Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

‘Make the most of it?’ How like Mallory to find an opportunity in even the direst marital impasse. ‘He won’t even speak to me about it, Mal.’

‘Of course not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have the upper hand. He won’t want a scandal, Grace. It could ruin his career.’

‘I don’t think he cares about that.’

‘Don’t be fooled. He’s full of bravado but that’s all it is. And, with all due respect, darling, he’s no golden boy. He needs a good reputation to survive. If you play your cards right, you could end up at an advantage.’

‘What advantage? What advantage is there being in a… a…’ A cuckold sounded too medieval, ‘a loveless marriage’ like some cheap romance novel.

Mallory took another bite of toast. ‘He’ll be in your debt.’

‘So you’re suggesting I put up with it? Regardless?’

‘I’m trying to think about your best interests, Grace. Really, what other options are there?’

‘I don’t know. I could divorce him, couldn’t I?’

‘Oh my Lord! Talk about cutting your nose off to spite your face! What will that accomplish?

Grace frowned at her. ‘What are you saying – that I’m too old to re-marry?’

‘Of course not! But whom will you remarry? How will you meet anyone worth knowing if you’re divorced? It’s not as if you’ll be invited to the same parties on your own. In fact, you won’t be invited anywhere.’ She jammed a pillow into a more comfortable position underneath her elbow. ‘Face it, a woman has to be very rich indeed to change husbands the way one changes clothes and get away with it.’

Grace felt overwhelmed by Mal’s harsh assessment. ‘Well, I may not even want to re-marry.’

‘What are you going to do? Race back to Oxford and become some lonely eccentric, with ugly shoes, mad hair and a library card? You need to walk every scenario through, in detail, right to the very end. At the moment you may want to run away but will you want it in five years time? One can’t simply waltz into a whole new life. Doors will close, Grace. Doors that will never reopen.’ Mallory looked across at her. ‘One doesn’t want to act in haste.’

‘I thought you hated Roger.’

‘I do! The man’s an ass. For Christ’s sake, I’m trying to be level-headed!’

‘So, you’re advocating that I… what?’

‘I’m advocating that you weigh up your options carefully. A repentant husband can be a very useful thing.’

Grace felt her throat tighten. ‘I don’t care about that.’

‘Darling, don’t be naïve.’

‘Can’t we talk about something else?’

Mallory sighed. ‘Of course.’

They sat a moment in silence.

Finally Mallory sat up. ‘Let’s plan our attack for the day, shall we? I’m warning you, I intend to go shopping and drain every last penny from my current account. I suggest that you do the same.’

‘Roger would kill me.’

‘Roger will countersign anything you do now.’

Grace shot her a look. ‘I thought we’d agreed to talk of something else.’

‘Fine.’ Mallory took out a small notebook from her handbag and flipped it open. ‘I’ve got the names and addresses of several boutiques, a beauty salon that promises to reduce your waist by two inches in an hour, the furrier Josephine Wexley uses…’ She pursed her lips, concentrating. ‘But I think the only place to start is at the Galeries Lafayette,’ she decided, snapping the notebook shut. ‘After all, I want to break you in slowly. Now,’ she stood up, brushing the crumbs off her skirt and slipping her shoes back on, ‘get in the bath before I wash you myself. Your hair looks like a piece of avant-garde art and I don’t mean that in a good way. I’m going to check on my room. And when I come back, I expect you to be scrubbed, scented and ready to spend.’

Grace nodded. ‘Done.’

Turning to adjust her lipstick in the mirror, Mallory caught Grace’s eye. ‘I really do only want to help,’ she said softly.

‘I know. But I wish with all my heart this wasn’t my life right now.’

‘Fine.’ Mallory turned to face her. ‘Then for the next few days, it won’t be. I promise, I won’t bring it up again.’

Just after breakfast, the two of them headed to Galeries Lafayette on Boulevard Haussmann. Although not a keen shopper, Grace enjoyed the comfort of being with Mallory again. And she couldn’t help but be in awe of the dramatic golden-domed interior of the place; floor after floor of spiralling boutiques that sent Mallory into a series of delighted squeals as soon as they arrived.

Mallory darted from one counter to another with the focused determination of a pirate looting an exotic port, and Grace trailed behind her, carrying her ever-increasing bags. Normally, a day spent shopping would’ve sent her running. But for once the crowds didn’t irritate her, possibly because it took real concentration for her to pick up anyone else’s conversation; she felt protected by her own foreignness. And Mallory’s gusto was such that she barely noticed that Grace was lagging behind. They moved with methodical speed from hats to gloves to scarves to lingerie and so on up the winding floors, Mallory debating the merits of each purchase in an ongoing conversation of her own.

‘Too coy?’ she asked, adjusting the veil of a tiny ‘fascinator’ hat, featuring a cluster of enormous black silk roses. ‘Or simply bizarre?’

Before Grace could answer, Mallory replaced it with an even more extreme version featuring three rather obscene organza calla lilies. She examined her reflection. ‘Don’t you find that the line between something being ravishing and revolting is dangerously close? Sometimes something is so ugly, it becomes amazing. Which do you think this is?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Not sure. What would you wear it with?’

‘What wouldn’t I wear it with!’ Mallory turned to inspect her profile. ‘Do you think those fuzzy yellow stamens are just the tinsiest bit suggestive?’

‘Only if you have a lewd imagination.’

Mallory shot her a look. ‘So I’ll take that as a yes. Oh, Gracie,’ she sighed. ‘I’m in two minds about this one. If one’s going to make a statement, one might as well have fuzzy stamens, don’t you think?’

‘What statement are you trying to make, Mal?’

They caught each other’s eye and laughed.

‘You’ll see.’ Mallory took the hat off. ‘We’ll get back to London and fuzzy stamens will be all the rage and I’ll have you to blame for missing the boat!’

‘I’m not stopping you. Buy two – three if you like!’

On the next floor up, they spent almost an hour in the lingerie department.

‘Gracie, look.’ Mallory ran her hand through the sheer silky chiffon of a delicately embroidered nightdress. ‘Oh, what heaven! Geoffrey doesn’t deserve it but I do.’

The saleswoman at the lingerie counter was only too pleased to help each of them to select several pairs of beautiful silk stockings, and advise them on the newest designs of cantilevered girdles and brassieres. ‘These are essentials,’ Mallory insisted, piling another two satin slips on the counter for the saleswoman to ring up.

‘You said that about the gloves and the hats too.’

‘And I’m right.’ Mallory thrust her chin in the air. ‘One cannot go about the business of being a woman without the proper equipment.’

Eventually, after they’d had a restorative lunch of salade niçoise and black coffee in the rooftop restaurant, they made it as far as the women’s dress department. There they browsed slowly through the collections, in a kind of awed, reverent silence. The exaggerated full skirts, crinoline petticoats and impossibly nipped-in waists of the Paris fashions were more daringly tailored than those in England; fashioned from yards of luxurious moiré silk, faille and taffeta in bold, saturated colours. It was the kind of excessive abundance of lavish beauty that London had been missing since the war.