The Perfume Collector

New York, 1927

It was nearing the end of August when Eva saw Miss Waverley again. She was strolling down the hallway on the arm of a dark-haired man with a very thin moustache as Eva was coming out of the linen closet on the third floor.

‘Oh, hello!’ Miss Waverley smiled gaily, as if Eva were an old friend.

‘You’re back!’ Eva beamed in turn, ridiculously thrilled at the sight of her.

Miss Waverley laughed and pulled the long chinchilla wrap she was wearing up on her shoulders. ‘I told you I would be.’

The gentleman tipped his hat at her.

Miss Waverley squeezed his arm. ‘This is Mr Wiener. And this, my dear,’ she said, turning to him, ‘is the little maid I told you about.’

Miss Waverley had been talking about her; had remembered her. Eva’s whole chest swelled with pride.

‘Charmed,’ he nodded. He had a German accent and intent, almost entirely black eyes.

‘So, you’re still here,’ Miss Waverley said.

‘Yes.’

Mr Wiener lit a cigarette. ‘Does it suit you?’

‘Pardon me, sir?’

‘This type of work?’

They were both looking at her very seriously, waiting for a response.

‘It suits me very well, sir.’

‘You have no ambition?’

‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’

‘Really? Tell me, you don’t want to be in the movies like everyone else in the world?’

‘Don’t tease her,’ Miss Waverley chided. ‘She doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Josef is a film director,’ she explained Eva. ‘And a world-class cynic.’

‘So.’ He had a way of staring directly into her eyes that made her uneasy. ‘You are the only girl in New York who doesn’t want to be a film star, is that right?’

‘I don’t think I can act, sir.’

He laughed. ‘That has never stopped anyone else! Everyone wants something. Go on, tell me your dream.’

‘Me?’ She looked to Miss Waverley, who just smiled at her. ‘I don’t think I have any dreams, sir.’

‘Really? That’s a shame. Because I might just be inclined to give some of them to you.’ He tipped his hat again and they continued on.

Tossing the chinchilla over her shoulder, Miss Waverley caught Eva’s eye and gave her a wink. ‘Do come and see me later,’ she called. ‘I have a present for you. But come after midnight. I’ll be out until then.’

It was half past midnight when Eva knocked on Miss Waverley’s door.

She opened it, wrapped in her dressing gown, and smiled. ‘I thought maybe you weren’t coming.’

The room was dark, just a few candles and a record playing. It was a hot night. The balcony doors were open. Eva could just make out the dark outline of a man, smoking in one of the chairs.

‘Oh.’ She backed away slightly. ‘You have company, miss.’

‘Oh, don’t mind him.’ Miss Waverley took her by the hand and closed the door. ‘He won’t trouble us.’ Then she walked over to the dressing table and poured Eva a drink. ‘Here. Want one? It’s about time you learned how to handle whisky.’

Eva looked at the outline of the man; at the glowing embers of his cigarette. Then she looked back at Miss Waverley, smiling at her in her scarlet silk dressing gown.

Eva took the glass, sat on the edge of the bed. She already knew how to drink whisky; she’d watched her uncle do it. She tossed the entire shot straight into the back of her throat, where it burned, searing down the centre of her. She held out the glass again and Miss Waverley laughed.

‘Well, look at you! So many hidden talents,’ she said, filling it again. Then she took a little package from the top of her wardrobe wrapped in pink tissue paper, tied with a white ribbon.

She laid it on the bed. ‘Here. Open it.’

Eva ran her fingers over the paper. She felt anxious; slightly woozy from the whisky. She tugged at the ribbon and the layers of paper floated to the side. Inside there was a tiny shell-pink demi bra and tap pants with embroidered lace silk stockings. They were extremely delicate and exquisitely made, with tiny bluebells hand-stitched along the borders.

‘They’re beautiful.’

‘Go on,’ Miss Waverley urged, ‘aren’t you going to try them on?’ She leaned back in the armchair, propping her feet up on the ottoman. ‘I want to see if they fit.’

Eva stood up; a reeling wave of light-headedness washed over her. She took the lingerie into the bathroom. The whisky had hit her hard; her hands seemed miles away from her body, her fingers tingling. She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn’t want to change, but she didn’t want to seem rude either. Besides, they had played dress-up before.

