Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

He stared at her, enthralled. ‘But tell me, what are you doing here? How did you come to be so, so exquisite?’

She stood up. And with a little shake of her shoulders, her dress slipped to the floor. She was naked except for her silver sandals, which she kicked off as she came closer, stopping in front of him. She was radiant, her skin like white marble in the balmy darkness.

Reaching out, he dared to run his fingers over the smooth arch of her back. ‘Eva…’

She held up a finger. ‘Shhhh!’

Leaning forward, she kissed him. Valmont felt his body warm with the heat of an unfamiliar desire.

Pulling her to him, he closed his eyes, burying his face against her. He breathed her in – each moist hollow, every sumptuous curve – inhaling hungrily the vast, varied landscape of her skin.

She sat in the alcove of the window seat, smoking by the open window.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ Valmont propped himself up on his elbow, jamming a pillow under his head. ‘Who are you travelling with? Please say it’s not your husband.’

‘No, it’s not my husband. It’s an associate.’

‘Associate?’ He pulled the sheet across his bare torso. ‘What does that mean?’

She exhaled. ‘He’s the man I work with, Lambert. Although he goes by Lamb here. The man who taught me my trade.’

Again, the word struck him as odd. ‘You have a trade?’ He’d assumed she was someone’s lover or mistress.

‘Do you doubt it?’ She looked across at him, challengingly. ‘You’re not the only one who’s come to Monte Carlo for business. This place is full of people on the make – gigolos, prostitutes, salesmen, schemers, social climbers, snobs.’

‘You make it sound like a cesspool!’

She gave a little shrug. ‘Just the normal entourage of the rich. As for me, I have a number of skills. But mostly I count cards.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m a professional gambler, Andre.’

‘A professional gambler!’ He wanted to laugh but was too stunned. ‘Do people really do that?’

‘People certainly gamble all the time. But no, not many have the ability to turn it into a profession.’

‘But you do?’

She nodded. ‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Well, yes, frankly.’

‘Good! That’s the way I like it. But with Lamb, the whole thing works.’

‘Really?’ Already he was beginning to dislike this Lamb fellow. ‘What’s so special about him?’

‘Well,’ she yawned, arching her back, ‘if I were to sit down at the tables, play all night and win, I’d probably end up dead or in jail. But with a partner, especially one like Lamb, we provide just the right amount of distraction and plausibility.’

‘You’re not plausible, then?’

She gave him a look. ‘A woman is always conspicuous at a casino, especially if she wins. No, my job is distraction. And I do stick out, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘I had.’

‘Whereas Lamb looks as though he belongs at the tables. Knows how to talk to people.’

Valmont folded his arms across his chest. ‘So, how exactly does it work, this association with you and Lamb?’

‘It varies. We have systems, codes in place. We play them, improvising on the feeling in the room. But the basic principal is simple. Lamb sits at the tables and plays. And drinks. Far too much. By the time I arrive he’s always down a great deal of money and too intoxicated to walk let alone cheat. To anyone watching us, I seem as though I’m a pretty little fool and he’s a drunkard. No one ever suspects that I’m the one who’s in control. In two hands, I can recoup all his losses. In three, I can put us ahead. We rarely stay for four hands but in four…’ She smiled. ‘In four, I’d push us too far and we’d be rumbled. Win little and often, unless you want to spend every night on the road. They call me his good luck charm. No one ever thinks that a girl could be that clever.’

‘And is he, Lamb… is he also your lover?’

She snorted, laughing. ‘You make it sound so romantic!’

Valmont felt his irritation rise; already he felt unreasonably possessive. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s not like that. And don’t pretend to be jealous. It doesn’t suit you.’ Standing, she stretched her arms high above her head. ‘It’s a business arrangement. The truth is, he looked after me when I had nowhere to go. I owe him.’

‘How much?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘How much? When is your debt paid?’ he demanded. She turned away from him and stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray. ‘That seems to be a matter of debate,’ she said quietly.

He watched as she crossed the room, stepping back into her evening dress and pulling it up over her hips. ‘I need to get back to the tables. He’ll be losing now quite heavily, which is no bad thing.’

‘When will I see you?’

‘I’ll be around. Trust me, you won’t be able to miss me.’ She slipped on her sandals and picked up her evening bag. ‘In the meantime, I don’t want you to talk to anyone. Do you understand? No introducing yourself, no idle conversations by the pool, nothing. Allow your natural sullenness to thrive.’

‘Sullenness!’ He frowned. ‘I’m not sullen.’

She smiled. ‘But that’s precisely what I want you to be.’ Sitting down on the end of the bed, she stroked his leg. ‘The first thing you need to understand about the wealthy and privileged is that they’re like children – they only want what they can’t have. If they knew you’d come to sell them something they’d demolish you before breakfast.’

‘Then what am I meant to do?’

‘Simple. Talk to no one. When someone comes towards you, walk the other way. These people are used to being fawned over – they not only expect it, they rely on it. If there’s one thing they can’t bear, it’s someone who isn’t paying them any attention. So, as far as they’re concerned, you want nothing more than to be left alone.’ She stood up. ‘Allow me to do the rest. And we will need to see a tailor. Immediately.’

‘No.’ He shook his head firmly. ‘I don’t have the money for a new wardrobe.’

‘Andre, the second thing you need to understand is that you’re not selling perfume – you’re selling yourself. The idea of you as an eccentric genius. You can’t afford to blend in – you must look distinctive.’ Hands on her hips. ‘How can I help you if you don’t take my advice?’

Valmont stared at her. She was familiar and yet completely unknown to him. ‘You’re not the same girl at all.’

Crossing the room, she opened the door. Light from the hallway illuminated her from behind; her face was shadowy, yet her black hair shone as though it was on fire.

‘We are none of us the same girl, are we?’

The Grand Casino at Monte Carlo was a triumph of elaborate Belle Époque design, a golden canopy of gleaming gilt and elaborate flourishes. In the evening, under its vast domed ceiling, all of Monte Carlo society could be observed, including one delightful, wayward young woman and her tragically debauched English guardian.

Valmont watched from a remote seat at the bar as Eva worked her charms.

Her role at the tables was just as she had outlined. She seemed to pay little if any attention to Lamb, acting instead like a very sexy, tempestuous child. Occasionally she’d steal a sip from his drink or tap out an impatient little rhythm while he was glowering over his cards. More often she’d flirt, dance, tell rude jokes. Sometimes Lamb would beg her to be quiet or try to get her to leave. But she always ignored him. Only Valmont guessed that her well-timed interruptions were, in fact, carefully orchestrated signals.

Lamb’s reputation was crucial to the success of their venture. An alcoholic of heroic proportions, he regularly lost staggering amounts of money on sloppily played hands, ensuring that few devoted gamblers ever took him seriously. But then, after everyone had long written him off, and Eva was begging him to give up, he would place some magnificent bet and the tables would turn.