Originally published in the March 2014 edition of British GQ.

Image by Tim McDonagh

PART FOUR: SEALING THE DEAL

Richard E. Grant
(Or the A-Z of how I got set up in the Scent business)

In the fourth chapter of his fragrant adventure, actor Richard E Grant sniffs out a buyer and a quintessentially British name for his new scent – thanks to GQ

Whereas I habitually “dear” and “kind regards” my middle-class way through letters, faxes and emails, Catherine Mitchell, the BDM (business development manager) of IFF (International Flavors and Fragrances Inc), like her abbreviations, is a woman who doesn’t waste words. Emails begin “Richard” and end with “Catherine”, making a strong impression before we’ve even met. Which we do at her HQ (note!) in Roehampton. Crop-haired, Durham-accented and possessed of an unequivocal take-no-prisoners attitude, she charms me in a millisecond.

“Only reason I’ve agreed to meet you is because you’re not trying to launch a celebrity fragrance and you’re punctual and you came to see me.” (See what I mean?) She nods her way through my instantly truncated “story” of how and why I am sitting in front of her, at the end of which, she averts her gaze out of the window, then turns back and declares: “Liberty is looking for a new, quintessentially British, bespoke perfume. Let’s see if they will give us a meeting.” The words “let’s” and “us” brusquely warm me up all the way home!

Before you can say “eins, zwei, drei”, we’re at Liberty’s café for a breakfast meeting with Gina Ritchie and Sarah Coonan, the empresses of all things beautiful-to-buy and, like all great partnerships, they top and tail one another seamlessly. “Yes, we want to do this with you, exclusively at Liberty.” While their mouths are detailing plans for me to meet their in-house graphic designer for packaging and logo ideas, my eyes have gone all slo-mo, as my ears try to grapple with this good news, not quite willing to believe it’s true. Contact details are exchanged and, before my legs have had time to get themselves out from under the table, my lips have brushed the cheeks of three uber-women who have solved my chicken-and-egg conundrum of needing a perfume licensee and distributor instantly. I feel like I have just cracked Dragons’ Den.

Somehow my feet get me outside the iconic black-timbered store before my arms fling themselves around an equally charged Catherine who, wide-eyed, gasps that she has never had such a short and successful meeting quite like it! Like the best speed date you could wish for, except without any bodily fluids being exchanged or marriage vows violated!

The good news was confirmed by Gina’s follow-up email, which began with the word “Wowzers!”, channelling Joe E Brown’s old millionaire in Some Like It Hot when he hits on Jack Lemmon’s Daphne.

With this commitment from Liberty, we can now embark on the development of the actual perfume. “Off the peg is not an option,” declares Catherine, explaining that fragrance companies have collections of scents used for a “quick response to a project”, equivalent to good off-the-peg suits. “The Holy Grail is access to a perfumer – Savile Row bespoke.”

Alienor Massenet, the Paris-based “nose”, is Catherine’s number-one choice and she has agreed to meet me to see if we can work together.

“But”- uh oh – “from this point on, you have to work exclusively with IFF. If you have a problem with that, tell me immediately.” Catherine eyeballs me, half raises an eyebrow and gets my word of honour instantly. Now the neck-twist of what to tell Julie Harris at Robertet? “This is business and Julie will understand. Just be honest.”

My apologetic “Dear Julie” ends with, “I just hope that when our paths cross again, you don’t clonk me over the head with a bottle of Kerry Katona!” Julie being Julie is as forgiving as she needn’t be and replies that indeed she’ll keep a bottle of KK in her bag for “just that purpose”, graciously conceding that my IFF and Liberty deal is “a perfect fit”.

Now for that elusive and quintessentially British name.

I am fortuitously seated beside GQ Editor Dylan Jones at a Bafta dinner, and he politely asks what I am up to, unwittingly getting an earful of my perfume plan. “Write about it for the magazine,” he says. When I pitch up in his office months later, our meeting lasts less than five minutes, concluding with a deal to scribble 900 words per column. Surveying my Union Jack vintage bunting packaging ideas and the shortlist of names, he says, “Call it Jack.”

Bullseye!

“Register it.”

Dylan’s two-word, two-second parting instruction presaged an avalanche of legal wranglings that lasted months, skilfully “skied” by patent lawyer Ben (with his Dickensian surname) Mooneapillay. No sooner was Jack submitted to the Intellectual Property Office, having had all possible “challenges” yahooed and googled, then all seemed guaranteed to be a stress-free slalom snowboard glide to the finish line.

On the day my trademark was due to be granted, a very aggressive letter landed, threatening legal action from an instantly recognisable and hugely powerful global
American brand.

It claimed Jack was too like its fragrance, also beginning with the letter “J”- a gonad-clenching, stomach-plunging,
jaw-dropping set-back which instantly cast me as David set to challenge this corporate Goliath.

“In the name of Jack, let battle commence!”

Richard E Grant’s diary continues next month. Jack will be launched exclusively at Liberty in April at jackperfume.co.uk