Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

‘I’m afraid,’ Grace apologized as she removed her gloves, ‘that I must be late.’

‘Not at all.’ Monsieur Tissot walked over and took her hand. ‘Madame Hiver is very prompt. In fact, she was already here when I arrived.’

‘The door was open downstairs,’ Madame Hiver explained.

Catching Grace’s eye, Monsier Tissot smiled reassuringly. ‘May I present Madame Hiver. Madame Hiver, this is Grace Munroe.’

It struck Grace that he had used her first name; as if somehow he were staking a subtle claim to her autonomy.

Yvonne Hiver took a step forward, offering her hand. Grace could see that closer up, she must be easily in her mid-forties. ‘Madame Munroe, how kind of you to meet me.’ Her voice was a low, rich contralto, and there was a certain bored, drawling out of her vowels; a universal characteristic of the upper classes that Grace recognized even through her heavy accented English. She shook Grace’s hand. ‘This is good of you,’ she added.

‘And a pleasure to meet you, Madame Hiver. I understand you have an interest in purchasing this flat, is that correct?’ Grace was aware of sounding abrupt but found herself unexpectedly nervous, thrown by Madame Hiver’s commanding self-possession.

‘That’s correct.’

Grace slipped her hands into her pockets. ‘And may I ask why?’

‘This apartment has been in my husband’s family for years. Now that it is empty, I would like to restore it to the Hiver portfolio. And as I’m sure you know, property like this, in a good location, is always an excellent investment.’

‘But surely not at twice its estimated value.’

Madame Hiver tilted her head slowly to one side, like an animal sizing up its prey. ‘Well, perhaps we could say it’s for sentimental reasons.’

‘Sentimental?’

Yvonne Hiver took out a gold cigarette case. ‘Do you think that’s odd?’ She removed a cigarette.

Monsieur Tissot leaned in to light it for her.

‘ Merci .’ Madame Hiver exhaled, aiming a stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘Let us not be coy,’ she suggested, looking straight at Grace. ‘You may already be aware that Eva d’Orsey had an arrangement with my late husband – an agreement that spanned many years.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then,’ she concluded, with a little shrug. ‘We had something in common.’

Grace stared at her, speechless.

To her surprise, Yvonne Hiver laughed. ‘You are very easily shocked! It’s a charming quality, I assure you. But you see, I bear no ill feelings to Eva d’ Orsey. She played a role, a role someone was bound to play, in my husband’s life and therefore in mine too. And to her credit, she was clever with it. She kept herself to herself, didn’t try to become the second wife. In short, she knew her place.’

‘Her place?’

‘Yes.’ Again, Madame Hiver exhaled. ‘Do you have children, Madame Munroe?’

‘No.’

‘Well, when you do, you will have a nanny. A young woman who will get the children up, dress and feed them, teach them letters and numbers and manners… And then when you come home, they cannot wait to see you. You take them to the park and play and they are delightful. The same is true for a mistress. She rolls up her sleeves, tends to the hard labour. She pretends this middle-aged man is fascinating, listens to his woes, massages his ego. She even goes so far as to reassure him physically. But that’s all it is. Flattery. And then he returns home, refreshed, grateful…’ She paused. ‘… repentant. One can proceed with one’s own interests knowing that one’s spouse is perfectly content.’

Monsieur Tissot looked at Grace.

She looked away, embarrassed. Was this how she was meant to feel about Vanessa? Is this how sophisticated people behaved?

‘I seem to be in the habit of shocking you today,’ Madame Hiver deduced. ‘I apologize. I only wanted to illustrate to you that I appreciated her contribution. She did other things as well. During the war, she entertained all of those men who were so important to keeping our industries open.’

‘You mean the Nazis?’ Grace asked.

Yvonne exhaled slowly, giving her a look. ‘Yes, them. It was necessary, during the occupation. A pragmatic move on our part. But still, one didn’t want to dine with them. Luckily, there was always Eva. How do you think she merited such a grand apartment in the first place? And they liked that, I’m told. Being entertained by the mistress.’ She was staring at Grace, observing her reactions with a cold curiosity. ‘This property has a place in our family history, for good and bad. It’s always been part of the Hiver property holdings. And now I wish to own it again.’

Grace turned her father’s lighter round and round inside her pocket. She wasn’t immune to the disdainful note in Madame Hiver’s voice or the subtle insistence of her request. Madame Hiver did her best to downplay her urgency but it was there just the same.

‘I appreciate your candour,’ Grace said. ‘Thank you for taking the time to explain. I’ve not yet decided exactly what I will do, however I can assure you that I will certainly consider your offer very seriously.’

Madame Hiver’s face hardened. She’d obviously hoped for more. But all she said was, ‘You’re too kind. It means a great deal to me to be able to ensure my son inherits the traditional family estate, intact.’ Then, pulling the black net veil over her face, she adjusted it beneath her chin. ‘ Au revoir, madame .’

‘May I escort you to your car?’ Monsieur Tissot offered, opening the door.

‘Of course.’

As she reached the doorway, Madame Hiver turned once more. ‘All terms are negotiable. If the offer isn’t quite what you’d hoped to achieve…’

‘I can assure you, you are more than generous.’

‘How right you are to consider all your options,’ Madame Hiver conceded with a terse flash of teeth. ‘Although I hope you realize, an offer like this cannot be available indefinitely.’ And with a brisk nod of the head, she left.

Grace felt her shoulders relax as soon as Madame Hiver was gone. Suddenly her mouth was dry and she realized she’d been holding her hands in fists by her side. Walking into the kitchen, she leaned over the sink to drink handfuls of cool water from the tap. Groping for a tea towel, she turned.

Then she stopped.

Invisible fingers, like cold wind, brushed against the back of her neck, sending a shiver up her spine.

Each of the cupboards was just slightly ajar, the drawers not quite closed, the closet door off the latch, as if someone had been looking through them; someone in a hurry.

Grace went through to the drawing room, looking out of the window onto the courtyard below.

The chauffeur was climbing back in the front seat, closing the car door, turning on the engine. Then the big black Daimler turned out of the courtyard and sped away.

It was late in the afternoon when Grace knocked again on the narrow red door in the alleyway behind Rue Christine.

There was the sound of the dog barking and then the slow descent. The door opened a crack, a black eye appeared.

‘Good afternoon, Madame Zed.’

‘Good afternoon.’ Madame Zed opened the door wider. ‘I almost didn’t recognize you – you have had your hair done!’

Grace smiled, self-conscious. ‘Yes. I have.’

‘Well!’ Madame took her in, nodding approvingly. ‘What an interesting counter-attack!’

‘A counter-attack? Against what?’

‘Against fate, my dear.’ She stepped back and Grace came in, following her upstairs, into the drawing room.

‘Are we at war with fate?’

‘It’s a tango, don’t you find? Sometimes dramatic, sometimes quiet, but always with a few good hard slaps thrown in.’ Madame Zed gestured for her to sit. ‘That’s what fashion is, really. A way of renegotiating the terms that life deals you. When a woman changes her hair what she’s really saying to fate is, no. I refuse to be defined by those terms.’ She settled into her favourite chair. ‘You’ve obviously decided your past no longer serves you.’