We spent a few more minutes speaking about Renate and Desna, and then Jerome manoeuvred the conversation back to his funding. ‘I’m going to buy out all my teaching so I can concentrate on the project. Are you interested?’

My heart missed a beat. ‘What?’

‘Are you interested in taking over my teaching and being my wingman on the research? It’s a three-year project. You could come back and be my assistant. It’s well paid. What do you think?’

I could go back.

I’ve been unable to sleep, thinking about Jerome’s offer. Of course I should grab the opportunity to return to academia. Two or three years’ employment, slipping back into the university environment, doing the thing I am good at: teaching and research. I could re-establish myself and then, from a position of security, apply to other universities when my contract approaches its end. I’d be stupid not to take up his offer. I’d have financial security and my life could return to normal, just like before.

This past evening, after working all day in the orchard, I was so sore I could barely move. The weather forecast isn’t good, hail is predicted, and we’ve been working extra hard to bring in the fruit. I was so tired I couldn’t face preparing dinner but made myself a sandwich, which I took outside and ate while the other pickers complained about the day and discussed their plans for the rest of the season once the apricots are done. The names of their favourite apple orchards were passed around, and those who had past experience promised to put in a good word for those new to the crop. I thought no one had noticed me, but Ross asked if I was interested in the apple harvest. When I hesitated, he said, ‘It’s hard work but the temperature’s cooler so it seems less tiring than apricots, unless the frosts hit, that is. Some of us make cider, which is a bonus, if you’re tempted? The apples smell good, too …’ When I didn’t respond immediately, he asked, ‘You must be working on a new perfume. What is it?’

I was going to fob him off with the easy answer, a perfume built around the smell of the orchard and the sweet briar on the hillside, but instead I said slowly, ‘A signature scent. I’m trying to finish a perfume that summons up my identity. A perfume that explains who I am, that captures my personality and makes me feel whole.’

I inhaled, and the residue of the long day entered my nose: ripe apricots, earth and dust, warm grass, sun lotion, sweat, the poplars, the faintly dank air rising up from the dam, and the fresher water from the sprinklers.

‘You don’t feel whole?’ asked Rosemary. ‘How is it possible not to feel whole when you have this?’

SCENTED

Base Notes:

Oakmoss

Benzoin

Ambergris

Heart Notes:

Willow

Ivy

Tarata

Top Notes:

Osmanthus

Apple

Briar rose

Dilute in jojoba oil