The Perfumer

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

What a shame the lilac flower jealously guards its aroma, refusing to share its magic. Relying on alchemy, a perfumer recalls its impression with a blend. Together, the essences of jasmine, ylang-ylang, neroli, and vanilla plot to mimic the fair lilac flower. –DB

4 September, 1939 - Southampton, England

Across the spartan brick-lined immigration center through which visitors to England passed on their way into the country, Jon searched the crowded winding queues of hundreds of weary souls. Where the devil is she? He ran a hand through his hair, praying she hadn’t been on the lifeboat that sank. He and Max had been up all night, desperate to find her. She wasn’t on board his vessel, and even he couldn’t get a message through to the British destroyer.

After being approved by Immigration, Max was taken in for questioning by the British authorities. Jon had promised him that he’d continue searching for Danielle.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since the ship had gone down. Did she make it? He’d never forgive himself if she hadn’t. He couldn’t imagine Danielle not fighting to survive, but then, he’d known many strong sailors who’d been bested by the frigid waters of the North Atlantic.

Then he saw her and relief surged through him. She stood with a blanket wrapped around her willowy frame, her auburn hair slicked from her forehead and hanging in a tangled rope down her back.

He caught his breath, not because of her bedraggled appearance, but rather because of the way she stood, so straight and tall. Courageous.

She looked regal in her woolen blanket, her face set with determination. Her chin lifted defiantly. No other woman had ever made his pulse quicken like her.

When he moved closer, he saw the intensity of her gaze as she looked about the room. Her eyes were the color of Colombian emeralds, with fiery sparks that would make any man think twice about crossing her.

If only I’d met her before she married Max. Heat prickled his neck. He stopped, and checked his thoughts. Don’t be a fool. He was practically engaged to Victoria. But what was the harm in looking?

Against a bright overhead light, Danielle saw Jon. Her eyes snagged on his height, the broad span of his shoulders. She waved and pressed through the crowd, her heart surging.

Jon wrapped his arms around her, his lips brushed her forehead. Relieved, she clung to him, felt the steady sureness of his heartbeat. She drew away to put a proper distance between them. “They can’t find Max’s name on the list. Have you seen him?”

Jon looked down at her, his bleary eyes bloodshot and damp.

She sucked in her breath. Not Max. “No, no,” she murmured.

“Max is fine, Danielle. He was incredible, helping so many people to safety. Along with the captain, we were the last off the ship.”

“Where is he?” Danielle gripped his jacket lapel. “I must see him.”

“He’s being questioned.” Jon chuckled. “He gave the investigators quite a start. They think he looks like Edward, the Duke of Windsor. But I assured them, he’s not a Nazi sympathizer.”