The Perfume Collector(117)

Eva sat down on the chair near the fireplace. ‘What are you building?’

‘A fortress,’ she answered, without looking up.

‘You never like to play with dolls, do you?’ Eva noted.

Grace shook her head. ‘I’m going to make things. Like Daddy.’

‘Not a mummy with a baby?’

‘A mummy with a baby and a maker,’ she determined, balancing another block.

‘Lena!’ Catherine was calling from the kitchen. ‘Lena! Come here, please.’

Both of them hurried downstairs. Catherine was standing in the kitchen, arms folded in front of her. Her face was serious.

‘I’d like an explanation, Lena.’ She pointed to the greasy panes of glass, with bits of dead flowers smashed between them, lined up on the kitchen counter top. ‘I went into the pantry to compile a shopping list and I found these.’ Her upper lip curled in disgust. ‘What are they? Please don’t say that we’re meant to eat them!’

‘They are flowers presses, ma’am. To make perfume.’

‘Perfume?’ Catherine was at a loss. ‘But why?’

‘Well, I . . . it’s just . . .’ Eva blinked. ‘I thought it would be something to do, ma’am. As a project for Grace.’

‘Little girls don’t need projects. And if they do, you can teach them how to knit or sew – something useful!’ Gingerly she picked at the side of one of the glass panes, recoiling from the greasy edge. ‘What is that anyway? Lard?’

‘Tallow, ma’am.’

‘Good God!’ Catherine shuddered, wiping her fingertips off on a tea towel. ‘And what’s this?’ She pointed to another.

Eva looked down at the floor. ‘Hair, ma’am. And a bit of wool.’

‘I have honestly never seen anything so disgusting in my life! And in the kitchen of all places! Really, Lena. I don’t understand – you’re normally so clean. Get rid of them. It’s bound to be rancid by now.’

‘But it isn’t, Mummy,’ Grace interjected. ‘And this one,’ she pointed out the panes with the paperwhites, ‘this one is going to be mine when it’s ready!’

‘Yours? Are you mad?’ Catherine looked at her incredulously. ‘In the first place, little girls don’t wear scent and in the second, I won’t have you running about smeared with beef fat!’

Grace reached out, took her mother’s hand. ‘But I want to smell like flowers. Don’t you?’

Catherine pulled her hand away. ‘Darling, that is not scent. That is a greasy mess! And no, I have no desire to reek like the floor of a cheap florist’s stall – it’s vulgar. Get rid of them, Lena.’ Catherine eyed them both fiercely. ‘And please, restrain yourselves. Teach her French, instead. She doesn’t know a word and at this rate, she never will.’ Catherine ran her hand across her eyes. ‘I have a searing headache today. Have you taken anything in yet to Mr Maudley?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘Please, Lena,’ Lady Catherine pleaded, ‘I need your help. Just take him some tea. I have the shopping to do and a deadline to meet.’

She heaved a great sigh and picked up her list.



For luncheon they had cheese sandwiches. Eva had a way of making them, of putting them in the top oven so that the cheese melted, forming a gooey crust on top of the bread. Then she cut them into little strips and fanned them out on the plate around thin slices of apple.

Then it was Grace’s nap time. Eva took off her shoes and dress, pulled the curtain across. She sat on the edge of the bed, ran her fingers through the child’s hair.

Grace closed her eyes.

Her breathing slowed to a regular rhythm.

The window was open; soft fingers of wind gathered the gauzy net curtain up then released it, slowly. Outside, a hazy warm stillness settled over the afternoon. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Only time, unfolding gracefully from one moment to the next.

Eva pressed her lips to the top of Grace’s head, then went back downstairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Arranging a tea tray with milk and a slice of yellow cake, Eva carried it outside to the greenhouse.

She looked up at the sky. The air had suddenly gone still, the sky a flat shade of grey. Rain was coming.

Fry, the dog, wove between her legs, yapping excitedly. ‘What’s wrong?’ She rubbed his head. ‘Calm down! Do you want to play?’

She knocked on the door of the greenhouse.

There was no reply.

After a minute, she pushed the door open with her back. ‘Hello? Sir? Anyone here?’

It was so quiet.

Walking through to the office, she saw his back at the desk.