Kathleen Tessaro - The Perfume Collector

‘No, thank you.’

She watched as he lit one, easing back into the settee. Already he was at home. He had the talent of annexing any space he entered, claiming it for his own.

‘But what are you doing here?’ she asked again, holding her ground.

His eyes softened. ‘I’ve come to bring you back to London, Grace. I’ve been going mad without you. The truth is, I’ve been stupid and selfish.’ He sat forward, elbows on knees. The smoke from his cigarette wound upwards around his fair head. ‘You need to know, nothing happened with Vanessa. She just happened to be in Edinburgh, at the same hotel. We saw a film together but that’s all. I swear it.’

‘Then why did you lie?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sighing, he shook his head. ‘I was angry, I suppose. Frightened. And she can be very sympathetic.’ He looked up at her again; straight into her eyes. ‘We’ve had such a dreadful go of it, you and I, haven’t we?’ he said softly. ‘And I’m sorry, Gracie, but I didn’t handle it very well.’

Grace opened her mouth to speak but didn’t know where to begin, the words sticking in her throat. ‘You… I don’t understand…’

‘Please, darling.’ He got up. ‘Forgive me. You’ve married a fool. But I’m your fool, I promise.’ Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close.

He was so tall, she slipped in easily, just under his chin. She could feel his heart beating, smell the familiar soapy aftershave he wore. She stood very still, her cheek against his chest, until he took a step back.

He was smiling, handsome, relieved.

‘God, I’m shattered! What a journey.’

Tucking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, he lifted his case up, setting it on the luggage rack. He unsnapped the locks and took out his shaving kit.

She watched as he untied his shoelaces, slipped off his shoes, hung up his suit jacket. ‘Is that the loo?’

She nodded.

Roger padded past her into the bathroom and locked the door. She could hear the water running.

Grace sat down on the side of the bed.

He was back. All the way from London.

And Vanessa… apparently little more than a misunderstanding. If she believed him.

It had taken all of five minutes. He’d come in, made his apology and now he was in the bathroom – her bathroom.

So why didn’t she feel anything?

Running her hand over her forehead, Grace pressed her fingers deep into her skin. Yes, she could feel them. But why was she so numb inside?

After a while, Roger came out again.

Without saying anything, Grace turned off the light and he finished undressing in the dark. She stretched out along the far side of the bed with her back to him and he crawled in next to her.

It had been such a long time since he’d been this close; her heart pounded so loudly in her head she thought he might hear it.

But when he reached across to touch her, she moved away.

‘No.’

When Grace woke up the next morning, Roger was already fully dressed, sitting at the writing desk. He was looking over some papers, his reading glasses low on his nose.

Still groggy, Grace propped herself up on her elbows. ‘What time is it?’

He didn’t bother to look over. ‘I’m not sure.’ He turned the page. ‘There’s a time difference, isn’t there?’

Grace rubbed her eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

Taking off the glasses, he turned, holding up the papers. ‘Do you have any idea what a valuable share portfolio this is?’

Grace sat up, fully awake now. ‘Those papers belong to me, Roger!’

‘You’re my wife, Grace. They belong to both of us now.’

‘Why were you even looking at them?’ She swung her legs out. ‘Who gave you permission?’

He looked at her, his upper lip curling slightly, as if she were mad. ‘They were here on the desk, for anyone to see. Besides, Mallory told me you were having difficulty with some business matters. I know how to read contracts, Grace. I do it all day long. You should have shown them to me as soon as they came in the door.’

‘Mallory?’ They’d been discussing her behind her back? ‘What has she got to do with anything?’

‘Nothing. My God, you’re touchy!’ He turned round in his chair to face her. ‘I rang her, all right? I wanted to know that you were safe.’

‘Then why didn’t you ring me?’

‘Because,’ he stood up, ‘you weren’t listening to me! Were accusing me of having an affair. What is wrong with you this morning?’

Grace turned her back on him. It felt as though her head was going to explode. He was too big, too loud; took up all the space in the room. No sooner had he arrived than he was going through her papers, telling her what to do, ringing her friends. Grabbing a dress from the wardrobe, she marched into the bathroom.

When she came out, Roger was going through the documents she’d signed with Monsieur Tissot. ‘We absolutely need to have these translated properly. And I’m going to ring this Edouard Tissot and get him to meet me here this afternoon. I’m telling you, this is negligence,’ he insisted, shaking his head. ‘I cannot believe that you would sign anything without consulting me first, Grace. This could be a serious mistake. Have you any idea what the going rate of property is in this area? You’re lucky I found them in time.’

Grace picked up her handbag and coat. Put on her hat.

Roger took off his glasses. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I need some fresh air.’

‘You can’t leave now, Grace. You need to tell me exactly what you’ve done here. We have to go through these. Don’t you understand? This affects both of us. Who is this Eva d’Orsey, anyway?’

She opened the door. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. And these are my affairs, Roger. They do not concern you.’

The first place she went was to Mallory’s room but there was no answer.

After scanning the dining room and terrace, Grace eventually found her sitting in one of the corner sofas in the drawing room, writing postcards.

Mallory smiled. ‘Hello, stranger. Feeling better?’

Grace threw herself into one of the armchairs across from her. ‘Roger is here.’

‘He’s here ?’ Mallory looked up, shocked. ‘In Paris?’

Grace leaned in close. ‘Why did you tell him about the inheritance?’

Mallory put down her pen. ‘You mean you haven’t?’

Grace ran her fingers over her eyes. It was as if the walls were closing in around her. Paris, where she’d felt so autonomous and free, had overnight become as suffocating as London. ‘He’s into all my papers now, Mal. He’s ringing the lawyer, he’s going to have the contracts translated.’

‘Well,’ she said, frowning, ‘isn’t that rather a good thing?’

‘No, Mallory. It isn’t.’

‘You don’t think he might be useful?’

‘This is my affair,’ Grace insisted. It had never struck her before how crucial it was that she figure out these questions on her own; how deeply her autonomy mattered to her.

Mallory’s brow furrowed; she bit her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry, Grace. I thought you were, well, out of your depth. When he rang the other night, he sounded genuinely concerned. He told me he just wanted to know that you were all right. I had no idea you hadn’t told him. And I certainly didn’t know that he was going to turn up. Honestly, darling,’ she put her hand over Grace’s, ‘I just wanted to do what was best for you.’

Grace stood up. ‘This isn’t it.’

‘How can you be sure?’

Grace looked at her. ‘I… I don’t know,’ she floundered, taken aback. Mallory had hit a nerve; Grace was normally the confused one, the one floating aimlessly, stumbling in the dark.

‘Well,’ Mallory sighed, ‘what is best then?’