A door to the side of the desk appears to lead into a small, modern laboratory. She catches the glint of glass test tubes and bottles within. There is also an open wooden box on Philippe’s desk containing four neat rows of glass phials. He explains that the day-to-day running of the business is undertaken in the South of France and in central Paris, but that he still likes to keep his hand– or rather, his nose– in.
Philippe gestures to two chairs by a low table. He sits down and hands her a coffee, before leaning back and crossing one long leg elegantly over the other.
‘Thank you so much for meeting me,’ Emma says.
‘It’s my pleasure. It sounds like an intriguing project,’ Philippe comments. ‘Tell me, have you found your florist on theTitanicyet?’
She puts her coffee cup down and tells Philippe about their investigation and what she has concluded, although out of shyness she stops short of mentioning her feeling of connection with Violet. Her thoughts flit to Alistair, and she glances down at her phone, before continuing. ‘I was fascinated by what you wrote about the phials of perfumes from theTitanic.’ She looks around the room, smiling. ‘I’m surprised you don’t have flowers in here.’ She knows Philippe is a world expert on floral fragrances.
‘I keep flowers away from this room– indeed, anything that might interfere with my ability to smell the fragrances I’m studying. I shouldn’t really be drinking coffee, but…’ He shrugs. It is the type of shrug Parisians are famous for, but which you hardly ever see.
She draws a deep breath, unsure what to ask next, half fearing the debilitating shyness of old will resurface.
But she needn’t have worried, Philippe dives into the subject that has been his lifelong passion. ‘I think from the moment we started making perfumes, flowers were vital because they were the most obvious source of natural fragrance. In ancient times, it was through fragrance people spoke to the gods. And sometimes,’ Philippe smiles, ‘when I smell an exquisite floral fragrance, I believe the gods are speaking to me.’
Emma feels herself relax. ‘So you think flowers are part of sending messages?’
‘Yes– even if it is simply the message you want to convey about yourself by the perfume you wear.’
‘Do you have a favourite floral fragrance?’ she asks.
Philippe gets up and walks over to a large cupboard. He pulls open the doors to reveal rows of shallow drawers. As he slides one towards him, Emma can see they are divided into sections, each one containing a perfume bottle. He selects one.
Then Philippe talks at length about his own journey through fragrance, what inspired him and how he built his business. Their conversation delves into the chemistry of perfume making, and this, and his gentle charm, puts Emma completely at her ease. It is some time later that she remembers why she came here in the first place. She puts down the perfume bottle she is holding.
‘How did you find out about the perfume phials on theTitanic?’ she asks.
‘A journalist came to me– he had heard about them being brought to the surface.’
‘What were they doing aboard in the first place?’
‘A German perfume maker, Adolph Saalfeld, was travelling to New York in the hope of making his name in the American market. The phials belonged to him.’
‘And they lay intact for all those years?’
‘Some were broken of course, but they eventually rescued three leather satchels containing, I believe, twenty phials.’
‘And you have seen them?’
Just by his smile, she knows that he has.
‘You could still actually smell the perfume?’
‘Yes, but it was so much more than just a perfume. I am not sure the journalist I was talking to really understood that. It was Adolph Saalfeld’s work– the hopes this man had for the future. It was theTitanic, an era encapsulated in a scent.’
‘They say the flowers on board theTitanicfilled the rooms with a fragrance so beautiful that it reminded passengers of the Riviera,’ she tells him.
‘Ah, that is fascinating. Now that would really be the true fragrance of theTitanic.’ His eyes gleam, and she wonders if he would like to recreate that fragrance. ‘Can you tell me more about the flowers they used?’
She takes him through the flowers she knows about and those she imagines would be on board based on the season and what was available and fashionable in 1912. He makes notes in a small black book with a slim silver pencil.
As he writes, it occurs to her that Roberto was right: people like to be asked for their help, especially– she’s thinking of Alistair– when they share a common interest.
Emma looks down at the time on her phone. ‘I am so sorry, Philippe– I’ve kept you for hours.’
‘Not at all. It has been thoroughly enjoyable. Please, will you join me for something to eat and drink?’
Emma doesn’t even try to put up a fight.
