The Perfume Collector(102)
‘Madame Munroe . . .’ He stopped in front of her. ‘You look very beautiful tonight.’
His compliment seemed not to register. She raised her eyes slowly. ‘Please,’ she motioned to the seat across from her.
Almost immediately a waiter appeared; she seemed to excite special attention tonight, even in this busy place. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
He took off his coat, sat down. ‘What are you having?’
‘Scotch.’
‘I’ll have the same.’
She pointed to his briefcase. ‘Are those the papers?’
‘Yes.’ He took this as a cue and got them out, passing them across the table to her.
‘And where am I to sign?’
She certainly wasn’t wasting any time.
He indicated the spaces at the bottom of the pages. ‘I have marked the places with an X.’
She took a quick drag of her cigarette, balancing it in the ashtray. ‘Do you have a pen, by any chance?’
‘Would you like me to go over the terms of the agreement?’ He took a pen out of his breast pocket and passed it her. ‘I’d be more than happy to talk you through it.’
She scrawled her signature across the bottom of several pages. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Don’t you even want to know how much money it is selling for?’
Again, she scribbled her signature. ‘Whatever it is, it’s bound to be considerably more than I had when I arrived, isn’t it?’ She flashed him a terse smile and handed his pen back to him. ‘Voilà, Monsieur Tissot.’ She pushed the papers back across the table. ‘We are done.’
The waiter arrived with his drink.
‘Madame Munroe,’ he began, slipping the documents back into his briefcase, ‘I cannot help but feel that something has happened . . .’
‘Please, Monsieur Tissot,’ she took a final drag of her cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray as she rose, ‘I want to thank you for all of your assistance here in Paris. Your services have been excellent.’ She held out her hand.
He stood too, suddenly affronted. ‘My services?’
‘Yes. Your dedication to your profession is admirable and I’m extremely grateful for the time you’ve given me. I’m aware that you’ve gone above and beyond to accommodate me. I want to thank you and wish you luck in the future.’
He stared at her, his face inadvertently flushing with anger. ‘Are you dismissing me? Do you think my time with you was based solely upon professional courtesy?’
She stiffened, withdrew her hand. Somewhere behind the thick black mascara he could see in her eyes that he’d hit his mark. ‘You wanted me to sign the papers, didn’t you?’
‘Yes but I . . . I was trying . . .’ He stopped, thrown back on himself. ‘I was simply trying to advise you, in a professional capacity, on the most reasonable course of action.’
‘And so you have.’ She picked up her handbag from the table. ‘Your responsibilities to me are finally ended.’
She slid past him, through the busy bar.
He grabbed his briefcase and coat, heading after her into the foyer.
‘I don’t understand. What has happened to you?’ he demanded, catching her up.
‘Nothing.’ She made her way down the main corridor to the lift at the end. The doors opened and she stepped inside. He got in too.
‘What are you doing?’
The doors closed.
‘I’m following you.’
‘Why?’
Suddenly, he stopped, sniffed the air. ‘Are you wearing perfume?’
‘Why not? All women like perfume,’ she said, matter-of-factly.
‘Not you. You don’t. What is that anyway?’
She kept her eyes trained straight ahead, on the lift doors. ‘Something my friend bought me. From Hiver.’ She gave a hard little laugh. ‘Appropriate, don’t you think?’
The doors opened and she got off. Again, he kept pace with her.
In the middle of the corridor she stopped, turned on him. ‘What are you planning to do? Follow me to my room?’
‘Why are you wearing perfume? Where did you get this dress?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t like the way I look?’
‘I liked the way you looked before!’
‘Oh really?’ She turned away, her pace quickening. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Besides, that’s not the point.’
‘What is the point?’ She took out her key, unlocked the door to her room.
‘Something’s happened and you’re not telling me what it is.’ He reached out, grabbed her arm.
‘What difference does it make to you? Oh I know!’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘You think I’m broken and you want to fix me – that’s right, isn’t it?’