Eva finished her drink. Then she put on the panties and bra, the silk stockings.

When she opened the door, Miss Waverley was waiting. She had changed the record. It was a slow song. The candles glimmered.

‘You look just perfect. Like a real lady.’

The man had got up and was standing in the shadows, by the doorway.

‘Now put some lipstick on. Just like I showed you.’

‘I’m not sure I want to.’ Her voice sounded small and far away.

Miss Waverley took a step closer. ‘Of course you do.’ Her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘He wants to take us with him. To California. We’re going to live in a big white house in the hills and each of us will have a car and there will be maids and housekeepers and a screen test for both of us!’ She smiled, her eyes burning with excitement. ‘This, my dear, is what opportunity looks like.’

‘You mean you want me to go with you?’ Eva couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Of course! Do this right and we’ll end up in California, making movies. You’ll never have to pick up another dustpan and brush in your life.’ She pointed to the dressing table. There was a tube of red lipstick, its cap already off, waiting. ‘Go on.’

Eva reached for the lipstick, her hand trembling.

‘Here.’ Miss Waverley helped her to apply a slow smear of blood red. She stood behind her in the mirror. ‘You want to be with me, don’t you?’

Eva nodded.

‘Good. Just do what I do.’ Then, louder, she said, ‘Now, we look like sisters, don’t we?’ She ran her hands over Eva’s shoulders, slowly down her arms. ‘I like that idea, don’t you?’

Eva looked past Miss Waverley’s reflection, at the man smoking by the balcony door, staring. The embers of his cigarette glowed hot as he inhaled hard. Her legs felt rubbery, her head dizzy. ‘I think I’d better go. I’m not well.’

‘Really?’ Miss Waverley’s grip tightened on her arms. ‘I think someone deserves a thank-you, don’t you?’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘Such a good girl.’ Miss Waverley’s dark eyes showed in the flickering light.

Suddenly Eva couldn’t speak. It was as if her mouth could move but she’d forgotten how to form words. Her limbs felt numb and heavy.

The man stepped out of the shadows. There was the distinctive thin moustache, the penetrating black eyes.

‘Only,’ Miss Waverley tilted her head, smiling softly at her in the mirror, ‘I’m not the person who paid for them.’

‘Get up.’ Someone was shaking her, gently at first and then more firmly. ‘Come on. It’s time to get up!’

Eva tried to open her eyes, but her lids were so heavy. Sleep pulled at her, tugging her under.

More shaking; harder this time. ‘Do you want to lose your job? Get up!’

Eva recognized that voice; the same voice that had scolded and berated her non-stop for two weeks. It was Rita.

She forced her eyes open. Rita was standing over her, hands on hips. It was daylight and Eva was lying in a bed; the wrong bed, not her narrow little cot but a wide soft mattress with piles of pillows. Her whole body hurt and her head throbbed. She tried to move, to sit up. The room started spinning. ‘I don’t feel well,’ she gagged.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Rita grabbed the waste-paper basket and then hauled Eva up with one powerful arm. ‘Be sick in here. And mind you don’t splatter!’

Eva threw up in the basket and Rita wiped her face with a wet washcloth. Then Eva sank down again, into the pillows. She heard Rita running the bath.

Her breathing slowed and she closed her eyes, slipping back down underneath the black waves of sleep.

‘Oh no, you don’t.’ Rita shook her arm again. ‘You’ve got to get up. Here,’ she handed her three aspirin and a shot of whisky from her rubbing alcohol bottle.

Eva tried to push them away. ‘Please, no!’

‘Don’t answer back. You take them or you won’t be able to walk across the floor let alone up the steps.’

Eva did as she was told. ‘What time is it?’ She had no idea how long she’d slept; if it had been a few hours or a whole day.

‘Just after nine in the bloody morning.’ Rita hoisted Eva up. The beautiful silk lingerie was twisted, torn and stained. The silk stockings ruined. ‘Good God! Look at the state of you!’ Rita peeled off the shredded stockings. ‘Don’t tell me this is what you’ve been wasting your wages on.’

‘Where is she? When did she say she would be back?’

‘Who?’ Rita shot her a look. ‘You mean that whore? Oh, you’ll never see her again, missy. I told you she was no good but you didn’t want to listen, did you?’

