The Perfume Collector(98)

Pulling up a chair by the side of the bed, he sat down. He took off his hat, turning it nervously around in his hands.

He didn’t want to be here; hated that she was so fragile and small. If only he’d won yesterday . . .

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair matted from sweat. She smelled of iodine and blood. They should have given her a wash. Couldn’t these people do anything right? He forced his fingers through his hair.

He would speak to them later.

Around and around he turned his hat.

Around and around and around. Outside the rain beat against the windowpane.

After a while, Eva’s eyes fluttered, then opened. ‘Where is she?’ Her voice was raw, just above a whisper, as if she hadn’t spoken in days.

‘She’s fine. Everything’s fine.’ He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

‘I want to see her,’ she insisted.

‘And so you shall. But we have matters to discuss first. You and I have an arrangement, remember?’

She nodded weakly.

‘I’ve looked after you, haven’t I? Months, without anything in return. But it’s cost me.’

Eva tried to sit up but it was too much effort. ‘Have you seen her? Does she have hair? What does she look like?’

‘It’s cost me,’ he said again, firmly.

She slumped back down. ‘Yes. I know. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get a job.’

He laughed, a dry, coughing sound. ‘You have a job, my dear. You just haven’t been able to perform it yet.’

‘I know. But if I get someone to look after her . . .’

He gave her a look and her voice trailed off.

‘We’ve spoken about this,’ he reminded her. ‘That wasn’t the deal. You have a special talent. We can make money, big money. But we can’t do it here. Not in England. We need to go abroad. And I’m not toting some baby with us, understand?’

She pressed her eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks.

He shook his head, turned his hat around and around.

He hated this; it was easier to leave a lover than to do this.

Rummaging in his coat pocket, he took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. ‘Look, I’ve always been straight with you, Dorsey. And now you owe me, quite a bit.’

‘But it’s different now. She’s here now.’

He leaned in. ‘How are you going to look after a baby on your own? Think about it. Once you get past the romance of it, what’s it going to be like day to day? Where are you going to live? How are you going to make ends meet? Who do you think is going to hire an unmarried girl with a baby in tow?’ He exhaled a long stream of smoke. ‘Do you want to die in poverty and have your little girl do the same?’

‘Stop it!’ She turned her face away. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way.’

‘No, it doesn’t. Listen to me – I have a sister. Lovely, accomplished. Kind. Married to a good man, a war hero. They have no children. But they do have a large house, money, and social position – something money can’t buy.’

‘Please!’ She took his hand. ‘Give me some time.’

‘We haven’t got time.’ He shook her off. ‘How do you think we’ve been living up till now? For God’s sake! If I don’t win tomorrow, we’ll get kicked out – I can’t even pay the rent.’ He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

‘You don’t have to give her up for ever,’ he pointed out, calmer now. ‘Just until you’ve got yourself back on your feet. You come to Europe with me and we make some real money. The casinos there are sagging with millionaires. And when we’ve had enough, we come back.’

He stroked her hair, pushing it gently back from her face. ‘And you, my dear, will have enough money to buy your own house with a garden, pay for good schools and beautiful frocks. You’ll be a rich woman, able to give her anything she needs or wants. But nothing is free, Dorsey. You know that. Besides, she’s only a baby. She won’t remember who looked after her when she was tiny.’

‘I will.’

‘Maybe, but you owe me. I’ve looked after you for quite a while now.’

‘What about your family? Couldn’t you speak to your father?’

His face hardened. ‘No. I told you, I’m dead to him and he to me. I wouldn’t take anything from him even if he offered, which, believe me, he won’t.’

‘We . . . we could get married . . . for real.’

‘Jesus! She’s not even mine!’

She was being unreasonable; making it much harder than it needed to be.

He tried again. ‘I’m not marrying anyone. Besides, let’s not pretend, you and I. Let’s do each other that small kindness.’