The Perfume Collector

Mallory stared at her in horror. ‘Grace, be sensible! Let it go!’

‘It was my father’s.’ Grace’s voice was steely. Mallory had never seen her so determined. ‘It’s the only thing I have left of his.’ She opened the door. ‘I want it back.’

Mallory stopped her, barring the way with her arm. ‘Then I’ll get it. Do you understand? Let me deal with it. You’ve had a terrible shock and you can only make matters worse for yourself. But right now, darling,’ she took Grace firmly by the shoulders, ‘I’m taking you home.’

‘I wish you’d let me go with you.’

Three days later, Mallory was standing in the front hallway at Woburn Square again, this time watching as Grace buttoned up her mackintosh and adjusted her hat in the mirror.

‘I’ll be fine.’ Grace pulled on her gloves.

Mallory looked worried. ‘I’m not so sure. Besides, my French is better than yours.’

‘A cat’s French is better than mine.’ Grace smiled. ‘Anyway, I appreciate you driving me to the airport.’

Grace opened the door and stepped outside, into the misty early morning fog. Mallory followed, taking the suitcase. She fitted it into the boot while Grace locked up the house. Then both girls climbed into Mallory’s car, a blue Aston Martin DB2.

‘Have you even spoken to him?’ Mallory asked.

‘Not really. I told him I had some unexpected business to attend to in France.’

‘And that was all?’

‘Yes. I didn’t go into the details.’ Then she added quietly, ‘And he didn’t ask.’

‘Humm.’ Mallory took in this final bit of information.

Matters were worse than she’d suspected.

She started the engine. ‘I don’t like you going on your own.’ Lurching into traffic, she pulled out directly in front of a slow-moving milk float. ‘It’s all so sudden. And, well, you’ve had a dreadful shock. Tell me again what they said when you rang the lawyers in Paris.’

Grace sighed. They’d already been over this half a dozen times.

‘I spoke to a man named Tissot. I told him I thought there must be a mistake, that they’d clearly sent the letter to the wrong person. But he was insistent. He said he was certain the information was correct and that I should examine the will and see for myself.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t understand you.’

‘No, he understood. His English was quite good.’ Grace shifted. ‘By the way,’ she tried to sound casual, ‘were you able to get it?’

‘It’s in my handbag.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Go ahead.’

Grace opened Mallory’s handbag and took out the mother-of-pearl-and-gold lighter. She wanted not to ask the question but couldn’t help herself. ‘What did Vanessa say when you asked for it back?’

Mallory concentrated on the road. ‘Nothing. She just gave it to me.’

‘Nothing?’ This wasn’t at all what Grace had expected. ‘Well, what did you say?’

Mallory made a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding hitting the back of a number 19 bus. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath. ‘I told her that I believed she had something that didn’t belong to her and that I would appreciate it if I could have it back, on behalf of the original owner.’

‘Oh.’

Grace had imagined something more heated; for sides to be taken, honour defended. The polite civility of Mallory’s interchange felt like a slap in the face.

Mallory sensed this. But she didn’t want to tell Grace the truth; that Vanessa had barely even acknowledged the request at all. In fact, her nonchalance had been nothing short of magnificent.

She’d merely raised a black eyebrow. ‘Oh? And what might that be?’ she’d asked coolly.

It was Mallory who’d been embarrassed, unable to meet her gaze. ‘A lighter,’ she’d mumbled. ‘With mother-of-pearl on it.’

Vanessa had obligingly searched through her handbag, handing the lighter over with an easy, open smile. ‘One hardly knows where one picks these things up!’

That was it.

No guilty looks, no pretend surprise. If anything, Mallory was the one left feeling apologetic for taking up her time.

It only struck her later that Vanessa didn’t bother to ask to whom the lighter belonged.

She didn’t have to.

Still, Grace’s disappointment hit a nerve. Mallory knew she’d been unable to rise to the occasion. And to her shame, part of her had even been secretly impressed with Vanessa’s subtle blend of poise and audacity.

‘What did you want me to say?’ Mallory’s voice was brittle.

Grace looked out of the window. ‘I don’t know.’

She was being unfair to Mallory. She’d got the lighter back, after all.

Grace slipped it into the pocket of her coat, where she often kept it; within easy reach. It had already begun to wear a hole in the silk lining.

‘It was bloody awkward, I can tell you. We were at the Royal Horticultural Society Spring Luncheon,’ Mallory added, as if that made her efforts more heroic. ‘Do me a favour. Light me a cigarette, will you?’

Grace lit two.

They smoked for a while.

Mallory turned on the radio, moving from one station to the next, then turned it off again.

The tension remained.

Soon she reverted to her favourite subject. ‘So, what are you going to do about Roger anyway?’