‘But she’s coming back for me. She said she would take me with her.’

Rita shook her head. ‘She’s checked out. First thing this morning with that Hun. That’s the only reason I’m cleaning this early. And what happens? I open the door and find you spread out on the bed like a corpse.’

‘No.’ Tears ran down Eva’s cheeks and chin. ‘I’m… I’m ruined!’

‘Well, if you want to swim with the sharks you’re going to get bit,’ Rita sighed. ‘And there’s no need to be dramatic. You’re not the first girl in the world to make a mistake. Now, get up.’

Rita undressed Eva and put her into the bath. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her uniform and bathed her, as gently as a baby.

‘She’s sick, ma’am.’

Mrs Ronald narrowed her eyes and searched Sis’s face. ‘Really. What kind of sick?’

‘She’s throwing up, ma’am. Some sort of fever, I think.’

‘I hope this isn’t the result of any alcoholic drink, Cecily?’

‘No, ma’am. I think, although I couldn’t say for certain, that she’s got some sort of influenza.’

‘Influenza,’ Mrs Ronald repeated, sucking hard on her back teeth.

‘Or maybe she ate something that didn’t agree with her.’

‘Isn’t that interesting. Especially as you all eat in the canteen together. I’ve had no other reports.’

‘With all due respect, ma’am, she is foreign. They eat things no one else would touch.’

Mrs Ronald sighed. It was almost impossible to tell when Sis was lying; she was clever. It served her right for hiring a clever girl in the first place.

‘I’d be happy, ma’am, to clean her rooms in addition to my own,’ Sis offered.

Mrs Ronald leaned back in her chair, folding her hands together in her lap. ‘Would you now? Perhaps we should call a doctor for Miss Dorsey?’

Sis didn’t flinch. ‘As I said, ma’am, I can’t say for certain, but to me it looks like something that may well pass in a couple of days.’

‘That’s a lot of work, even if it is only a couple of days.’

Sis straightened. ‘She’d do the same for me, ma’am.’

‘Would she?’

For the first time, Sis dared to look Mrs Ronald in the eye. ‘Yes, ma’am, I believe she would.’

It was almost the end of October when Mr Lambert finally returned.

Eva caught a glimpse of him as he was riding the elevator one morning. She was dusting the light fixtures in the hallway when the doors opened and another patron got off. They were about to close again when he recognized her. ‘Oh, hello, it’s you!’ He jammed his hand between the doors and bounded off. ‘What have you done to your hair?’

His suit was badly in need of a press, his collar grey and frayed, but his eyes were just as blue as she’d remembered; his smile instantly disarming. She made herself concentrate on dusting.

‘So, you’re still here.’ His voice was low, conspiratorial.

‘Yes. I’m still here.’ Then she added, against her better judgement, ‘Did you enjoy Niagara Falls, sir?’

‘Niagara Falls?’ His brow furrowed as if he had no idea of what she was talking about. ‘I can’t say I did. Place with all the water, isn’t it?’

And the Laughing Blonde, she thought. But instead she just nodded. ‘That’s what they say.’

‘Yes, well, it’s been a busy summer. I’ve been all over the East Coast so it’s hard to remember.’

‘Must be.’ She moved a little further down the hallway.

‘Well, here’s the thing,’ he said, strolling up behind her, hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve been thinking of you quite a lot. Of your many admirable qualities.’

She glanced at him sideways. ‘Have you?’

‘And I have a small favour to ask of you. Well, a proposition really. You know,’ he leaned casually against the wall, ‘I’d like to discuss it with you sometime, only not here. It’s a private matter. Nothing one would talk about in a public hallway. You understand.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘I’m in room 701. So, what do you say?’ He smiled charmingly. ‘Come and see me, say, in an hour?’

‘I’m not sure I have time,’ she said quietly.

‘Of course. Well, I mean. You know where I am, so you can come when you like.’

She continued to avoid his eyes; gave a little shrug. ‘I’ll think about it, sir.’

Mr Lambert blinked, as if suddenly seeing her for the first time. She’d changed. Her face was different; there was a shift in her demeanour and tone. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.

The little maid was off, heading down the hallway.

He stood, more than a little surprised, watching as she walked away.

Two days later, at the end of her shift, Sis came down to Eva’s floor with a message.

