Outside, stars sparkled in the inky night as we made our way through the 8th arrondissement, and down to the 7th taking in the spectacular sight of the glittering Eiffel Tower, which lit up on the hour.
In his linen blazer Sebastien looked every inch the urbane Frenchman, and attracted a number of second glances from women walking past. About twenty minutes into our walk I started to hobble in my heels and tried my best to breathe through the pain. Everyone walked in Paris, it was probably why they could all eat the freshly baked baguettes and mountains of profiteroles and stay slim. While I walked my fair share back home, it was usually around the lake wearing comfortable attire and hiking boots. I didn’t know how women coped walking or cycling from one end of the huge city wearing in heels.
Ever observant Sebastien noticed my wobbly gait and said, ‘We should catch a taxi.’
‘A taxi would be great.’ So much for being French, I couldn’t last twenty minutes in heels where Parisian women could probably hitch up their skirts and run a marathon in them.
We were silent in the car. I was unsure, being alone with him what to say, even small talk didn’t come easily, so instead I leaned close to the window, taking in the sights of the beautiful city at night-time. His phone rang incessantly, and he cursed under his breath and switched it off.
When we entered the restaurant, I grabbed hold of Sebastien’s hand as I was thrust into absolute darkness. ‘I can’t see!’
‘Exactly,’ he said, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘That’s the concept of Dans Le Noir. In the pitch black your senses will guide you, instead of sight, you’ll have to trust taste, and scent. So much like perfumery, non?’ Perhaps he was going to put effort into mentoring me? The situation smacked of a perfumery lesson.
There was a French voice and Sebastien replied, and then with a palm in the small of my back led me to a table. He pulled out a chair and helped me into it. It was all very hands on, and I certainly wasn’t going to complain, lest I fall on my face or end up sitting with the wrong man – I wouldn’t put it past me.
‘The staff are visually impaired,’ he said softly. ‘It’s an insight into their world too.’
Wow. ‘They’re so sure footed.’ I could hear them walking around, the glug of wine being poured, the clink of plates, their low French voices as they served in total obscurity.
‘They’re very adept at what they do.’
Without vision the world shrunk, but what was fascinating to me was how my other senses were heightened, especially my sense of smell. The table closest to us were drinking a red wine, the notes of cherry and clove spiced the air between us.
It was strange and liberating all at once. ‘How will we know what we’re eating?’ I asked into the void. Whatever preconceptions I had about food would be turned on its head as I negotiated eating and drinking in the dark.
‘It’s a surprise,’ he laughed.
And with that a waiter approached us, I could tell by his footfalls, and the whoosh of air as he stopped at our table. ‘The chef would like to know what you don’t eat.’
Sebastien touched my hand across the table. ‘That’s the surprise part,’ he said, his voice full of warmth. ‘You don’t know what you’re getting but they won’t use ingredients you don’t enjoy.’
I was so taken by the concept I was happy to try anything. You wouldn’t find a place like this in Whispering Lakes. ‘I’ll eat whatever the chef recommends,’ I said.
‘Very good, and the wine?’
‘Whatever pairs with the menu,’ Sebastien said. The waiter thanked us and left, taking a whoosh of air with him.
I kept blinking as if I’d suddenly see again until I caught myself. It was so strange to be in the space, knowing you were surrounded by people but not able to see them.
‘So, Del, how do you see your future in perfumery?’
The question was delivered lightly, almost innocently, but I felt it held more weight than he let on.
‘Didn’t you watch my audition video?’ We’d all sent videos about our lives and where we saw ourselves slotting into the world of perfumery. It had been the most excruciating ten minutes of my life getting Jen to shoot me blathering on, trying to sound impressive, knowledgeable and inspired. Like I was coping just fine without Nan. It had been Jen’s idea originally for me to submit a video and see if I made it in.
I sensed Sebastien was smiling, but I couldn’t be sure. ‘Oui, of course, your video was one of my favourites. Parfumerie is such a solitary job, it was quite magical to see your workspace, the perfume organ, and hear about your nan and the way you formulate fragrances. Everyone’s journey is so different.’
