The Perfume Collector(86)
She looked up at him as he delivered the handkerchief and indicated whom it had come from.
Valmont took a cigarette case from his pocket, lit one and leaned against the portico.
He watched as she rose, walking slowly towards him, slipping easily through the crowds.
‘Sir,’ she stopped in front of him; her eyes were a curious shade of grey-green, ‘you have given me a hanky.’
He nodded. ‘Did you by any chance smell it, mademoiselle?’
She frowned a little, lifting it to her nose. Her face changed. ‘Rain!’
He took another drag. ‘Actually, summer rain on a warm pavement. But who’s arguing?’
She inhaled again. ‘You made it rain,’ she said softly, delighted.
‘Everyone needs a respite from the sun.’
‘Yes.’
She stood, looking at him quite boldly, a half-smile on her face. ‘Where are the rest of my storm clouds, monsieur?’
‘In a bottle upstairs.’
‘And what is the ransom for this bottle?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. All terms are negotiable, Eva.’
She tilted her head. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Am I so easy to forget?’
She took the cigarette gently from his fingers, inhaled, and gave it back to him. ‘I would like very much to see the bottle of rain, Monsieur Valmont.’
Valmont’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What about your companions?’
‘My friends can do very well without me.’
He held out his arm and she took it. And he felt his entire body flush with warmth at the proximity of her. Her delicious natural odour was intensified by the warm night; he could detect each layer, each nuance.
Valmont took her to his tiny room. The curtains had been left open; the blazing lights of Monte Carlo below illuminated the shadows, filling the room with a blue glow.
He reached for the light switch but she stopped him. ‘No, I prefer it this way.’ And without waiting for an invitation, she curled into a corner of the bed, propping the pillows around her.
He pulled over a straight-backed wooden chair and sat across from her, unsure of what to do next.
This wasn’t the same little girl he’d met in New York. And beautiful women didn’t frequent his bedroom in Paris. She possessed an ease and confidence he could only mimic.
Taking his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his evening jacket, he lit one with as much poise as he could muster. ‘I didn’t even recognize you at first. I thought, “I know that girl,” and yet for ages I couldn’t think how.’
She stretched out, smiling to herself. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. And what have you been doing with yourself, besides creating storm clouds for me?’
‘I am a perfumer, of course.’ He took another drag. ‘Easily the best in Paris.’
‘Of course!’ She laughed. ‘How could I doubt it? It’s just, I wonder that I haven’t heard of you?’
She struck a nerve. He straightened. ‘I have my own shop now, in Saint-Germain.’
‘Bravo! Is that Madame’s idea?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘How is she? She really was the most incredible creature! And, more importantly, how is business for the best perfumer in Paris?’
‘It’s been a great success, actually.’
She looked round the tiny room. ‘And yet you have such a refreshingly unostentatious style!’
He felt his cheeks flush and was glad of the darkness.
‘Have you brought me here to seduce me?’ Her voice was low and smooth.
‘Of course not!’
‘Really?’ She sounded disappointed, leaning her cheek on her palm. ‘Don’t I interest you?’
‘Oh, yes. I mean, I didn’t mean to imply . . .’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s just, I . . . I’m a man without much experience in these matters. I’ve had a business to attend to. A career to build.’
‘So why am I here?’
He pulled himself up, re-crossed his legs. ‘You . . . well, the truth is, I overheard your conversation a few days ago in the lobby and your request for rain inspired me.’
‘It’s not the first time you’ve made a perfume for me,’ she reminded him.
‘No, no, it isn’t.’
‘Are you hoping I’ll buy this from you?’
Her bluntness caught him off guard. He felt transparent, made of cellophane. ‘Well . . . that’s not quite what I meant . . .’
She cocked her head to one side. ‘Why not?’
She was so much more adept at this sort of thing than he was; so unabashed.
Instead, he reverted to what was familiar; he took the small vial of perfume from his travelling case of ingredients. ‘Would you like to know how I made it?’ He tried to assume an authoritative, professional tone.