careful.
âLetâs get out of here, Monie, come on,â she said, quickly heading toward the open glass doors. Then a wave of dizziness stopped her in her tracks. What was happening? Could it be the perfumes?
Sheâd always managed to keep them at bay. She had learned early on to ignore them, pushing them to the sidelines. From the age of twelve, sheâd always been the one to decide when and how much they mattered. Sheâd loved them, feared them and then learned to control them.
But that morning, she realized, the perfumes were getting the better of her, dragging her back, making her remember, making her look at things sheâd rather not see.
âAre you all right, Elena? You look awful. Youâre not thinking about that idiot Matteo again, are you?â Monique took her by the arm and got her to stand still.
Struggling to compose herself, Elena looked at the high stone walls, followed their outline to focus on the steel beams. Ancient and modern. A match that might seem jarring, but which was actually charming and full of character.
âAnd stop staring at the walls. I wonât leave you alone until you tell me whatâs wrong.â
Elena looked at Monique, then laughed, putting her face in her hands. âHas anyone ever told you youâre like a bulldog?â
The other girl shrugged â
Oui
.â She tapped her finger on her bottom lip. âItâs called character,
chérie
. So, tell me whatâs got into you today. Youâre even weirder than usual.â
A sigh swept away the tension between the two women.
âItâs the perfumes. I canât stand them today.â
Monique burst out laughing. âYouâre joking, right?â
But Elena wasnât smiling anymore, and her eyes were watery and tired.
âListen,â Monique said, wagging her finger, âI need your skills. I need a nose, or the nearest thing I can get. If I go back to Paris without a truly original creation, Jacques . . . Things arenât how they used to be between us, Elena. I want to surprise him. I want him to respect me.â
âIâm not a nose, Monique,â Elena objected, trying to control the wave of nausea rising from her stomach.
Her friend pursed her lips. âNo, youâre much more than that. You donât just smell an essence, you see beyond it. Perfume holds no secrets for you.â
âAnd you think thatâs an advantage, do you?â Elena asked bitterly. The words left her lips before she could stop them, before she could suppress them and hide them. Nose or not, Elena didnât want her sense of smell to run her life. It had already taken her childhood, and sheâd decided that that was all she was prepared to give it.
Rationality, thatâs what she needed. She had to think; she had to react.
There was a mixture of exasperation and patience in Moniqueâs voice as she replied, âYes, it probably would be an advantage, even if you looked after sheep for a living. Youâd be able to sniff out foxes. But as it happens, youâre a perfumier, and a damn good one. And you know enough about perfume to be able to find something unique for me, a composition that will really give my boss something to think about, set a new trend. Something to add to the Narcissus line. Iâm not kiddingâI really do need you. Will you help me?â
Elena looked around. A light breeze brought the scent of Florence in over her shoulder; it smelled of sun-baked tiles, dreams and traditions, whispered love and hope.
She blinked, took a deep breath and gave in.
Sheâd never been able to stand up to Monique. Her friend had been bossing her around ever since they were little, when they had had their first race, running through streams in the Provence countryside, and ended up tumbling in a heap.
Thatâs how they met, in the middle of the wild mint bushes, not far from the workers collecting the flowers.