If I was thinking outside the box, then landmarks or places of significance didn’t necessarily mean anything. A famous bistro could be a landmark, an indistinct patch of pavement where Edith Piaf once sang could be the spot. Who else made Paris famous? Would it have a perfume connection?
Moms with strollers milled around as tiny tots chased birds, and a couple of elderly tourists sipped coffee from takeaway cups, and consulted guidebooks. The day had grown warm, and I hurried to rifle through the backpack before I had to search for more shade as the sunlight turned my skin pink.
With map in one hand and phone in the other, I searched the internet for tourist attractions, but all that I found were the usual suspects. Think, think! There had to be some kind of message, something that if not directly connected with perfume, was related to it.
It was like looking for a single blade of grass in a field, impossible to narrow it down. Instead, I decided to make a list of the places I’d go and mark them out on the map, hoping along the way something would come to me.
The Ritz Paris: the most iconic and luxurious of all Paris hotels. All the greats had clinked champagne glasses and told tall stories there from Hemingway, to Anais Nin, F. Scott and Zelda, but more importantly Coco Chanel herself, who made the Ritz her home for over thirty years! It had to be a contender, in its illustrious past there’d been many a scandal amid the celebrations. I’d heard that Coco Chanel designed the shape of the Chanel No. 5 perfume bottle in ode to the square out front of the Place Vendôme. And Sebastien’s father had once worked for Coco, or so the rumours went.
And if the key wasn’t there it was close to the Jardin des Tuileries, the Musée de l’orangerie, and the Place de la Concorde with its eighteenth century Egyptian Obelisk. I could cross the oldest standing bridge in Paris, the Pont Neuf, to the Île de la cité, one of two small islands in the middle of the Seine that housed the Notre-Dame. I could make my way around all the little hidey-holes in the arrondissements I’d yet to explore.
On the left bank sat the famous bookshop Once Upon a Time. It was well known in bookish circles from readers to writers, and anyone who wanted to feel welcome in a city that sometimes made them feel lonely. Could I make a scent that explored the notion of reading bringing people together? How words on parchment were more than just words, they were ladders to another realm. The challenge would open my mind to new perfumery possibilities. It would help me to master the skill of bottling a tangible feeling.
Or should I stick to the heart and soul of Paris, somehow conjuring romance in a bottle? Roses, bergamot, pink peppercorn, musk, wisteria. What Nan and I had tried to do and failed – our first bloom of love perfume was missing one key ingredient, and I just couldn’t pinpoint what it could be. Nan would approve, me trying to create something that bold in the city of light…
City of love, I heard my sister whisper in my ear.
It was something to consider if I didn’t find the key. Time was ticking so I shoved everything back into the backpack and made my way to the Ritz Paris, wondering how I’d sway them to allow me to wander freely through the sumptuous hotel on my hunt for a key! If Sebastien hadn’t hidden it there they’d think I was insane. The thought made me giggle as I pictured all of us on this great big scavenger hunt all over Paris, sneaking into places, or grabbing handfuls of inspiration; petals from lavish gardens, sprigs of rosemary, or twigs, or bottling air itself to sniff later and hoping no one would think we were strange.
As I made my way to the Place Vendôme my heart skipped a beat at the beauty before me. I’d never seen such majesty, from the gothic buildings to the wrought iron lamp posts, and a thousand tiny markers of time, which had really stood still for Paris in terms of its architecture.
As I rounded the corner I caught sight of Anastacia running in a half crouch, trying to what – be covert? She was more conspicuous because of her odd manner, and I held my breath hoping she’d go straight past the Ritz, but no such luck. She stopped out front, consulted a notebook and charmed the top-hat-and-tail-wearing door men with big smiles as they ushered her in.
Dammit!
With quick steps, I adopted a haughty expression as if I visited the Ritz Paris every day and nodded to the men. They greeted me politely and asked if I needed any directions inside the hotel. I declined and told them in halting high school level French that I was meeting my lover to which one of them frowned. Why? Did I look so unlovable? Or perhaps no one used the term lover these days? I was so out of the loop with the whole romance thing.
There was no time to rue my language skills. From what I could see Anastacia was chatting to someone about Bar Hemingway which was closed during the day. She was trying to cajole him to let her peek in. She was fluttering her eyelashes, touching his arm and speaking breathily, but was met with stony silence. I suppressed a giggle, lifting my backpack to my face to edge past hoping she wouldn’t see me. Salon Marcel Proust was on my list, and Spa Chanel too. Bar Hemingway was a possibility but it didn’t open until much later, and I could always come back. Obviously Anastacia and I were thinking along the same lines, greats who’d made names for themselves in Paris and had ties with perfumers, either professionally or romantically.
