The Secret Ways of Perfume by Cristina Caboni Page A

inside and came back to the terrace carrying a long metal tube. He positioned it on a stand and adjusted it. A moment later, peering through the telescope, his own world seemed distant, black and, in some strange way, brilliant.
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    â€œDid you find it all? The shopping, the sheets? Did you sleep well?”
    â€œYes, don’t worry. I found everything and I slept like a log. But tell me about this house. How old is it?”
    Monique sighed. “It’s very old—two or three hundred years, I think. It used to belong to some nobleman who lost his head.”
    â€œOver a woman?”
    â€œNo, on the guillotine.”
    Elena shivered. “That’s not funny!”
    â€œIt wasn’t meant to be. That’s what happened; it’s hardly my fault. And besides, the masters’ quarters were in another section of the building. There’s no ghost wandering around your part of the house, trust me.”
    â€œIs that why you’d rather pay to rent somewhere else than live in your own house? Haven’t you got over your fear of ghosts yet?”
    Monique snorted. “Don’t be silly! Anyway, as soon as you’ve sorted yourself out we’ll find you something more suitable.”
    â€œNo. I like it here, really. May we leave things as they are for now? Let’s say I’m taking a holiday. I’m not ready to make any long-term plans. If I find a job, maybe I will stay in Paris, Monie. Otherwise I’ll just go back to Florence.”
    Unfortunately, Monique still had no definite news for her. Philippe hadn’t told her anything about the application and she didn’t want to call Jacques. She was sure that, with her contacts, she would find Elena a decent job sooner or later, but that wasn’t enough. Monique had wanted to be like Elena for so long, she couldn’t let a talent like her friend’s go to waste. Narcissus was definitely the right place. She just had to work out how to convince Jacques.
    â€œOK, relax,” she said now. “I’ll come and pick you up tonight. Is around seven all right for you?”
    Elena stretched, still wrapped in the goosedown duvet. “Seven sounds great.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go out for a bit? The Marais has everything. Go to rue des Rosiers, buy yourself lunch and eat it outside—it tastes different, trust me.”
    Elena thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Today I’ll be a tourist,” she replied, looking at the fierce morning light streamingin through the curtainless windows. “See you at seven, then. Have a good day.”
    She closed her mobile and sat up. As she did so, a sudden stomach cramp made her groan. She put a hand over her mouth and sprang out of bed. She stayed kneeling by the toilet even after the retching had stopped. Her stomach was still in turmoil. The bout of nausea had passed, but she was gripped by stomach cramps so violent it was as if she hadn’t eaten for days.
    She slipped under a hot shower. Ten minutes later, while she was drying her hair, she decided to go out anyway. She could have breakfast in one of the bistros she’d spied the night before. And she could buy some aspirin. She picked out a comfortable pair of jeans, a white linen shirt and a red cardigan. Leaving her hair loose over her shoulders, she put on a layer of moisturizer and a dab of mascara. Then she decided to add some lipstick, too.
    â€œIn honor of Paris,” she declared, addressing the mirror.
    She picked up her bag and went downstairs. As she was walking through the living room to the door, she let herself imagine what the space could really be like. And she surprised herself: these were the thoughts of someone who wanted to stay, organize and create things.
    â€œDon’t go making long-term plans. It won’t do you any good,” she chided herself, closing the door behind her.
    In daylight, the entranceway