‘You make perfume? I didn’t know that.’

‘It’s a secret talent,’ I joked. ‘Smell it and then match it to the book.’

I handed him the bottle and as he sniffed I slid the piece of paper with the four titles on it in front of him.

‘It’s based on one of these,’ I said. ‘Which one do you think?’

Barely glancing at the list, and without a second’s hesitation, he responded, ‘The Awakening.’

‘What? That’s incredible.’ I felt a sudden rush of pleasure, delight that my simple experiment had captured the fragrant essence of the novel and communicated it to someone else. I could feel myself blush with pride at my accomplishment. And then I saw my copy of Chopin’s book on the table near the samples.

‘You cheated!’

‘No.’

‘You did. You saw the book!’

He gave a ‘what can I say’ shrug and sniffed the bottle again.

‘Can I try a bit on my skin?’ he asked.

‘Better not. It needs to be diluted in a carrier oil before it’s safe to wear. But you could put a bit on your hanky and sniff that.’

I knew he’d have a hanky. And I was right. A freshly laundered, folded square that looked as if it had never been used.

‘I like it. It smells kind of like cake, doesn’t it? Like Christmas cake fresh out of the oven.’

‘That’s the carnation and cloves, they add spice. I was thinking of the reference to pinks at the end of the novel, when Edith’s drowning and her thoughts wander back to her childhood home.’

‘Pink. The colour?’

‘No, the flowers. Pinks.’

Jerome shrugged and shook his head as if it were all news to him.

‘There’s something a bit harsh in there. What’s that?’

I took the bottle and sniffed, then dabbed a drop on my wrist.

‘Probably the lavender. People often describe it as screechy but I find it very relaxing.’

Jerome dipped a blotter, a narrow strip of heavy absorbent paper, into the bottle, then fanned it in front of his nose. He closed his eyes as he sniffed. ‘My English grandmother used to make lavender bags for the church fair when I was a kid. I can still picture them, small drawstring bags made from scraps of floral material with purple ribbon ties. She made hundreds of them and they were in all the cupboards and drawers. They smelt scratchy and purple. Very purple.’

I passed the juice under my nose once more. ‘Did you get anything bright from the perfume? I used bergamot to lift it.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what bergamot is.’

‘It’s citrus. It’s in Earl Grey tea, an orangey-lemon scent.’

He closed his eyes and sniffed again, the corners of his mouth tipping down in concentration. ‘No, it mainly smells purple with fruit cake.’