I found the Spa Chanel first, and a beautiful French woman with the most luminous skin I’d ever seen welcomed me.
Before I could say anything Anastacia crept up behind me. I sensed malice in the air but didn’t have time to react.
She spoke in fluent French to the woman, so fast I couldn’t take a word of it in. Something about an appointment. The woman nodded and, taking a gold monogrammed fluffy bathrobe from a hook, she indicated I should undress and slip into the robe. Anastacia pushed me in the back and said, ‘Don’t waste time, the key could be in that robe!’
I didn’t trust her one bit, if the key was in the robe Anastacia would have nabbed it, that much I knew. She was setting me up, but in the glamourous spa I suddenly didn’t know what to do to extricate myself.
The spa was scented by essential oils burning unseen somewhere. Orange and patchouli, a reinvigorating blend that relaxed me with every inhalation, despite Anastacia’s attempts at sabotage.
‘Au revoir,’ Anastacia said as a parting shot.
‘Anastacia, wait! Tell her…’ But she was gone.
Soft music played overhead, some kind of relaxation soundtrack with lots of rain, or waterfalls, and light cymbals. The more I tried to relax the stiffer I became.
‘Please change.’ She left me to undress, and I took the time to quickly search the room for the envelope. Nothing, no key, no clues. The drawers only held linen, face washers and hand towels. The shelves had various tubs of creams, bottles of hair and skin products, I reached a hand behind them and they jiggled like bowling pins but still no key, as I righted them as best I could.
As footsteps approached I wrapped the gown over my clothes and jumped on the bed, not wanting to be caught snooping. Grimacing, I tried to steady my heart, and thought for one lonely second how utterly beguiling the Ritz was. I felt like a princess about to be thoroughly spoiled. Until reality set in. I couldn’t stay here! I wasn’t a guest, and I most certainly didn’t have time for this.
Before I could act the woman came back with a champagne menu (a champagne menu!) which I waved away politely.
‘I have to…’
‘Shh,’ she said softly, pushing my shoulders gently down, and securing a towelled headband to hold back my hair. Shoot. I shouldn’t have laid on the dang bed!
Before I could protest she was washing my face, toning my skin and applying some kind of mint scented moisturizer. It felt good, dammit!
‘Now concentrate on your breathing, and I’ll be right back.’ She threw me a look that implied she expected me to relax, but it was the small folder she’d left on the desk that caught my eye.
I’d just grabbed it when a familiar voice hissed, ‘What the hell are you doing, America?’
Lex! ‘Oh god, I don’t know! How did you get in here?’ The spa was private, each room a sumptuous oasis, and not one anyone could just lope in to.
‘I bribed the security guard! But look, I think you should leave…I saw Anastacia follow you!”
I groaned. ‘I know! I came in here to look for the key and then Anastacia came in behind me and spoke in rapid fire French to the woman.’ I spat the words, frantically looking over my shoulder in case she came back and caught us. I opened the folder hoping to see a key but instead say an eye-wateringly sky-high bill. Jesus, was she calculating her commission before the treatment had even finished? Oh lord, how was I going to pay? I’d have to sell my first child… I didn’t have a child, first or otherwise!
‘Why would the key be in here?’
‘It’s the Chanel Spa! Coco Chanel of Chanel No. 5 fame! Synonymous with perfume!’ I hissed. ‘She mentored Vincent Leclére…’
He tutted. ‘America, you have to get out of here. There’s no time for…’ He gesticulated at my face. ‘… For whatever that is, now get going!’
‘I know, god! I didn’t expect…’ The click clack of high heels rang out. Shoot!
‘Get up and go!’ he said frantically once more and made himself scarce.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said as the woman walked regally back into the room. ‘I have to go, an urgent business matter has cropped up.’ I tugged off the robe and gave her an apologetic smile, internally reeling at the thought of the unpaid bill. I didn’t even have a MasterCard with that much money on it let alone enough Euros in the backpack. Anastacia would answer for this!
The woman frowned, her perfect eyebrows pulling together. ‘You have to go…now?’
‘Oui!’
‘But I have applied moisturizing…’
I cut her off. ‘That’s great, I’ll leave it on for extra hydration. I promise I’ll come back.’ Never.
‘But…’
Fingers around the doorhandle, there was only her confusion peppering the air.
Eyes narrowing, she said, ‘What suite are you staying in?’
Suite? I didn’t have a suite! This was a disaster. ‘Erm… Four, seven, one, four.’