‘I’ve got someone asking after you,’ she informed her, hand on hip.

‘Who?’

Sis leaned up against the counter, watching as Eva washed out dirty glasses in the tiny room-service kitchen. ‘Mr Lambert, of all people.’

Eva kept her eyes down. ‘Really.’

‘Humm. Why’s he asking after you?’

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘He was on my floor for a while. Maybe he misses the way I change the sheets.’

‘Maybe he does.’

Eva looked up. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Evidently, you’ve caught his eye.’

‘I doubt it. Actually,’ she gave Sis a look, ‘I believe he favours blondes.’ Eva scrubbed the glasses hard, running them under hot water.

‘That haircut makes you look fast. I’m only saying this as your friend. You’ve filled out, your hair’s as short as a chorus girl’s and now I’ve got grown men asking me where you are. What am I supposed to think?’

‘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.’

‘Stay.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Stay.’

‘Is that an order?’

‘A request. Please.’ He pulled out a chair.

She hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the seat.

He poured her a drink.

She took it, holding it, untouched, on her lap.

He sat down across from her. ‘I, umm… I wanted to talk you about…’

She crossed her legs, her stockings gleaming in the light, and suddenly he was unable to concentrate clearly.

‘Yes?’ she prompted.

‘Well, it seems to me,’ he tried again, ‘that we used to have a pretty good time playing cards.’

‘Yes, Mr Lambert.’

‘And that you had a great deal of talent. A talent one wouldn’t normally expect from a young…’ (he was going to say ‘girl’ but changed his mind) ‘a young woman. And well… there’s quite a number of ways to enterprise on a talent like that…’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Are there?’

He felt his stomach tighten and his pulse quicken; he hadn’t anticipated this at all. Only a short time ago if he’d so much as looked in her direction, she blushed. Now she seemed almost bored by him.

‘Yes.’ He took another drink. ‘I know how to make the most of those skills.’

The darkness gathered softly around them.

‘Not many people can do what you do,’ he continued.

‘Can you, Mr Lambert?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Can you do what I can do?’

He blinked. The distance between them seemed to have shrunk though neither of them had moved.

‘No,’ he admitted, finally. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve met people who could count cards, who were fast and clever. But I’ve never met anyone who could see the game the way you do in your head.’

‘So,’ she put her drink down, ‘how can I help you?’

Just like that the entire conversation turned.

‘You don’t understand,’ he laughed awkwardly, ‘I know how to help you.’

‘I’m not sure I need help, Mr Lambert.’ She got up. ‘But thank you all the same.’

He stood too, cutting her off before she reached the door. ‘I’m offering you a chance out of here!’

‘Are you?’ She looked up at him with those strangely feline eyes. ‘As what?’

His face hardened. How did she get to be so unflappable? ‘Don’t play me, kid!’

‘Then don’t play me,’ she countered smoothly. ‘And I’m not a kid.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘No. Not any more.’

He grabbed her by the wrist. She winced but didn’t pull away. He turned her arm over; there were three burn marks across her forearm, seared holes in the flesh, red raw, evenly spaced. He looked at her in horror. ‘What happened to you?’

‘What happens to everyone.’

‘Does it hurt?’

Her mouth softened into the ghost of a smile. ‘Only when you touch it.’

He let go.

She was right; she wasn’t a kid any more. Someone had stolen the last vestiges of innocence from her and replaced them with this unnerving self-possession instead.

‘If you want something, Mr Lambert, say it.’

He took a step closer. She smelled both coolly reserved and somehow earthy and narcotic. ‘Come with me.’

He saw her lips part slightly, her cheeks flush. ‘Why?’

‘I can teach you.’

She said nothing, leaned back against the door frame.

He came closer still. He could feel the warmth of her, the heat of her gently curving body; smell the musky sweetness of her hair. ‘We can make a lot of money.’

She laughed.

And suddenly he realized that he’d been ambushed, overthrown by this odd little creature with the thrilling mind, green eyes and shape-shifting body. She had an effect on him he’d never suspected; it was in motion, already under way, a dangerous, teasing undertow.

‘Come with me. So that I can finish teaching you what I began. So that we can make a great deal of money in beautiful cities all around the world. But most of all,’ he ran his finger along her cheek, ‘because I hate to drink alone.’