Free Ghosts of Winter by Rebecca S. Buck Page B

mouth? She maintained eye contact, not apparently trying to convey anything, simply watching me. No one had ever watched me in that way before. I felt dizzy. “Was I right?” I managed to say in the end, trying to keep the conversation on the perfume before my face revealed my confusion and my intrigue.
    “About my perfume?” Anna’s smile was teasing. She knew the effect of her words I was sure. But what game was she playing with me? How on earth did I learn the rules of it? Was it even a good idea to try to find out?
    “Yes. Is it Tabac Blond?” The conversation was back on safe territory even if my emotions were fluttering wildly, trying to settle only to be agitated again.
    “Yes,” she said, and it sounded like a question, not an answer, as though she was asking what conclusions I had drawn about her from her perfume. I could have said it was a very androgynous, even masculine scent, an unusual choice. I could have said it was the scent of a strong, liberated, classy woman. I could have impressed her with my knowledge of women’s cultural history—a focus of mine at university—and told her it was created by Caron in 1919 as a result of the vogue for smoking among glamorous young American women just after the World War I. I could simply have told her I found the scent incredibly attractive, and I wanted to press myself close to her skin and inhale it warm, from her body, the way all perfumes should be experienced.
    “I’ve always liked it.” I chose my understatement carefully. “But it’s pricey stuff.” Anna raised her eyebrows and her smile was almost condescending, but not quite. Everything she did seemed calculated to tease me. Knowing I’d clearly lost all good judgement—she was, after all, married—I tried very hard to listen to her words without interpreting her facial gestures. Now her lips twitched as though she was going to laugh.
    “I suppose I’m a pricey woman.” She turned from me and I watched, astonished as her face quickly grew impassive once more. She was maddening to talk to, to flirt with. To flirt with? Was this flirting? I had no business flirting with anyone at this point in my life. But nothing could stop my heart beating just that little bit faster.
    I watched her now, in her blue-striped shirt sleeves, as she tried the handle of the door one more time. The sleeves were long, with large turned-back cuffs secured by silver cuff links. Tailored close to her slim body, the shirt was tucked into a black leather belt at her waist. I followed the lines of her body lower, and couldn’t help but appreciate the way the quality fabric caressed the slight curve of her buttocks. I tightened my lips together and worked to ignore the throb low in my body.
    Having failed to open the door conventionally once more, Anna twisted slightly sideways and braced her shoulder against it. She turned the handle and pushed with her whole body, this time bending her knees and straining hard. I watched, fascinated, wondering whether I should try to help and feeling quite useless that I could not. When she must have felt the door budge slightly, she rolled back on her feet and flung herself, shoulder first, at the door. It gave way with a loud screech of wood against wood, and Anna fell forwards into the room.
    I simply stared, astonished and impressed. Then I came to my senses and went to investigate if Anna had hurt herself. She was in the middle of the opened room, brushing dust from her arms and not apparently injured. The only real evidence of having just won the battle with the door was the vaguely dishevelled state of her hair and her slightly irregular breathing.
    “That was pretty impressive,” I told her.
    “Do you think so?”
    “I couldn’t shift it on my own.” I was unable to work out if she was being modest or sarcastic. Did she want me to be impressed? I wished she was easier to read. “You must be stronger than you look. Do you go to the gym or something?” I didn’t