The Summer House of Happiness: A delightfully feel-good romantic comedy perfect for holiday!. Daisy James

later, Fleurette burst into the room, concern etched on her attractive features. She reached for Gabbie and pulled her into a rib-crushing hug.

      ‘Oh, darling! What just happened? Why did you quit? Are you okay?’

      Before Gabbie could connect her brain to her modem and even begin to explain the thought process that had caused her sudden loss of sanity, she heard raised voices coming from the other side of the door. She had to concentrate hard to understand what was being said as the exchange was conducted in rapid, irate French.

      ‘Jules, I implore you to give me the chance to speak to Gabriella, to find out what…’

      ‘Marianne, ma chère, I think you know me better than most, so let me ask you this. Can you recall a time in the last twenty years when I was persuaded to change my mind about anything? Mmm? Non! Jamais! I will interview Hélèna’s replacement myself.’

      ‘It’s Gabriella. Jules, please…’

      ‘Au revoir, Marianne.’

      And a sharp clickety-clack signalled the exit of Jules Gasnier from the corridor – and the House of Gasnier from Gabbie’s life. She looked at Fleurette and almost crumbled when she saw the sympathy in her eyes. They both knew Marianne had put her own career on the line to argue Gabbie’s case, and she experienced a surge of gratitude towards her mentor, swiftly followed by a whoosh of shame for letting her down so spectacularly. She should have taken the time to do things properly. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she insisted on staying in bed that morning? The way she had felt, she should have known something like this would happen.

      ‘Chèrie! Are you in there? Prepare yourself – I’m coming in!’

      Jean-Pierre flounced through the door, his arms in the air as he advanced on a surprised Gabbie and forcibly dragged her to his chest, enveloping her in a rich cloud of the heavy, woody cologne he favoured, which was soothing in its familiarity. Marianne followed swiftly on his heels.

      ‘Jean-Pierre, this is the ladies’ cloakroom! Please vacate immediately!’

      Jean-Pierre opened his mouth to argue, then rolled his eyes and strode towards the door, clearly reluctant to miss any ensuing conversation about what Gabbie intended to do next. Marianne waited until the door had swung shut before turning to face Gabbie, her face pale beneath her immaculate cosmetics.

      ‘Gabbie, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how surprised I am. Tell me, chèrie, is this an aberration because of the stress of this day, or something that’s been fermenting for a while? If it is the former, I will do everything in my power to argue your case with our personnel department, but I have to warn you… Monsieur’s word is usually interpreted as law so I am pessimistic about the outcome. If it is the latter, rest assured I will provide you with the most excellent of references, should you require them.’

      ‘Thank you, Marianne.’

      Gabbie gulped down the emotions spinning through her chest and assured her friend that her decision to quit, while probably not tendered at the most opportune of moments, was something that had indeed been festering for a while.

      ‘The thought of spending eighteen hours a day in a lab, disconnected from our customers, was never part of my dream. I’m sorry, Marianne. I will always be grateful for everything you’ve taught me, but it’s time for me to move on. If Monsieur Gasnier is serious about his threat, then it looks like my future career will not be in France!’

      As the realisation dawned that her sojourn in the perfume capital of the world had come to an end, tears collected along her lower lashes, but she brushed them away, uncomfortable with the sympathy on her colleagues’ faces. She knew her reaction was just the shock of everything that had happened that day rather than regret at her decision.

      ‘I suggest you go home and spend a few days pondering your next step. If I can help in any way, please just ask. Fleurette will accompany you.’

      ‘No, there’s no need. Jasmine will be there – it’s her day off today and she’s waiting to hear about… well, about what’s happened. I’ll be fine, and thank you for intervening on my behalf. It was very kind of you.’

      ‘I did nothing you didn’t deserve.’

      Gabbie followed Marianne and Fleurette out into the corridor where Jean-Pierre loitered, looking almost as distressed as she felt. She leaned forward to deposit kisses on his cheeks, unable to formulate words of goodbye for fear she would succumb to a deluge of sobbing. She hugged Marianne and Fleurette and, with mixed emotions and a final wave, left the cathedral of fragrant dreams on the Rue de Bouvier for the final time.

      It was lunchtime and the pavement cafés buzzed with hungry diners in search of a tasty morsel and a little something to wash it down with. To Gabbie, this part of the town had always seemed to be bathed in a splash of gold, lighting up the shops and restaurants with warmth and welcome. In these picturesque surroundings, she really should have taken advantage of the glamorous social whirl Jasmine seemed to be consumed by, but she’d become so engrossed in her work that she’d had little free time.

      Initially, that had suited her fine because she wasn’t in France to gather a wide coterie of like-minded friends with whom to party the night away, only to crawl into the lab the next day to find solace at the bottom of an espresso cup. In fact, the fewer people she let into her life the better as far as she was concerned.

      She’d had a number of dates, the most persistent being motorbike fanatic François, but as soon as he’d suggested moving their relationship on to the next level, she had panicked. She’d explained that it wasn’t him, it was her, and refused any more trips along the Corniche on his Harley Davidson. After that she had limited her increasingly infrequent liaisons to just three dates before gently explaining that things weren’t working and suggesting they might want to take someone else to the beach party in Antibes or the cocktail party on their father’s yacht. Occasionally, there had been a guy whom she had thought she could connect with on a deeper level – Rafael for example. But the shattering truth was that loving someone meant getting hurt when the inevitable happened – and top of her list of life skills was self-preservation.

      She wished her attic lodgings were further away so she had more time to process the events that had taken place at House of Gasnier that morning. But before she knew it, she was inserting her key into the sunflower-yellow front door and collapsing onto the vintage sofa Jasmine had acquired from the brasserie downstairs when it was being renovated.

      ‘Hey! You’re back early! How did it go? Am I looking at the new Coco Chanel? What did Monsieur Gasnier say about your fragrance?’ burbled Jasmine, appearing at the door in a pink silk peignoir before heading straight to the fridge for the bottle of champagne she had hidden there the night before.

      As tall and slender as a shop-window mannequin, with a choppy, pixie-style haircut that emphasised her sharp cheekbones and ski-slope nose, Jasmine really should have considered a career in fashion rather than as a part-time hostess at the casino in Cannes. Gabbie struggled to understand her friend’s choice, especially when she had graduated top of their class at GIP. Instead, Jasmine had elected to follow her heart and apply as much of her time as possible to following her wealthy boyfriend around the globe as he competed in every yacht race known to the nautical world in search of his elusive first win.

      However, as Jasmine often told her, winning was not the point – it was the taking part, especially in the fabulous locations where these races seemed to be held. Marco was chasing his dreams without so much as a backward glance and was one of the most cheerful and generous people Gabbie had met in France – not to mention the fact that he made Jasmine happy too.

      ‘You don’t need to open the champagne, Jazz, but thanks for the thought.’

      ‘Why? Did the famous Jules Gasnier have a spectacular lapse of judgement and choose someone else’s fragrance?’

      ‘No, it’s not…’

      Gabbie was suddenly ambushed by a wave of emotion and struggled to formulate a