Free The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro

newspaper.’
    ‘Is she a friend of the family?’
    ‘I suppose she might have known my parents before they died. Still, what kind of person gives her money to a complete stranger? And what kind of stranger just takes it?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ The whole idea appeared to interest rather than disturb him.
    ‘Did she ever explain the bequest to you?’
    ‘No. I only met her once, when she composed the will. She came through another client of ours, Jacques Hiver.’
    ‘Hiver?’ Grace repeated, trying to place the name. ‘Where have I seen that name before?’
    ‘In every chemist’s window in the city. He’s the owner of one of the biggest cosmetics companies in France.’
    ‘Yes, of course!’
    Hiver rouge – the advertisement featured a drawing of a beautiful dark-haired woman, blindfolded with a black silk scarf, wearing the deepest shade of red lipstick. Underneath it read simply, Embrasse-moi – kiss me. She’d noticed it because the image seemed so daring; not at all the type of poster one would ever see in England.
    ‘So,’ she tried to fit the pieces together, ‘Madame d’Orsey was his wife?’
    ‘Well, no . . .’ He looked at her sideways. ‘He passed away earlier this year. His wife is still alive. You see, we didn’t handle Monsieur Hiver’s – how do you put it? – legitimate affairs. He had another, much bigger firm for that. We dealt with those matters that required a more delicate legal approach.’
    ‘In what way delicate?’
    ‘I believe she was his mistress.’
    ‘Oh!’
    Grace stared at the cobbled street in front of her. Her first inclination was to judge. And yet it wasn’t so easy, when you were on the receiving end of such generosity.
    They sat a moment.
    ‘Did she give you any indication . . . any clue when she drew up the will, as to why she was giving the money to me?’
    He shook his head. ‘The question never arose. She had the information I showed you, which she handed to me as soon as we began. I don’t recall that we ever discussed any personal aspects of the will. She came fully prepared. I remember being very impressed with how clearly she’d outlined her wishes and how straightforward everything was. Her main concern seemed to be that the assets should be liquidized as quickly as possible. And that you should receive the bequest in person. On your own.’
    ‘Really?’ That was an odd caveat.
    He nodded. ‘If you’d come with someone else, I was to ask that they wait outside.’
    ‘I see.’ It sent a chill through her to think of the care and planning this stranger had expended on her behalf.
    It began to rain a little, a soft misting that settled silently on the windscreen.
    ‘What did she look like?’ she asked quietly.
    ‘Very striking, with dark hair. She must have only been in her early forties and she was quite attractive. But one could see that she seemed to be in some sort of pain, and I think it wore on her; it showed in her face.’
    Grace continued to stare at the cobblestones, now damp and glistening in the flickering lamplight, as the afternoon drew to a close. ‘I have no idea of what to do.’
    ‘But there’s no need for you to do anything. I can assure you, the will is perfectly legal and binding. Once you sign the papers, you can simply take the proceeds and return to London.’
    ‘But how?’ Couldn’t he see how impossible that was? ‘I couldn’t live my life without even knowing who she was or why she gave it to me. It would drive me mad!’
    ‘Think of it like winning a lottery,’ he suggested.
    ‘I don’t believe in gambling, Monsieur Tissot. To me, chance isn’t random. The universe is bound by unseen threads. We have only to untangle them a little to see a pattern unfold.’ She turned to face him. ‘Are you certain there hasn’t been a mistake?’
    He straightened, clearly irritated at the inference. ‘I can assure you, I’m not in the habit of making mistakes. And I have no evidence that Eva d’Orsey did