The Perfume Collector(109)

Lena smoothed Grace’s hair down, kissed her forehead. ‘A friend of mine. In Paris.’

‘Is he your husband?’

‘No. I don’t have a husband.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, sometimes that’s just the way things work out.’

‘Yes,’ Grace agreed solemnly, although she didn’t really understand. ‘I suppose so.’ She snuggled deeper. ‘Where’s Mummy?’

‘She’s not home yet. Now, you must be quiet or I shall not be able to write.’

‘But she will be home soon?’ (In truth, Grace didn’t care when her mother came back. She just wanted to stay on Lena’s lap. But she’d never done it before; didn’t know what was expected. So she talked about what she always talked about, which was her mother, so that Lena would let her stay.)

‘Yes, she will be home soon. And then there’s roast chicken for supper and you shall have the wishbone. What do you think of that?’

Grace smiled, looking up at Lena, hoping she would kiss her forehead again. ‘I shall wish a husband for you,’ she promised, tugging gently at Lena’s long hair.

Lena picked up the pen, pausing a moment, her brow creasing. Finally, she began.



Dear Andre,

Please forgive me for not writing sooner. I know we parted on poor terms, for which I am truly sorry. I should not have left so suddenly. As you can tell from the postmark, I have gone to England after all. I know you believe my actions are folly, however, I have met with success. I have been hired as a cook and housemaid in the very same home where my darling one lives. She is with me now, in fact, on my knee as I write.

At first she was shy. You can imagine how difficult it was not to gather her up in my arms and hold her close, but soon her courage grew. After a week, we were fast friends. And she is so clever and delightful!

If you could see me now, I know you would understand. I finally feel as if I can walk with my head held high and I am happy – yes, even scrubbing dishes and sweeping floors! My only regret is that you and I . . .



Lena stopped again. Her frown deepened.

Then she folded the letter in half and slipped it into her apron pocket. ‘I will finish this later. Come on, darling. What shall we do now?’

Grace shrugged, snuggling in closer to her chest.

Everything Lena did was fascinating to Grace.

She brought order and peace; called her ‘darling’ and ‘dear’. Grace liked to follow her around and see what she was up to next. Sometimes she would find her changing the bed sheets or dusting; one day she’d discovered Lena outside with one of the hallway carpets flung over two chairs, holding a broom.

‘What are you doing with that?’

‘I’m beating the carpets, dear. Here,’ Lena handed her the broom. ‘Would you like to try?’

Grace had liked that. She walloped the carpet with all her might and a big cloud of dust came out.

‘Look at how strong you are!’ Lena laughed and Grace had taken another swing and another, just to prove she was right.

Or after supper she could be found washing the dishes. Lena showed Grace how to press a fork deep into the soap and blow bubbles by dipping it into a glass of water. Soon the kitchen was filled with glassy bubbles. The dog had gone mad trying to chase them, barking hysterically.

Later on they played cards together. Lena knew a game that no one else could work out. But Grace was quick to learn.

‘You’re a very clever girl, do you know that?’ Lena stroked Grace’s cheek softly. ‘You must never forget that. Now, what would you do here? Think before you answer.’

Grace concentrated hard. She wanted to please Lena. And the game was both fun and difficult, which made it the best sort of game.

Sometimes, Lena and Grace went for a walk in the woods at the back of the house to gather petals. There was, in a small, sheltered grove, an unexpected patch of wild narcissus, or paperwhites as the English called them. Tiny, delicate white blooms, they gave off an intensely sweet fragrance.

Together, they harvested the freshest flowers and, back in the kitchen, Lena showed Grace how to make perfume from them. Taking two old panes of glass from the conservatory, she washed them clean and spread a thin layer of rendered tallow on each one. Then they laid out the blossoms one by one on the first pane, carefully placing the other pane of glass on top. Afterwards they stored them high on a shelf in the cool, dark pantry.

‘It’s called enfleurage,’ Lena explained. ‘We will gently extract the perfume oil from the blooms by pressing them into the tallow. But we must change the petals regularly and add new ones. Then we can make it into a pomade.’

‘Did your mummy teach you this?’