Coco Mademoiselle

COCO MADEMOISELLE:  A gift from Richard de Castellane, what does Coco Mademoiselle mean to Primmie Darling?

“She sprayed a little perfume on her wrist and breathed in.  This was the scent of her lust, the scent of her desire, the scent of her guilt.”   

(Euro Head, Book Two)

‘You’re wearing Coco Mademoiselle, aren’t you?’ Sven-Mikael asked.  He was lying, naked in Primmie’s bed, his blonde hair softly tousled on the pillow.  It was a Sunday afternoon.  They’d had lunch at a bistro in Notting Hill and then fallen onto Primmie’s bed where they’d made tipsy, cuddly love that Primmie had wanted to last all afternoon.

‘I am, I’m impressed you know that.’  She was now lying next to him, one leg across his, breathing in his soapy scent.

        ‘Orangey top notes, then it turns more floral, and finally a vanilla musk base note.’  He started playing with a strand of Primmie’s hair.

        ‘And you’re sure you’re not gay?’ 

         He giggled.  ‘I smell my clients every day.  all their scents and perfumes.  I’m good at identifying them.  And you’ve got split ends.  I could give you a trim on Wednesday if you like.’

(From Russia with Lust, Book Two)

Primmie stood there, winded.  He made her feel so special, and the idea that she was merely one of three was hard to accept.‘Do you have feelings for either of them?’

‘Darling, I fuck them.  It is what it is.’  He popped his head from around the shower curtain.  ‘Don’t get grabby on me, Primmie Darling, I can’t cope.  No complications, remember?’

‘You’re right, you’re right, that was what we agreed,’ she said, trying to disguise her hurt.  ‘I’m such a hypocrite.  The Coco Mademoiselle was a gift from a lover, after all.’

‘It was?’ His head popped out from around the shower curtain.  He threw her a look of approval.  ‘Good for you.’

This wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped to provoke.

(From Russia with Lust, Book Two)

With a short sigh, Sven-Mikael climbed off her.  He remonstrated like an indulgent kindergarten teacher.  ‘Primmie-licious, you cannot be jealous?’

‘No, I can’t.  You’re right.  I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say.’

‘It’s meaningless sex with married women.  Where’s the harm?’

‘You’re right.’  Sometimes he made Primmie feel so conservative.

‘And let’s not forget, you had sex with someone else, didn’t you, little Miss Coco Mademoiselle?’

‘Yes, I did.’  She felt a wave of revulsion for EU commissioner Richard de Castellane, who’d given her the perfume following a session in his penthouse suite.  She didn’t want the man – even just talking to him gave her the creeps – but she was hooked on his colossus of a cock.

(Blame it on Mick Jagger, Book Three)

 ‘Primmie Darling, you smell delicious, as ever,’ a familiar voice came from behind her.   She turned to greet Mungo Robinson, parliamentary undersecretary of state for charities and volunteering, and a personal advisor to Nixie on her charity work.

Coco Mademoiselle,’ she told him, brushing aside the fact that her new favourite perfume had been a gift from EU Commissioner Richard de Castellane.   ‘Rose, jasmine and just a hint of vanilla.  How are you, Mungo?’

‘All the better for seeing you, of course,’ he told her.

She smiled.  Mungo was a man for whom passion appeared to be an alien concept, something to be avoided, perhaps even frightened of.  She was beginning to doubt that they’d ever experience any form of sexual contact, let alone ecstasy, together.

 (Flower Power, Book Four)

 She followed him into his bedroom, her mix of desire and revulsion struggling with each other inside of her.  Putting her glass down on the table, she unzipped her dress and let it drop to the floor.  She was wearing the lacy underwear he’d sent her from Paris after their first rendez-vous.  ‘I thought you might like to see how it fits.’

‘It’s very beautiful.  I knew it was for you.’

‘And I love the perfume.  Coco Mademoiselle.  I’ve worn it ever since.’

He approached her, nuzzling her neck, his hands around her body.  She closed her eyes and succumbed to the sensations, trying to block out the reality of who the hands belonged to.

‘It smells perfect on you.  I knew that.  Everything is perfect.’

(Inner Adulation, Book Four)


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