The Perfume Collector(104)

‘Good God!’ She stepped back, blinking. ‘Roger?’

‘Well it’s about time,’ he said. ‘I’d nearly given up on you.’



‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to see you. After all, I am your husband.’ He smiled. Roger had a charming smile, one that illuminated his whole face; wrinkling his nose, crinkling the skin around his hazel eyes. ‘My God!’ he laughed. ‘Whatever in the world have you done to your hair? Never mind – I suppose it will grow back.’ Tossing his overcoat over the back of the desk chair, he settled into the settee, took out his cigarettes.

Grace remained standing, still stunned; arms folded protectively across her chest over her white cotton nightdress.

‘Come on, now!’ He laughed at her sternness, tilting his head sideways. ‘Are you really going to tell me you’re not even a little bit pleased to see me?’ He pushed his fingers through his sandy blond hair. ‘I’ve come all this way. Want one?’ He held out a packet of Chesterfields.

‘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.’