He removed his hand with a quick apology as if he’d forgotten he’d put it there. My skin cooled without his touch.
As I grappled with something to fill the awkward silence he spoke up. ‘You haven’t answered my question?’
Was he trying to break the bad news gently to me? Why was he so interested in my future once I left here? My heart thudded at the thought I might be going home tomorrow.
‘My plans are still dreams, Sebastien, but they’re within grabbing distance.’
‘Why so shy suddenly?’
How to say that without the prize money I’d struggle making my dreams come true? That the grand plan I had with my sister had gone up in smoke? The money I’d saved for years was only half of what I needed, without Jen’s contribution I couldn’t afford it. And mostly that deep down I lacked the confidence to go it alone.
‘I’m not being shy. Just cautious. Why? Should I start packing my bags?’ The darkness made me bold, I could easily have gotten used to it.
‘Non, non, I don’t know to be honest. And of course I couldn’t tell you anyway. I have yet to see the judges’ scores. I won’t know until tomorrow morning, just before Maman makes the announcement.’
‘I can imagine how hard it will be to send someone home, the thought of leaving so soon, it makes my chest tight, like I can’t breathe. I can’t go home, there’s nothing there for me.’
‘It’s funny you say that, I loved the footage you shared of your home town. All that pristine water, not a soul in sight.’
‘That’s the problem, there’s nothing there. It’s so quiet.’
‘Peaceful.’
‘Boring.’ I shook my head. We were so different. That kind of peace was the reason I wanted out. You couldn’t sell perfume to wildlife. I needed people, a busy thriving metropolis.
‘Why did you decide to hold the competition? I know you promised your father, but why now?’
Another weighty silence fell, and then finally he spoke. ‘Part of the plea bargain was to hold it within the year. If I held the competition as per my papa’s wishes, then I could leave. The management team would take over running Leclére, and I was free to go, signing away all my rights.’
I hadn’t expected he’d confide in me. I had to remember I supposedly didn’t know and this was a shock. ‘But why…? I know how hard it is going on when you’re grieving, but perfume can save you, you know. Isn’t it the place you go to get lost, to put all thought except formulas from your mind? Why would you throw it all away?’
‘It goes deeper than that, Del. And I can’t stand to be here and face the memories every day. What’s the point? Without Papa there is no Leclére Parfumerie, there’s only what once was.’
Part of me was sad I’d never get to meet the enigma Vincent himself, by all accounts an unconventional man who had been trying to create not just a scent, but to conjure the feeling that went with it. Like capturing a visit to beach: sandcastles, laughter, brilliant sunshine, and the salty fresh smell of rolling waves, but most of all, the euphoria that overcame you when you were sunning yourself and watching life drift by from the comfort of a sandy perch.
How could you recreate laughter by smell? Or the intoxicating sense of first love? Was it possible?
Vincent had reportedly said that when he worked the world around him faded to black, and he relied only on his nose; his olfactory sense: the concoction, an aromatic journey limited only by imagination. And I recognized the same trait in myself. I lost days making perfume, and only came up for air when hunger pains got the better of me. It was about more than the fragrance, it was about where that scent took you. How it changed you. Sebastien could surely continue his research, and maybe make something nobody had ever imagined was possible.
‘How can you be sure that you won’t love it again? Doesn’t it inspire you, all these perfumers with new concepts and techniques?’ I so wanted to say something that would make him change his mind, but he was so closed off, so sure he wasn’t suited to this life.
‘It is intriguing watching everyone work,’ he said. ‘And I’m impressed by you all, but once it’s over then I am free and I’ll sign my rights away. And as selfish as that sounds, that’s all I can think of.’
I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I understood he was being pulled in a million directions, but surely he could get help in and create perfume locked away alone, if that’s what he wanted? He could even do it from his little village in Provence! So why sign all his rights away? It just didn’t make sense.
