Chapter 18

18

PRESENT DAY

Blake still wasn’t used to the feel of Henri’s hand in hers, but she was certainly starting to like it. She glanced up at him, taking in his side profile as they walked along the street towards the café, finding it hard to believe that he’d decided to come with her. They’d had the most magical few days at the chateau, and although they’d stayed longer than planned, they’d also decided to make the four-hour drive to Provins to see if they could find out more about Evelina Lavigne. The following day, they’d head back to Lyon, but Henri had been as eager as she was to find out more. All she’d discovered so far, after hours of Google searching, was that Evelina had been married to a fashion designer named Théo Devereaux, but she was divorced well before Blake’s grandmother could have been conceived.

The town of Provins was not what she expected, and she couldn’t stop looking around and stopping. The buildings were medieval-style and perfectly preserved, and she couldn’t help but feel as if they’d stepped back in time as they walked along the winding cobbled streets. The locals had all been quick to smile, clearly used to visitors and perhaps appreciating the money they spent in their small town.

‘I can see why so many tourists like coming here,’ she said. ‘The architecture alone is incredible.’

‘I agree,’ Henri said. ‘I feel as much of a tourist as you are, I’ve never been here before.’

The café was busy as they approached, with almost all the outdoor seats full, and half the pavement taken up by dogs lying at their owners’ feet as they sipped their coffees. They went in and Henri ordered for them both as Blake watched on, only knowing for sure that he was asking about Evelina when he heard him say her name.

The waitress shrugged and shook her head, but she did point to an older lady who was sitting by the window.

‘What did she say?’ Blake asked.

‘That we should ask the woman over there. She’s apparently lived here her whole life.’

The woman had silver-grey hair pulled back into a bun, and she wore a simple striped top with a navy-blue scarf tied around her neck. Once again, Blake did the talking, but when he asked her if she spoke English—one of the phrases that Blake did recognise—the woman replied in heavily accented English.

‘My friend here, she’s searching for her great-grandmother, and we believe she was from Provins,’ Henri said. ‘You’ve lived here your whole life?’

The woman nodded. ‘Oui,’ she said. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘Do you recognise the name Evelina Lavigne?’

‘Lavigne?’ the woman smiled. ‘Yes, I remember the family. They grew roses, just outside the village.’

‘Did you ever meet the daughter? Evelina?’ Blake asked.

‘They had three daughters, and one of them came home to keep growing the roses. She made perfume from them.’

Blake’s breath caught and she glanced at Henri, who raised his eyebrows in reply. She was closer than she’d ever been to discovering the truth about Evelina.

‘Did you ever meet her?’ Blake asked. ‘Or her sisters?’

‘I knew them to say hello, but not well. All I know is that she was gone for many, many years, and then suddenly, after her parents had both passed away, she came home.’

‘When you say home,’ Henri asked, ‘you are meaning home to Provins, or that she returned to a specific house?’

‘To the rose gardens,’ the woman said with a sigh, as if Henri wasn’t listening properly. ‘The family owned the rose gardens, the ones that were donated to the village. It’s why half the people come here, to see them. You don’t know about the roses?’

Blake couldn’t believe it; they had come to the right town, and they’d managed to discover another piece of Evelina’s past.

‘These rose gardens, we can visit them?’ Blake asked. ‘They’re open to the public?’

She nodded. ‘Everyone can visit the gardens.’

‘Thank you,’ Blake said. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Merci!’ Henri called, as they turned to go and sit at a nearby empty table.

Their coffees arrived soon after they were seated, and Blake blinked back at Henri, hardly able to believe their luck. But she realised that she needed to do more than just write about what had transpired—she needed photos, as well.

‘Would you ask her one more thing?’ Blake said to Henri. ‘I would love a photo with her, showing where we are.’

‘Of course,’ He stood and went straight over to the woman, and Blake watched as he asked her, smiling and touching her shoulder as she nodded. He had clearly flirted his way into receiving a yes, but she didn’t care how he’d got her permission, so long as he had it.

Blake gave him her phone and stood beside the woman, grinning as he took the photo.

‘Merci, merci,’ she said, as the old woman just laughed and walked away, as if she found it all highly amusing.

‘Drink that coffee fast, Blake,’ Henri said once they were sitting again. ‘We have rose gardens to visit.’

‘We certainly do.’

‘And then we have a room to explore,’ he said. ‘Although I wish we’d been able to stay in a hotel rather than a B she wasn’t just another villager. It was the reason she’d sought them out after hearing they’d been asking questions—Evelina had meant something to her.

‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,’ Blake said.

‘Félicité,’ the lady replied.

‘And who exactly were you, to Evelina? What was your connection?’

Félicité paused, looking past Evelina to the gravestone. ‘I worked for her, in the gardens here. I helped her to collect the very best roses for her perfume.’

‘You were close to her?’ Henri asked.

‘She was a very reserved woman, liked to keep to herself, but there was something about her. I don’t even know how to explain it, but it was as if she had a fire burning inside of her, and other times there was also a great sadness about her. Nothing was going to stop her from making her perfume.’ She paused. ‘Evelina also had great empathy towards other women, especially young women. She paid for some local girls to travel to Paris to attend university, although she wanted no thanks for it. If she could have made the donations anonymously, she would have.’

‘Did she ever mention her life in Paris?’ Blake asked, intrigued to hear what Evelina had done for young women and whether she’d ever returned to Paris herself. ‘Specifically, when she was designing clothes?’

Félicité shook her head. ‘She never spoke of it, not to me, and I would never have asked. It was none of my business what she’d been doing while she was away.’

‘Do you have any idea where we could buy a bottle of her perfume?’ Blake asked. ‘Was it only the one fragrance, or were there more?’

‘There was only the one. Evelina became unwell soon after the perfume was unveiled, and although she fought her illness for many, many years, she never created another scent,’ Félicité said. ‘As for where you could find a bottle? I wouldn’t think there would be any left in circulation. It’s been many years now since it’s been for sale.’

‘Well, thank you for all the information, it’s been fascinating,’ Blake said. ‘I came here hoping to find out as much as possible about Evelina, and you’ve been a great help.’

The older woman narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not here to cause trouble, are you? Because Miss Evelina, she wanted to leave this estate to the village, and we don’t need anyone making a fuss. She might have kept to herself, but she was a good woman. A kind-hearted woman.’

Blake stifled a laugh. She very much doubted that she and Henri looked as if they were going to cause any trouble anywhere, although she was pleased to hear that Evelina had been so highly thought of.

‘We’re staying the night in the village, and then we’ll be on our way,’ Henri replied. ‘I can promise you that we don’t intend to cause any trouble.’

‘Oh, before you go,’ Blake said. ‘You’re certain you have the name of her perfume correct?’

‘Ma Fille,’ Félicité replied. ‘It was called Ma Fille.’

‘And you didn’t think that was strange?’ Henri asked. ‘That she didn’t have a daughter, yet chose that name?’

The woman gave Henri a sharp stare. ‘It wouldn’t do anyone any good to have those rumours starting again. Evelina has been gone a long time, and everyone around these parts is very protective of her legacy.’

‘I understand. It’s not our intention to ruffle any feathers.’

It didn’t take long for the old woman to shuffle off, and Blake watched her leave, imagining how quickly gossip would spread through Provins about the English girl who’d come with fresh whispers of Evelina having a daughter. It was bound to cause quite a stir, of that she was almost certain, and she knew that there was no way the old woman was going to keep such news to herself.

‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Henri said, ‘but all I can think about is how much I want to get my hands on a bottle of that perfume.’

‘The name of the perfume has to relate to my grandmother, don’t you think?’ Blake asked. ‘And the sign in the rose gardens at the very beginning, presumably the rose that was used for the perfume, it has to be for her. I wasn’t sure before, but it must have been for Evelina’s daughter.’

‘It’s like she came back here and dedicated everything she did thereafter to her daughter,’ Henri mused. ‘Or at least, that’s what it seems like to me.’

‘But why didn’t she just keep her? Why didn’t she bring her home with her?’

‘That’s something you’ll most likely never know. All I can suggest is that it was a different time, and perhaps it simply wasn’t done then? Or maybe she dedicated everything to her daughter as a way of coping with her regrets?’

‘Maybe,’ Blake said. ‘But now I have more questions than answers, even though I know so much more than I did yesterday.’

She took her phone out and snapped a couple of photos of the gravestone, and she would get Henri to take some photos of her standing by the roses before they left. She had enough to create some great material; she only wished that she’d been able to find someone who’d known about how she came to be parted from her daughter.

‘Hopefully my mother will have discovered more while we’ve been gone—she said she still had a few calls to make,’ Henri said, holding out his hand for her. She clasped her palm to his as they walked. ‘I know you feel like you don’t have the answers yet, but don’t give up.’

She leaned into him as they walked, grateful to not be on the journey alone. Although it wasn’t lost on her that she would have to return to London soon, which meant that this might be one of her last days with Henri.

How could she bear to leave him now?