The Scent Keeper(51)
I thought about the father I’d known—the way he’d cared for those bottles in the drawers as if they held the whole world. If he was a con man, as so many people seemed to believe, then why his love for the scent-papers? Why such personal agony when their smells began to disappear? And if his invention was a failure that took his life down with it, why didn’t he hate that machine, destroy it, the way I had? He’d had as much, if not more, justification. None of it made any sense.
Then there was the other issue. Why had he never told me about Victoria Wingate, if he loved her as much as that article seemed to say?
I remembered when I was little and I’d asked my father why I didn’t have a mother. Because you have me, he’d said. I hadn’t asked again. Now I wanted to know.
* * *
The next time I could get to the computer, I did a search for Victoria Wingate. There was a blank period of five years or so after Scentography’s bankruptcy, but then the hits began to accumulate again, often in connection with a new perfume.
It wasn’t until 2010 that I found a full article devoted to her, however.
VICTORIA WINGATE ENTERS NEW TERRITORY WITH INSPIRE, INC.
THE DAILY SUN
OCTOBER 28, 2010
Victoria Wingate is more than a classic success story. Ten years ago, her company, Scentography, collapsed amidst allegations of fraud. Wingate spent the next decade fighting her way back into a position as one of the fragrance industry’s most respected noses.
Now, with her new venture, Inspire, Inc., she is bringing scent branding front and center to retail marketing, creating unique olfactory environments for stores, hotels, even restaurants.
“Smell is our most powerful sense. It taps directly into our emotions,” she said in a recent interview. “Why not use it to subliminally enhance a customer’s experience? At Scentography, we care right down to the last detail.”
Studies have proven that smell is a powerful marketing tool. Want to make customers linger in a store? Adding clementine and vanilla to the air can make us underestimate how long we’ve been shopping by 26 percent. A survey of Las Vegas casinos revealed that infusing slot machine areas with an appealing fragrance increased the amount gamblers spent by an astonishing 45 percent.
Scent branding is estimated to be an over 300-million-dollar industry, and Wingate claims she has a list of well-known clients, although she cites privacy concerns when asked to name them. She asks for discretion as well when asked about her former business partner and husband, John Hartfell, who disappeared more than ten years ago with their infant daughter.
“I’ve had no choice but to move on,” she says. “Inspire, Inc., is my way to focus on the future.”
* * *
I sat, staring at the screen, trying to take in everything I’d read. There was only one thing that stuck, however.
She stopped looking for me, I thought. She didn’t even say my name.
I thought of Fisher. Of my father. I knew what it was like to have someone you love disappear from your life. How could my mother have given up?
The bell rang and the librarian looked over.
“Time to go,” she said.
I closed the page and turned off the computer. The screen went dark, and I could see myself in the reflection. Black curls, pale skin—my mother’s daughter.
The difference between us was that I would never stop looking.
THE SHIRT
The next day was Saturday. It was early November, the weather turning cold and wet. When I went into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Fisher’s mother sitting at the table drinking coffee with Colette, their heads close together. I hadn’t seen Maridel since that last morning at the hospital.
It’s your fault he’s gone, I thought, bristling.
Colette turned to me. “There you are, Emmeline,” she said. “Now that you’re over your stomach flu, it’s time for a deep clean of the cottages. They need new paint, and the curtains could use a wash. Maridel’s going to come on weekends and help you.” Her voice was loving, as always, but brooked no dissent. Apparently my punishment for stealing Henry’s boat had only been delayed, not eradicated.
“Dodge and I are getting a bit old for that heavy-duty stuff,” Colette added, reaching down to pat his head. He looked over at me. He’d been more watchful since I got back. He still came to my room at night, but instead of lying by the bed, he settled just inside the door, as if to block me from leaving.
“Is that okay with you?” Maridel asked. She looked tired and even thinner, if that were possible. I knew she still lived with her husband. I still didn’t understand why, though, and I knew Fisher hadn’t, either. So much was still hidden.
But as I observed Colette’s raised and waiting eyebrows, the one thing that was obvious was that I would be working with Maridel, whether it was okay with me or not.
“Sure,” I said.
* * *
Colette started us on the blue cottage. The last time I’d been inside had been the last day of summer, and I’d been trying hard not to think about Fisher. So much had happened since then, and yet, here I was again, cleaning the same cottage, still wondering if Fisher was okay. Some things never seemed to change.
It was cold, so Maridel and I moved briskly until the wall heater did its work. We headed toward the bed to take off its covers, and Maridel went instinctively to the side I’d always taken when I changed sheets with Fisher.