The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro Page B

blackboard,’ she corrected him. ‘I did it in my head. You see, one day I accidentally erased something when I was cleaning. I wiped away a problem that he was working on. Except I didn’t know it at the time. His wife became furious. Only, I was able to copy it out again, the same way. So I got to keep my job. But he never knew about it. It was between her and me.’
    ‘Really?’ His interest was peaked. ‘Do you still remember it?’
    ‘Uh . . . maybe.’
    Going over to the desk, he handed her a pen and a piece of paper. ‘Go on then.’
    Eva frowned, concentrating. Then she started to write, covering the entire page.
    Mr Lambert stared at it. ‘How is it that you can recall such a complicated equation? Are you trained in mathematics?’
    ‘I don’t need to recall the equation, sir. I see it. It’s like a picture in my brain. All I have to do is look at it in my head and then write down what I see.’
    He thought for a moment, taking this in. Then asked, ‘Why did you leave?’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Why aren’t you working for them now?’
    ‘They moved. Went back to Austria. But his wife, well, she didn’t like me much anyway.’
    ‘I should think not. Well,’ he took a deep drag, crossing his legs, ‘isn’t that a useful talent?’
    ‘Not for a girl, sir.’
    ‘And how did you do on the puzzles that he left on the blackboard?’
    She thought a moment. ‘I think I did well on them, sir. Sometimes I figured them out before he did.’
    Mr Lambert pointed to the cards on the table again. ‘So which one would you play over here?’
    Eva could feel her heart racing. She pointed to a club. ‘That one, sir.’
    ‘Well done. And after that?’
    ‘I’d move the nine over there.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘That’s the highest card left.’
    ‘How can you tell?’
    It seemed obvious to her. ‘Well, because of what’s on the table. There are only fifty-two cards. Isn’t that right?’
    ‘How long were you here?’
    ‘Not long, sir.’
    ‘Did you touch anything?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘But you can tell how many cards have been played and how many are left even though you don’t know the game?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Well now, let’s see . . .’ Crossing, he sat down and began turning the cards over. After he’d turned them all over, he looked up, smiling. ‘Looks like you were right. But you don’t play cards.’
    ‘No, sir. My uncle used to play cards until he lost an awful lot of money he didn’t have. After that cards weren’t allowed in the house.’
    ‘Well, that happens. But you don’t play?’
    ‘You keep asking me that.’
    ‘Yes, I keep asking.’ Leaning back against the table, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘What an interesting ability you have.’
    A minute passed.
    He cocked his head to one side. It was hard to tell if he were smiling or not. His lips curved but there was nothing, no warmth in his eyes.
    ‘Are you a communist?’ she finally blurted out, unable to bear the silence any more.
    ‘Why? Are you?’
    ‘Me? I don’t believe in anything.’
    ‘Well, that makes two of us.’
    That wasn’t quite what she meant.
    ‘Are you . . . I mean,’ she was almost too embarrassed to ask, ‘is it true that you’re titled, sir?’
    He made a face. ‘Where did you hear that?’
    ‘My friend told me. She says that in England you’re Lord Lambert but you don’t like to use it.’
    ‘She’s right. I prefer Mr Lambert. Besides, just between you and me, I haven’t got the means to back it up.’ He smiled. ‘Lately I’ve been thinking of changing it to Mr Mutton . . . what do you think?’
    Eva suppressed a giggle.
    ‘If you’re going to have an alias you might as well have fun.’
    ‘But why do you need an alias?’
    He shrugged. ‘As much as I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me, I still want to keep the shame I bring on my family to a minimum. I’m not fond of many of them but the ones I do like, I like very much. Do you know what I