The Perfume Collector(62)

It was an apartment of extremes – classic, modern – and undeniably sophisticated. Almost no concessions had been made to convention. It wasn’t a social setting but rather a sanctuary.

It was such a different world from the one Grace was familiar with. She’d lived her life in English heritage houses, with chintz fabric, Queen Anne furniture, paintings of long-dead family members – all with their noses and eyes in the right places. She was unused to a home that didn’t cheerfully sport a traditional public face. It seemed to her a luxurious disregard.

Madame Zed brought in a bottle of cognac and some glasses. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very ladylike, however I prefer this to tea.’

‘You have such a wonderful home,’ Grace admired.

‘I used to have a wonderful home,’ Madame corrected her, pouring out two drinks. ‘It’s outdated. But I’m old now. I have neither the strength nor the means to redo it.’

‘Outdated! On the contrary, I think it’s extremely modern.’

She handed her a drink. ‘All my life I’ve been a creature of fashion. Fashion, like life, is all about change. About embracing the new and the unknown. This look is old. I’m stuck.’

‘Where I come from, everything is stuck.’

‘And that,’ Madame raised her glass, ‘is why no one travels halfway across the world to buy a dress in London.’

Touché, Grace thought with a smile. ‘I understand that you’re a perfumer, is that right? That you created some very memorable scents.’

Madame Zed gave a little shrug. ‘I’ve enjoyed some success in my time.’

‘Do you still make perfume?’

‘No. Not in many years. A lifetime ago.’ She settled into a chair across from her. ‘But now, tell me how you came here?’

‘Well, actually, there’s very little to tell. I live in London. I’m married. I lead a perfectly average life,’ she admitted. ‘Then one day, I received a letter from Madame d’Orsey’s lawyer, Monsieur Tissot, informing me that I was the sole beneficiary of her will. I was certain there had been a mistake. But Monsieur Tissot insisted. So I arrived in Paris a few days ago to see for myself.’ She put her glass down. ‘As bizarre as it sounds, apparently I’ve received an inheritance from a woman I know nothing about. The entire situation is absurd!’

Madame raised a hand to stop her. ‘I’m sorry, but what precisely is your inheritance, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘According to the will, my inheritance is to be the proceeds of the sale of an apartment, in the Place des Vosges. Do you know it?’

‘Oh.’ Madame Zed frowned; shifted. ‘I see. Nothing else?’

‘Well, there are some stocks.’ Grace sat forward. ‘The lawyer – I’m sure he thinks that I should just take the money and leave. But I can’t. I’m looking for someone who knew Eva d’Orsey, for some clue to my connection to her.’

Grace waited, hoping that Madame Zed would willingly fill in the gaps, but instead she took a sip of her cognac, her features unreadable. She seemed hesitant, even reluctant to offer any information.

Still, Grace remembered the way the old woman had reacted when she’d heard of Eva’s death. She tried again. ‘You knew her, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes, I knew her.’ However, instead of explaining, Madame fell silent, drifting into her own thoughts.

‘What was she like?’ Grace prompted.

‘Eva?’ Madame’s black eyes held the distance, as if she were looking inward, into her own memory. ‘Eva was the most genuinely original, singularly elegant woman I think I have ever known. She was also very troubled. Desperate even. I knew her a long time. The truth was we both had certain expectations of each other. In the end, I suppose they were too high.’

‘What kind of expectations? What do you mean, desperate?’

Madame looked across at Grace. ‘It’s a complicated history, Mrs Munroe. I’m not entirely certain even I understand it.’

Her evasiveness was frustrating.

‘I just want to know something about her.’ Grace felt as though she was begging; perhaps she was. ‘I know nothing!’

Madame considered a moment. ‘What if knowing more meant that your life would change?’

‘How?’

But Madame Zed didn’t elaborate. Instead she stared at Grace, as if trying to measure her resolve.

‘Hasn’t my life already changed?’ Grace pointed out. ‘The only difference is, right now I don’t understand why.’

‘Very well,’ Madame agreed finally.