(You can find the first part under Miss Dior Eau de Toilette Original)
The little perfumery in the capital of the island came to her mind.
Surely someone there could tell her something more precise.
That very day, she set off on her way.
She allowed herself two cautious sprays on her neck, enough to fill her little car with the scent that shifted between herbal green, powdery soft, and delicately woody-spicy.
The drive lasted no longer than half an hour - and she enjoyed every second of it.
She couldn't park on the main street with the shops.
On the way from the public parking lot to the small pedestrian zone where the perfumery was located, she held the small bottle tightly in her right hand, which she had also tucked into her pocket.
Then came the next shock.
The shop window of the perfumery was covered with newspaper, and on a sign on the door, she read:
“Temporarily closed for renovation”
As if everything had conspired against her.
She took a deep breath.
She needed a coffee first.
Just a few houses down, she discovered a shop she didn't know yet; it seemed to be a kind of hybrid between a bookstore and a café.
Well, at least something.
And soon she was sitting at a small round table near the window, decorated with various editions of Jane Austen and beach accessories along with some sand.
She didn't have to wait long for her cappuccino; a young man brought it to her, and on the saucer lay two shell-shaped cookies.
“If you have any book wishes - the boss is briefly in the stockroom but will be back soon; I'm just here for coffee,” he said, wiping the spotless table with a cloth before returning behind the small counter.
The cappuccino was good, very good even, considering this was just a little bookstore.
She took the found bottle out of her pocket and gave herself another sparing spray on her neck.
The soft green shimmering aura, in which she now even detected a hint of something like leather, matched well with the bitter-sweet aroma of the coffee, fitting the simple act of just relaxing and even the books in the window that she gazed at dreamily.
From the back part of the shop, which was in a slight twilight, she now heard footsteps that sounded somehow dynamic on the wooden floorboards. That must be the owner.
Then a lot happened all at once.
She saw a woman, perhaps in her forties, in jeans and a dark blue blouse, pushing books into a shelf a few meters from her table. She had quite short, blonde hair that looked tousled in a way that usually only expensive hairdressers could achieve.
And at the same time, she saw a second image in her mind's eye. Many years ago at the Helene-Lange-Gymnasium in Hamburg. Her best friend Carola, yes that was her name, stood at the cabinet pulling out atlases.
“Well, is this going to happen today?” said Ms. Stockman, the geography teacher.
Ms. Stockman and Carola - both of them, she realized with surprise, she had almost completely forgotten.
Yet Carola and she had been inseparable for a while, during the time when their parents' divorce was taking place, and Carola had become a kind of accomplice since her parents were divorced too.
The owner of the shop, who reminded her so much of Carola, disappeared again to the back.
The resemblance was undeniable, although Carola had been rounder and a bit shorter overall, if she wasn't mistaken. Moreover, she had moved abroad after the tenth grade because her mother had taken a position as an interpreter in England.
Or was it in Sweden? Why had neither of them reached out to the other anymore? Why did two people who had been so close completely lose sight of each other?
The soft, now rather resinous-powdery scent matched the temporal shallowness of her memory excursion.
She had to smile. It was nice that she had remembered Carola again. And at the same time sad. Maybe she could find out something about her and get in touch.
Now the blonde returned with a few books.
“If there's anything I can do for you - just let me know…”
“Yes, thank you, actually not at the moment. But this is a lovely shop, I didn't know it at all…”
She came over to her table.
“I just opened last week. I practically don't know anyone here yet.”
“I live 20 kilometers further, pretty close to the sea.”
She didn't even know exactly why she was telling her this.
“And what do you do, if I may ask?”
“Oh, nothing exciting, I write for women's magazines, zeitgeist and fashion, and occasionally something about politics, but cautiously dosed, so to speak…”
“Great! I mean, if you can make a living from that. And then near the sea, that sounds almost like Pilcher…”
“Well. It's not all that rosy. I have a ten-year-old son who doesn't quite fit in here, and as a single mother, these doubts constantly arise.
Am I doing this right or am I thinking too much about myself?”
She was surprised at how openly she was talking about herself.
“Oh, I see. Yes, I can imagine that, it must not be easy…”
She now sat down at her table.
This voice. It didn't seem entirely unlike Carola's, but it was a bit deeper.
“Yes, it really isn't easy. I often think I'm just not giving the boy enough…”
“I think most single parents think that.”
“Say, can I ask you something strange - is your name perhaps - Carola?”
“Well, I really call that strange! And so beautifully direct.
But I like this directness. It suits you.
Just like your perfume, Miss Dior, and in the original version.”
“That can't be true… are you sure?
She was completely baffled.
“Absolutely sure, I can smell it.”
“You see, I came here specifically for that… it's a longer story…”
“Let me just throw something in before you tell me in peace. I think you worry too much about many things that quickly turn into worries, could that be?”
“I don't know… the thing with Jan is very real. In the end, it's true… a child, and especially a boy, needs a father…“
“Or two mothers…” She gently placed her hand on the foreign hand that lay next to the cup on the table.
The soft, rounded scent rose to their noses again, benevolent, calming, and self-assured.
She didn't pull her hand back.
Epilogue
If you were to walk down the path a few weeks later,
you might stop in front of the house with the little blue balcony and admire the many plants
and flowers in the garden.
What a variety there was - beach grass carnations, coastal angelica, red bulrushes, dune fescue, salt hare's ear, sea mustard, delicate violet beach bindweed, thousand-guilder herb, and in between, luxuriantly growing beach grass, rough yet cuddly, tough and wonderfully tender at the same time.
The only thing that was not to be seen was a sign
with the inscription “For Sale.”
Top Notes 
Galbanum
Sage
Bergamot
Gardenia
Heart Notes 
Carnation
Jasmine
Narcissus
Rose
Neroli
Base Notes 
Oakmoss
Patchouli
Labdanum
Sandalwood
Jellified Sandstone
Exigi
Ganii
Trucklady
Axiomatic
Schoeibksr
Gold
Pluto
Stulle
Ergoproxy
Yatagan