‘What would you father say, knowing you were throwing away his life’s work?’ Perhaps I’d put it too bluntly, but the man was walking away from a lucrative business where he could do anything he chose fit. Being in the depths of despair so long after Nan died, I understood his need to flee, but I knew he’d regret it later.
The waiter returned, and poured our wine, and I tried to decipher it. Gooseberries, grassy and herbaceous. ‘He’d be heartbroken,’ Sebastien said, his voice firm. ‘And he wouldn’t understand.’
‘Why? What was he like?’ Had he been similar to Sebastien? Resolute when he wanted to be? With that need for privacy?
‘My papa was ridiculed as a young perfumer, told he’d never make it, that he had no talent because he didn’t follow the “rules of perfumery”. But he had this grim determination about him and never gave up.’
I smiled, thinking of le savant fou and all those who tried to stop the incredible man from sharing his gift.
‘And yet, he became one of the most famous perfumers in the world,’ I said, wistfully. In a way it was nice to know things hadn’t come easy for Vincent, but they’d still eventuated. He proved you could make it in this business if you worked hard enough.
‘Perseverance,’ Sebastien said. ‘And passion, he had those qualities, and the more people turned him away the more he persisted. It came at a cost though. His marriage broke down because he was so intent on perfume. Witnessing Maman’s heartbreak made me realize just how fragile love is. We perfumers get lost in the world of perfumery, but he went so far that he never really came back. It taught me what not to do.’
Sebastien’s eu de parfum undulated in the air between us, the peppery, orange zest and dark balsam notes, while I contemplated. Was he not as close to his father as I presumed? ‘It’s so easy to fall down that rabbit hole when you make fragrance, you can lose days, weeks…’ I said lightly, unsure of what else to say.
‘Years,’ he said a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice.
The picture I had of Vincent was not the one Sebastien painted. ‘But wasn’t he a dreamer, a gentle soul?’ The man I’d imagined had white wispy hair, magic in his eyes, the kind of secretive smile when you know you’ve made a perfume so great people revered it for decades…
‘Oui,’ he said. ‘If you could steal a moment of his time, you felt as though you were the stars to his orbit. But his door was always locked.’ Loneliness leached from each syllable.
By the sounds of it Vincent had indelibly bruised his son’s heart. Changed the course of his life by being absent. It occurred to me we both had some broken pieces of our pasts rattling inside our hearts.
‘So that’s why you want to leave…’ Leclére was a prestigious, famous perfumery for some, but the holder of bad memories for Sebastien.
‘What people don’t know is when I’m in Paris working all I see is that locked door, and the little boy standing on the other side, wondering why he can’t go in. Please don’t think my papa was a cruel man, he wasn’t. He was just so distracted, so invested in his work that all else paled.’
The image of a young Sebastien standing by the thin strip of light by his father’s door, waiting for attention, was almost too sad to contemplate. Was the old man really that busy he couldn’t make time for his son? Did he know the only legacy he left behind was one of loneliness? It was devastating that Sebastien wanted to flee instead of continuing his father’s work, but it made more sense to me now.
‘But when you got older you worked together?’ I hoped for a happy ending, a change in circumstances…
‘No, not really. I worked in my own studio and he his. Mine is in Provence. And I only came to Paris when I was needed.’ Why was communicating so hard for these people? Why couldn’t he have bashed on the door as an adult and asked for attention? But I knew it wasn’t as simple as that. By then walls were up, pride had to be protected.
I shivered in the cool room. ‘What happened with your parents?’ I only knew that they’d divorced a long time ago and Aurelie had only returned to Paris after Vincent’s death.
‘She fell in love with another man,’ he said, his voice level. ‘Papa was devastated, but in his usual quiet way, he let her go without a fight. I’ve always wondered if she wanted him to fight for her, to really see her. Maybe her plan to get his attention backfired.’
