The Perfume Collector(4)

‘You don’t like this dress?’ Grace asked.

Mallory shrugged. ‘It’s perfectly fine.’

Grace held it up again. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s just, oh, I don’t know. You know what Vanessa’s like. Everything’s always cutting edge, up to the minute. The very latest look of 1956 . . .’

‘Which is remarkable because it’s only 1955, Mal.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean! She’s ahead of her time.’

‘Yes, but I don’t have to compete with Vanessa, do I? We can’t all be trendsetters. That woman has far too much time on her hands and far too much money.’

‘Perhaps, but nobody wants to miss one of her parties, do they? You need to start entertaining properly too. Tonight will be a good opportunity to steal some names from Vanessa’s guest list. I’ve got a little notebook and pencil in my handbag if you need it.’

‘Oh God!’ Grace shuddered. ‘I can’t bear the thought of it!’

‘Honestly!’ Mallory rolled her eyes. ‘What did you do up in Oxford for entertainment anyway?’

‘My uncle is a don. We had people round for cauliflower cheese and played bridge.’

‘How ghastly!’ Mallory laughed. ‘You’re going to have to get over this aversion to speaking to other people if you want to be an asset to your husband. He’s not going to be promoted on his good looks alone,’ she smiled. ‘You haven’t got a light, have you? Do you like this?’ She stood up, twirling round, showing off the full skirt of the deep red off-the-shoulder dress she was wearing. ‘It’s new. From Simpson’s.’

‘Very fetching.’ Grace stepped into her navy dress. ‘There’s a lighter in there, isn’t there?’

Mallory rifled round in the cigarette box. ‘Not that I can see. Here.’ She popped the cigarette into the corner of her perfectly rouged mouth. ‘Let me do you up.’

Grace stood in front of her while Mallory zipped up the back of her dress. ‘Roger must’ve taken it. We’re always losing lighters. That one’s my favourite though. I’ll kill him if he’s lost it.’

Mallory tugged at a good two inches of fabric that should have been fitted closely to Grace’s waist. ‘This is too big. You’ve lost weight again.’ There was an accusatory tone in her voice.

Grace crossed to her dressing table, opened a drawer and took out a box of matches. She tossed them to Mallory, who caught them midair, with the hidden athletic reflexes of a childhood tomboy. ‘Light me one too, will you?’

‘With pleasure. After all, you are my date tonight.’

‘Thank you for that.’ Grace caught her eye in the mirror and winked, as she put a pair of pearl clips on. It wasn’t lost on her that Mal was actually trying to help her. ‘It was good of you to invite me.’

‘We can’t have you wasting away while Roger’s out of town.’ Mallory lit two cigarettes and passed one to Grace. ‘Besides, it’s not often I get to ditch my husband for someone who actually listens to what I say. He can’t bear Vanessa anyway, thinks she’s a bad influence.’

‘Is she?’

‘Of course.’ Mallory picked up a pamphlet lying on top of a stack of books on the table. ‘What’s this?’

‘Nothing.’ Grace wished she’d had the foresight to put them away now. ‘Just a schedule of classes.’

‘The Oxford and County Secretarial College?’ Mallory flipped through; it naturally fell open to the pages Grace had already dog-eared. ‘Advanced Typing and Office Management? Bookkeeping?’ She made a face. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘You never know,’ Grace slipped on the navy pumps, ‘it might be quite helpful. Roger may well open his own offices one day. I could be a valuable asset to him; organize his appointments, type letters . . .’

‘But Grace, you have a job,’ Mallory pointed out. ‘You’re his wife.’

‘That’s not a job, Mal.’

Mallory flashed her a look. ‘Really? I wonder if you’ve read the fine print on your marriage certificate. It’s up to you to create a home, a family, a vision of where you all fit in the world and where you’re going. Think about it – the children’s schools, where you spend the weekends, your entire social circle – it’s all down to you.’ She put on an exaggerated accent. ‘Oh, the Munroes? Of course I know them! Isn’t she wonderful? Her son is at Harrow with our eldest. And I love what she’s done with the house, don’t you?’ Mallory took another drag, tossing the leaflet down. ‘Believe me, Ducky, you have a job. Besides, this place is in Oxford. How many times do I have to remind you that you live in London now?’