Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

She moved closer.

It wasn’t obvious.

It was more than just suits…

‘So.’ Mr Lambert was standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing nothing but a bath towel, dabbing shaving foam from his jaw. ‘What would you do next?’

Startled, Eva grabbed the towels. ‘Sorry, sir.’ She headed for the door.

He leaned against the bathroom door frame. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

She stared at him. The towel was wrapped round his waist; he was well built, dark curls against the tawny skin of his chest.

He smiled.

‘Oh!’ She felt herself blushing and handed him the towels. ‘Pardon me, sir.’

‘You’re the girl who said hello to me in the hallway, aren’t you?’

‘I… yes.’

He nodded to the card game. ‘The way you were looking at that, I thought maybe you were trying to figure it out. Not many people can, you know.’

It sounded like a challenge.

‘Go on,’ he grinned, ‘tell me what you see.’

She looked again at the cards. ‘They’re prime numbers, aren’t they? Or superior suits, whichever comes first.’

‘That’s right,’ he nodded. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve played it before.’

‘No, sir. Cards are a bad idea.’

‘Most things are. But if you don’t play, then how did you figure it out?’

‘I’m pretty good with numbers.’

‘Really?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know you’re good at numbers?’

She felt suddenly defensive, out of her depth. ‘I’m sorry. I was mistaken.’

Mr Lambert went to the dresser, lit a cigarette. ‘Do you think I’m going to hurt you or get you into trouble?’

‘You’re asking a lot of questions.’

Mr Lambert smiled. ‘I’m bored. That’s hardly a crime, is it?’

She shook her head.

‘So,’ he sat on the edge of the bed, ‘are you going to answer me or not?’

‘I used to work for a family in Brooklyn. The man, he was a professor. He used to work on problems all day long in his study and sometimes, well, he’d leave puzzles on the blackboard.’

‘What kind of puzzles?’

‘I’m not certain what you’d call them. Number problems. They had patterns and sequences. Some of the numbers were already there and I would try to fill in the blanks.’

‘What made him think that a maid could do that? I used to live with household servants and I tell you, most of them could barely make change.’

‘Oh no, sir! I didn’t fill them in on the blackboard,’ she corrected him. ‘I did it in my head. You see, one day I accidentally erased something when I was cleaning. I wiped away a problem that he was working on. Except I didn’t know it at the time. His wife became furious. Only, I was able to copy it out again, the same way. So I got to keep my job. But he never knew about it. It was between her and me.’

‘Really?’ His interest was peaked. ‘Do you still remember it?’

‘Uh… maybe.’

Going over to the desk, he handed her a pen and a piece of paper. ‘Go on then.’

Eva frowned, concentrating. Then she started to write, covering the entire page.

Mr Lambert stared at it. ‘How is it that you can recall such a complicated equation? Are you trained in mathematics?’

‘I don’t need to recall the equation, sir. I see it. It’s like a picture in my brain. All I have to do is look at it in my head and then write down what I see.’

He thought for a moment, taking this in. Then asked, ‘Why did you leave?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why aren’t you working for them now?’

‘They moved. Went back to Austria. But his wife, well, she didn’t like me much anyway.’

‘I should think not. Well,’ he took a deep drag, crossing his legs, ‘isn’t that a useful talent?’

‘Not for a girl, sir.’

‘And how did you do on the puzzles that he left on the blackboard?’

She thought a moment. ‘I think I did well on them, sir. Sometimes I figured them out before he did.’

Mr Lambert pointed to the cards on the table again. ‘So which one would you play over here?’

Eva could feel her heart racing. She pointed to a club. ‘That one, sir.’

‘Well done. And after that?’

‘I’d move the nine over there.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s the highest card left.’

‘How can you tell?’

It seemed obvious to her. ‘Well, because of what’s on the table. There are only fifty-two cards. Isn’t that right?’

‘How long were you here?’

‘Not long, sir.’

‘Did you touch anything?’

She shook her head.

‘But you can tell how many cards have been played and how many are left even though you don’t know the game?’

She nodded.

‘Well now, let’s see…’ Crossing, he sat down and began turning the cards over. After he’d turned them all over, he looked up, smiling. ‘Looks like you were right. But you don’t play cards.’

‘No, sir. My uncle used to play cards until he lost an awful lot of money he didn’t have. After that cards weren’t allowed in the house.’

‘Well, that happens. But you don’t play?’

‘You keep asking me that.’

‘Yes, I keep asking.’ Leaning back against the table, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘What an interesting ability you have.’

A minute passed.

He cocked his head to one side. It was hard to tell if he were smiling or not. His lips curved but there was nothing, no warmth in his eyes.

‘Are you a communist?’ she finally blurted out, unable to bear the silence any more.

‘Why? Are you?’

‘Me? I don’t believe in anything.’

‘Well, that makes two of us.’

That wasn’t quite what she meant.

‘Are you… I mean,’ she was almost too embarrassed to ask, ‘is it true that you’re titled, sir?’

He made a face. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘My friend told me. She says that in England you’re Lord Lambert but you don’t like to use it.’

‘She’s right. I prefer Mr Lambert. Besides, just between you and me, I haven’t got the means to back it up.’ He smiled. ‘Lately I’ve been thinking of changing it to Mr Mutton… what do you think?’

Eva suppressed a giggle.

‘If you’re going to have an alias you might as well have fun.’

‘But why do you need an alias?’

He shrugged. ‘As much as I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me, I still want to keep the shame I bring on my family to a minimum. I’m not fond of many of them but the ones I do like, I like very much. Do you know what I am?’ He grinned. ‘I’m what’s known as a scoundrel, my dear. Or in more eloquent terms, a son of a bitch.’

‘Oh, sir! You shouldn’t say such things about your own mother.’

He flicked a bit of ash in the ashtray. ‘If you only knew her. She’s the one who disinherited me. But that’s another story entirely.’ He pointed his cigarette at her. ‘I’m bad luck. I’ve been given every opportunity and squandered it. I lack self-control, moral-fibre, character – “The expense of spirit in a waste of shame!’’’ He looked over at her, staring at him, wide-eyed. ‘Shakespeare, my child. If you’re going to rant, do it in iambic pentameter. What’s wrong?’

‘Please, sir…’ It wasn’t her place, but she carried on regardless, ‘please don’t say those things about yourself.’

Mr Lambert, frowned, his eyes softening. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Eva, sir.’

He bowed his head a little. ‘Very nice to make your acquaintance, Eva.’ Opening a drawer, he took out a new pack of cards and handed it to her. ‘Here. I think you’d better have these.’

She wasn’t meant to take gifts. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Thank you, sir.’