mouflard,’ I said. ‘Please offer the captain some refreshment.’ I closed the door on her before my husband could explode. ‘It’s the formal announcement of war,’ I said, more to myself than Aimery. ‘What else could it be?’
    ‘It better be, or I shall start one of my own,’ he snapped, tearing off his dressing-gown and re-buttoning his trousers. I was relieved to note his ardour had deflated with his mood,