She frowned. Wait, weren’t the suites named after famous people? Too late!
‘Au revoir!’
I walked as fast as my legs could carry me without actually breaking into a run. As I passed people they edged backwards, and I wondered why I was so out of place here. Could they sense I was a foreigner? Perhaps I was walking too fast, tourists sort of meandered here.
Out front, with hands on hips, I took great big gulps of air, adrenaline pulsing through me with the craziness of it all. I had not handled that well! Really, I hadn’t banked on a contestant sabotaging me quite so openly.
‘Oh my god, what happened?’
I glanced up sharply at Lila, a shy contestant I hadn’t spoken to yet, who was staring at me her eyes wide. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your face.’
All these strange looks were starting to hammer at my confidence a little and now this? Everyone was a critic. ‘I’m just a little out of breath, my cheeks go red when I run.’
‘They’re green.’
‘Green? What!’ I tentatively touched my face and my fingers came away a defiant mint colour.
‘You look like the Hulk,’ she said helpfully.
She must’ve put a face mask on! So much for the moisturizer or whatever the hell she was going on about.
‘Have you got any tissues?’ I asked, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. I calmed myself, it was only Lila, no one bar her need see this next level of mortification – well, aside from all the people I’d rushed by inside the Ritz and everyone in the square out front. Also the people on the hop on/hop off tour buses driving past. And those with zoom lenses. Argh!
As I tried to formulate an explanation a car pulled up directly in front of us, and out got Sebastien himself. Why universe, WHY!! I debated whether to run, but he’d already noticed me, I could tell by the barely suppressed smile on his face. Dammit!
Come to Paris, they said, you’ll learn the art of sophistication, they said! You’ll learn why French women are so graceful, so poised, you’ll learn all of that and more, UNLESS YOU’RE DEL! I hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours, and I’d managed to draw his attention for all the wrong reasons.
‘Hey,’ I said to him as if my face was not distinctly green. As if I was just your average American girl, enjoying the French summer day.
‘Bonjour, Del, Lila. Erm, Del, you have a little…’ He tapped his cheek, his nose, his forehead, his chin. Would I ever live this down?
I folded my arms, trying not to look defensive. ‘Sun block on, I know. I don’t cook for looks, no matter if I’m in Paris, fashion capital of the world, or hell itself. I take my skincare very seriously.’
‘I see,’ he said, pinching his chin. ‘And you don’t like the regular sun block? The one you can’t see?’
‘No, not strong enough. UV is everywhere,’ I said seriously. ‘And this is top of the range, expensive stuff.’
Lila guffawed but I shot her down with a look that conveyed how very close to the edge I was. Golly, Paris was really pushing my buttons and this wasn’t helping. I could see the day slipping away from me.
‘If there’s nothing else?’ I said, my voice tart.
Sebastien shook his head. ‘Nothing else. I’m late for my appointment so I’ll leave you to it.’
I gulped. ‘An appointment?’ Mouse like. ‘Here?’
His lips curved into a half smile. ‘Oui, here.’
Heat rushed my face. It would be a million to one that his appointment was in the Chanel Spa. He didn’t look like the type of man who got manicures, but really what did I know about men? Most likely he was meeting a friend for a tête-à-tête in one of the lavish restaurants. A business meeting. Or a game of racquetball? Slugging whisky and telling tall tales, more like.
But how to find out for sure? ‘I’ve heard the food here is excellent.’
‘Of course, it’s the Ritz. But I’m not here to eat, I’m getting my weekly remedial massage.’
‘A massage…in the Chanel Spa?’ Holy mother of god.
‘Oui. I have an old tennis injury, the massages help.’
Do not panic, I told myself, panicking. I’d skipped out on the bill! Would they discuss the girl with the green face who went running from the Ritz? What would Sebastien think of me? As some kind of thief who runs out on her bills? I wanted to cup my green face and wail.
‘Well, enjoy!’ I trilled. I had to get away. I had to put as much distance between myself and this place as humanly possible. Again, he had that same bemused look on his face as I rushed away. Aware I was scaring people, I ran to find a bathroom and make myself presentable again. Eventually I found one that had a monstrous queue which gave me plenty of time to berate myself and fill my sister in by text.
Her reply came back within minutes and once I scrolled past the crying laughing emojis, it read: OMG, Del! Send me a pic before you wash it off! I am rolling laughing. It sounds like you’re having a great time! xxx
A great time? Did she not read my text? In my haste to leave I’d managed to walk close to the Seine, so next on the list was the famous bookshop, Once Upon a Time.