The Perfume Collector. Kathleen Tessaro

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СКАЧАТЬ while the men and women were no more naturally attractive than their English counterparts, they dressed with an assurance and attention to detail that would have been considered the height of arrogance in England. Here, maintaining a certain chic was apparently nothing less than a civic duty.

      Even now, in the lawyers’ chambers, there was a unity and precision in the colours, shapes and sizes of the furniture, as if an editor had walked through earlier, removing any distractions.

      The door opened and two men walked in.

      The first one was an elderly gentleman with stiff, formal bearing and a neat white moustache. A younger man stood respectfully behind him.

      ‘Madame Munroe?’ The elderly gentleman greeted her unsmilingly, with a curt nod of his head. ‘I am Henri Levin,’ he announced in heavily accented English. ‘This is my firm. And this is Edouard Tissot, my associate. He will look after you. I trust his service will be satisfactory.’

      With that he gave a brisk little bow, turned on his heel and left.

      Grace didn’t know quite what to make of this abrupt introduction.

      ‘Please forgive him.’ Monsieur Tissot stepped forward. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-thirties; tall and slender, a feature highlighted by his traditional pinstriped suit. His dark hair matched his black eyes; his expression was both reserved and intelligent. ‘He’s not used to speaking English,’ he explained, his voice lowering discreetly. ‘He’s terrified you will ask him something he won’t understand.’

      ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, nodding.

      He held out his hand. ‘Allow me to welcome you to Paris, madame.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Grace extended her own, expecting him to shake it.

      However, instead he held it lightly, his lips hovering just above the white flesh of her wrist, before releasing it.

      It was both a quietly formal and yet intimate gesture; he hadn’t actually touched his lips to her skin. But still her skin tingled where they might have been.

      ‘And let me begin,’ Monsieur Tissot continued, ‘by saying that I am very sorry for your loss. Please allow me to assist you in any way possible during your stay.’

      ‘Thank you very much,’ Grace murmured, averting her eyes. She’d decided in advance it was best to say little or nothing until she knew more. Instead, she moved the subject on to safer ground. ‘Your English is very accomplished, Monsieur Tissot.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He acknowledged the compliment with a nod. ‘That’s precisely why I was chosen to meet with you.’ Taking a seat behind his desk, he searched through a stack of legal files. ‘I’m sorry to make you come all this way, Madame Munroe. However, the terms of the will are quite specific. And of course there are a great many signatures required and other details to attend to.’ He pulled the correct file out, scanning the documents enclosed. ‘Here we are. The inheritance comprises largely the likely proceeds from the sale of a property, as well as a portfolio of stocks which are currently managed by the stockbroking firm of Lancelot et Delp.’

      She must’ve misheard him. ‘Pardon me, did you say a property?’

      ‘Yes. An apartment. Or a flat, as you English say. The deceased was living in it up to the point of her death and therefore unable to liquidate the funds earlier. We’ve had the property assessed and I can assure you, it’s quite valuable.’ He took some official-looking papers out and arranged them on the desk. ‘Madame d’Orsey had a power of attorney prepared, so that we could oversee the sale on your behalf. I only await your signature in order to proceed.’ He looked up. ‘I’m making the assumption, perhaps mistakenly, that you would prefer to have us deal with this matter rather than handle it yourself.’

      Grace leaned forward to look at the papers, only the words made no sense. ‘They’re in French. Aren’t they?’

      ‘Ah! Yes,’ he admitted, shaking his head. ‘I apologize. I would be happy to go through them with you. Or if you prefer, you may have your English lawyer approve them. I can arrange to have them translated—’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Grace interrupted, ‘but I’m not entirely certain I understand. Would you mind explaining everything to me again? Slowly?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Maybe I’m not being very clear. You see, according to the terms of the will, you’re to have the entire proceeds, minus the transaction fees, of the purchase price of Madame d’Orsey’s property holdings. We’re planning to accept bids from several different leading estate agents and then, with your permission of course, we’ll be able to market it. In addition, a portfolio of stocks also comes into your possession. However, they are being managed elsewhere.’

      Grace’s mouth was open but she was unable to close it. ‘I’ve inherited stocks and a … an apartment? In Paris?’

      ‘Well,’ Monsieur Tissot paused, ‘not quite. The will specifies that you are to receive the proceeds of the sale of the property. It’s my understanding that Madame d’Orsey wanted you to have the funds, rather than the property itself. It was always her intention to provide you with a lump sum for your personal use.’

      ‘A lump sum? For my use?’ It was unnerving to imagine a stranger planning her future in such detail; even a benevolent stranger.

      ‘Yes, and quite a considerable one at that.’

      ‘But surely she didn’t intend for the money to go to me, directly?’

      ‘On the contrary, that’s precisely what she intended. My understanding was that she wanted you to have financial independence. Le droit de choisir was how she put it. The right to choose.’

      Grace felt light headed; her hands were tingling with pins and needles. ‘But not for me, personally. What I mean to say is, am I not inheriting this by default, as it were?’

      ‘Default?’ He frowned.

      ‘Yes, I mean, surely this was originally meant for someone else, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Madame, you are the named recipient in the will.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      Monsieur Tissot’s frown deepened.

      Grace tried to swallow but her mouth felt dry, as if her tongue was made of felt. Financial independence. A lump sum. ‘May I trouble you, Monsieur Tissot, for a glass of water, please?’

      ‘Of course.’ He went to the door and said something to the secretary.

      A moment later, he handed her a glass. ‘Are you quite all right? Your cheeks are white. Perhaps you should lie down, Madame Munroe.’

      Grace took a sip. ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all. I’m not used to travelling by myself and this, this has come as something of a shock to me.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Did …?’ She stopped; started again. ‘I’m sorry, did you know her? Madame d’Orsey?’ She tried to sound casual.

      ‘I drew up the will with her. But that was all. She was quite a strong personality. It’s a shame that she died СКАЧАТЬ