in the Middle Ages, the town of Grasse was a center for tanning sheepskins from herds in the mountains of Provence,” he told me. “They used herbs to treat the leather. So, later, when Catherine de’ Medici arrived from Italy to become France’s queen, she asked the tanners of Grasse to make fine perfumed gloves, which were all the fashion. So the tanners became gantiers parfumeurs . In the process, they also became highly skilled makers of scent, using the especially fine flowers and herbs from this region.”
“And so, perfumed gloves from Grasse became a status symbol for the whole world’s royalty, nobility and wealthy merchants,” Tante Leonora interjected proudly.
The other guests appeared familiar with this story, and now the elderly doctor chimed in, offering, “They say it was also Catherine de’ Medici who first taught the French to eat with a knife and fork.” He held up his fork to make the point. Glancing over at Jeremy, his eyes twinkled as he added, “Of course the English took a bit longer to learn. One still hears that they haven’t quite got it right, what with scooping up their peas on the knife.”
He beamed at their resident Englishman; and Jeremy took the joke with good grace. The doctor’s white- haired wife reached out and patted Jeremy’s hand soothingly, as if to assure him that the insult wasn’t serious, and she did so in a highly feminine way, indicating that she enjoyed the excuse to touch a handsome younger man. There was something fascinating about an elderly woman still being sexy, and we all enjoyed it, for it was inoffensive even to me, Jeremy’s partner.
“After the French Revolution, when symbols of royalty, like powdered wigs and perfumed gloves, went out of style, the gantiers parfumeurs focused simply on being parfumeurs ,” Oncle Philippe said. “ En fin , they created the famous perfumeries of Grasse.”
He proudly added that his company still retained their own flower fields in Grasse. This, I realized, explained the wonderful preponderance of blossoms in the château, and the sophisticated toiletries in our room.
When the conversation had begun, I’d noticed that there was an empty seat beside me. Now, as Oncle Philippe was finishing the story of Grasse, Honorine slipped into this seat, almost unnoticed, as if the family was so horrified by her breach of etiquette that they simply chose to ignore it. She kept her eyes focused on her plate, clearly trying to avoid the gaze of Charles, who sat directly across the table from her. Charles appeared to be an intelligent, genial kid, but one who was indulged and petted by his parents; particularly his mother, a tall, attractive woman with light brown hair, who seemed aware of his every move. The broad-shouldered father seldom spoke, but he and his wife listened with watchful expressions; and more than once I saw them exchange glances whose meaning was clear only to them. The fact that they, too, ignored Honorine’s entrance made it all the more significant.
Evidently Honorine had been dodging Charles as long as she could, which accounted for her absence during cocktails. She’d missed the appetizer, but now, as the plates were cleared, and a chicken consommé topped with tiny, precisely cut vegetables was served, she turned to me and, under cover of the distraction of food, whispered that her mom had roundly scolded her for intruding on us in London.
“I hope you can find a moment to speak to my parents on my behalf,” Honorine whispered. “Could you perhaps tell them that it wasn’t so horrible to put me up for a few nights?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell them we made you wash the dishes.” Honorine giggled conspiratorially, but we both caught the flicker of disapproval in Tante Leonora’s face, and this caused Honorine to flush angrily, and jut her chin out a bit defiantly.
Uh-oh , I thought to myself, wondering what dreadful mother-daughter tangle I might have inadvertently allowed myself to
“And so, perfumed gloves from Grasse became a status symbol for the whole world’s royalty, nobility and wealthy merchants,” Tante Leonora interjected proudly.
The other guests appeared familiar with this story, and now the elderly doctor chimed in, offering, “They say it was also Catherine de’ Medici who first taught the French to eat with a knife and fork.” He held up his fork to make the point. Glancing over at Jeremy, his eyes twinkled as he added, “Of course the English took a bit longer to learn. One still hears that they haven’t quite got it right, what with scooping up their peas on the knife.”
He beamed at their resident Englishman; and Jeremy took the joke with good grace. The doctor’s white- haired wife reached out and patted Jeremy’s hand soothingly, as if to assure him that the insult wasn’t serious, and she did so in a highly feminine way, indicating that she enjoyed the excuse to touch a handsome younger man. There was something fascinating about an elderly woman still being sexy, and we all enjoyed it, for it was inoffensive even to me, Jeremy’s partner.
“After the French Revolution, when symbols of royalty, like powdered wigs and perfumed gloves, went out of style, the gantiers parfumeurs focused simply on being parfumeurs ,” Oncle Philippe said. “ En fin , they created the famous perfumeries of Grasse.”
He proudly added that his company still retained their own flower fields in Grasse. This, I realized, explained the wonderful preponderance of blossoms in the château, and the sophisticated toiletries in our room.
When the conversation had begun, I’d noticed that there was an empty seat beside me. Now, as Oncle Philippe was finishing the story of Grasse, Honorine slipped into this seat, almost unnoticed, as if the family was so horrified by her breach of etiquette that they simply chose to ignore it. She kept her eyes focused on her plate, clearly trying to avoid the gaze of Charles, who sat directly across the table from her. Charles appeared to be an intelligent, genial kid, but one who was indulged and petted by his parents; particularly his mother, a tall, attractive woman with light brown hair, who seemed aware of his every move. The broad-shouldered father seldom spoke, but he and his wife listened with watchful expressions; and more than once I saw them exchange glances whose meaning was clear only to them. The fact that they, too, ignored Honorine’s entrance made it all the more significant.
Evidently Honorine had been dodging Charles as long as she could, which accounted for her absence during cocktails. She’d missed the appetizer, but now, as the plates were cleared, and a chicken consommé topped with tiny, precisely cut vegetables was served, she turned to me and, under cover of the distraction of food, whispered that her mom had roundly scolded her for intruding on us in London.
“I hope you can find a moment to speak to my parents on my behalf,” Honorine whispered. “Could you perhaps tell them that it wasn’t so horrible to put me up for a few nights?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell them we made you wash the dishes.” Honorine giggled conspiratorially, but we both caught the flicker of disapproval in Tante Leonora’s face, and this caused Honorine to flush angrily, and jut her chin out a bit defiantly.
Uh-oh , I thought to myself, wondering what dreadful mother-daughter tangle I might have inadvertently allowed myself to
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