The Perfume Collector(67)

‘You’re supposed to think more of me.’

Sis frowned, bit her lower lip. ‘When are you going to come to confession again? You haven’t been for ages.’

Eva wiped down the counter. ‘I’ve nothing to confess.’

‘What about Mass?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Do you want to end up in hell?’

Eva folded up the towel. ‘Is it any different from this?’

Sis opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. She tried another tack.

‘Has he . . . I mean,’ she lowered her voice, ‘did he try to touch you? That’s happened to me. Men get grabby when they’re away from home. And they seem to think you’re included in the price of the room.’

‘He’s never laid a finger on me.’

Sis sighed, shook her head. ‘Well, he wants to see you.’

Eva took off her apron, turned off the lights. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well?’ Sis followed her out into the hallway. ‘Are you going to go?’

‘I don’t know. I’m certainly not going now.’

‘But what if he complains? What if Mrs Ronald hears about it?’

Eva stopped. ‘I don’t understand. What do you want me to do? Go or not go?’

‘I don’t know! If you don’t go you could get in trouble. But I mean, why? Why is he asking for you?’

‘How do I know? People are strange.’ Eva headed down the hall towards the back stairs. ‘Why did that old woman want you to sing her to sleep?’

Sis caught up with her up. ‘I told you he was a communist, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Leave the door open. Do you hear me? Go, but make sure you leave the door open. That way, if he makes a lunge for you, you have an exit.’

‘I told you, I may not even go.’

Sis sighed heavily as they climbed up the stairs. Eva could hear the tears begin to catch in her throat. ‘You used to tell me everything.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Just like that night, huh?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Why won’t you tell me?’

Eva turned on her. ‘Because I can’t! I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘I don’t want you to make it up to me! I want you to talk to me.’ She stopped. ‘I don’t know what happened to you that night, but if you can’t even tell me then there’s a pretty good chance you shouldn’t be doing it at all!’

Sis turned on her heel and stormed back down the staircase, the door slamming again at the bottom.

Sinking down on the steps, Eva cradled her head in her hands. Suddenly a wave of nausea washed over her. She was going to be sick again.

It had begun out of nowhere. Eva woke up when the sky was still dark, her head spinning, retching for no reason. And then the sickness was gone, only to return again the next morning. And Sis was right, she had filled out. All of a sudden her breasts were painfully tender and full.

Curling into a ball, she rested her head on her arms. She needed to be still a moment. Very still. Until the nausea passed.

She hated herself.

All around her doors were closing.

Life in the grey area had become very dark indeed.



It was not permitted for staff to go through the main corridors once they were off duty. Eva’s heart pounded as she made her way down the hallway towards room 701. She walked slowly, pushing her shoulders down and her chin up. She hesitated a moment when she reached his door and then knocked.

‘Come in,’ he called.

She opened the door and stepped inside. ‘You wanted to see me.’

Mr Lambert was standing by the window with a drink in his hand. He turned. She was wearing street clothes, a dress, and carrying a handbag and a hat. Her dark hair gleamed, smooth and satiny in the glowing light of the evening sunset.

‘Where are you going?’ It had never occurred to him that she might have a life outside the hotel.

‘I’m on my way out.’ The statement was both vague and final.

He took a few steps forward. He almost didn’t recognize her. Her face looked older; a casual, knowing expression had replaced the eagerness. And with her new haircut, her features had a symmetry and boldness he’d never noticed before.

‘You wanted to see me,’ she said again.

He was staring at her. ‘Yes.’

She waited, looking him calmly in the eye.

In her uniform, she was his servant. But now, even in the simple black dress she’d made from one of Madam Zed’s curious cast-off tunics, she was suddenly his equal. She could feel him taking her in, adjusting himself to this new reality of her.

‘You’re very quiet,’ she said, after a while. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten what it was that you needed to say.’ She had her hand on the doorknob. ‘Good evening, Mr Lambert.’