‘Surely not, surely she would have told him?’ Perhaps all families had their skeletons and it wasn’t just my parents who’d acted irrationally, it was just that my parents did everything in full view of the world, totally transparent.
‘My maman had her pride. She still does, and refuses to talk about what was said at the time. I think she grew tired of coming second to parfumerie and remarried and moved away. Papa loved her though, right to the very end. His last words to me were, “Tell your maman even if she loved me for only a minute, it was worth it.”’
‘That’s heartbreaking.’ How could he have let her go? Why didn’t she tell him to fight for her? Why let real love slip through your fingers, it was a tragedy.
‘He had so much regret. And the saddest part of all is that I regret not telling him how I felt, and now it’s too late. Maybe he just didn’t know how deeply his absence affected us all. We needed him, yet he couldn’t be that person. Anyway…’ He let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t know why I’m confiding in you like this. It must be the dark that makes a person share their secrets… Forgive me.’
‘Don’t apologize.’
We lapsed into silence. I considered my parents, and the regret I felt almost every day. Regret that they weren’t responsible, that they didn’t conform to what being a parent meant. But they were still around, when they weren’t adventuring, and in their own way they showed us they cared. And they’d never pretended to be anything other than who they were, and I loved them despite their follies, though it was easier here to think that way, while I was out of the fishbowl that was Whispering Lakes.
‘So, I’d better get down to business,’ he said. ‘You have a wonderful gift, your perfumery is exceptional. Yet, you hold back. Why?’
I stifled a groan. He was my mentor and this is why we were here, he’d obviously tested the perfume I submitted. Embarrassment flared and again I was glad for the darkness. ‘I played it safe, and when I realized my mistake it was too late to change it. Since I lost Nan, I’ve lost some of the magic and I can’t seem to find it no matter what I try.’
‘I’m so sorry, Del. And your nan taught you well, so why don’t you take those lessons and make them your own. Take a few risks. Experiment. Like in this restaurant, you have to trust your instincts. You can’t see the food you’re eating, but your senses will guide you, just like perfumery.’
I sent up a silent prayer to the perfume gods to give me one more chance at the competition. I’d take risks and be better organized. I’d get my mojo back. I’d beg for it if I had to.
‘I will, I’ll take risks, and I’ll think outside the box. I hope I don’t go home, I’m just getting started.’
‘I know. I don’t want you to leave,’ he said, as our entrees arrived. It was an incredible experience determining what it was from the taste and textures. Scallops with salty sea foam, and fresh herbs, or so I guessed. What an intense way to eat food! I took it slow, each mouthful another foray into an abyss.
Our main meal arrived, a rich cassoulet of confit duck. It melted in my mouth and it was all I could do not to sigh with happiness. I tasted the silkiness of white beans, saltiness of pancetta, crispy duck and a thick and rich sauce.
‘Open your mouth,’ Sebastien said. I did as bid in the pitch black. A hand cupped my chin and he slowly, delicately, fed me a forkful of his meal, which was different to mine. I tried to guess what it was but I was distracted by the sensuality of the moment. I hadn’t tasted anything so intense before. The evening had been a revelation on so many levels and I was bewitched with it all. Maybe this was just another French foible, though. Maybe they all shared forkfuls of food and there was nothing untoward in the gesture.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘It’s slow cooked beef, ah, with caramelized onions, herbs…’ Was this some kind of mentoring test?
‘Oui,’ he said and I heard the smile in his voice. ‘A classic French dish, beef pot-au-feu.’
The taste lingered on my tongue, as the slow cooked dish offered up levels of flavor, and he fed me another mouthful which I took my time discerning. This time I could taste the base of the broth, an almost umami taste of the bone marrow used, and the body the gelatinous cut of meat gave the dish. It was bursting with flavor, and I thought I’d never taste anything so delicious ever again.
‘Exceptional,’ I said, warmed by the comfort of the food and sharing the experience with Sebastien. He’d sure managed to surprise me, and I felt like a different person in his company. As though I was slowly unfurling from small town girl to worldly traveler.