A Perfect Heritage by Penny Vincenzi

Author:Penny Vincenzi [Vincenzi, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: General, Contemporary Women, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780755377619
Google: vze1ngEACAAJ
Amazon: B00FAT9HD2
Publisher: Review
Published: 2014-06-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

It was beautiful. So, so beautiful. She had forgotten the magic of it, the richness, the sexiness.

She looked at the bottle as it lay there, folded carefully into a cream lace bedjacket in her blue satin nightdress case. It was ten years since she had even unwrapped it.

Of course it was dangerous, what she had done: opening Pandora’s box literally. It might have all been lost. And of course darling Daniel wasn’t there to ask. She had asked his son though, had rung him that evening, and he had said, yes, it should be fine, just very quickly, a tiny bit, put it on your wrist and then put the stopper back.

Sealed and in a cool dark place, that had been Daniel’s instructions for storage, all those years ago. Well, her bedroom was cool because she loathed warm bedrooms. And she had kept the other, equally carefully wrapped, in Caro’s christening robe, in the drawer at the bottom of her wardrobe.

She had made that perfume, created it with Daniel, who looked like a poet, and talked like one too, about the emotion in a perfume and the sanctity. Such nonsense. But he said it so beautifully, gazing into her eyes as he did so. She was half in love with him, of course, their sessions together a physical as well as a romantic delight, as he stroked the latest versions, the precious oils, on to her skin, on her wrist, the back of her neck, just above the valley of her breasts. He said he agreed with Chanel that perfume should be worn wherever you wanted to be kissed. And then kissed those places to prove it.

Cornelius loathed him, said that whatever Daniel created, however beautiful, he would never agree to market it.

‘It’s a dangerous place, the perfume industry, has lost people vast fortunes. Ours is not vast, and we can’t afford to lose it.’

‘But it will be,’ she said, for these were the early years, when they could do no wrong, ‘and then we will develop it, my perfume, and we will call it Athina, and it will be the one product I can claim as entirely my own.’

For it had been her idea to produce a perfume, seeing it as the passport to a higher quality image, a more prestige range. It was the late sixties and they had been a great success for almost fifteen years. Cornelius had humoured her, telling her to see what she could come up with, promising he would give it his serious consideration if it was wonderful enough. And it was, it had been wonderful, and she had never quite been able to forgive him for not going ahead and launching it on the world.

She had met Daniel at a Christmas trade fair, at a small stall where he had set up his perfumier’s organ, with his name on a card at the top of it: Daniel Chagard, perfumier. The organ was set with rows of tiny bottles, and he was

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