Witty Ways. A Collection of Short Stories with a Twist. Artsun Akopyan

French perfume – probably quite an expensive sort. Jane had never used anything like that. She grew cold. What if Mark had got a secret lover?

      She looked around. There was no trace – like a forgotten comb or pin – of a strange woman in the hall. Slowly, Jane went to the kitchen beating her heels against the floor as loudly as she could. Mark and his girlfriend could still be in the house. Jane didn’t want to catch them with their pants down. It would make her feel embarrassed.

      There was no perfume in the kitchen. Of course, it could have simply blown away as the kitchen window was wide open. On the floor there were a few biscuit crumbs. Jane remembered very well that in the morning, after Mark had gone to work, she swept the floor carefully. It meant Mark came here later being hungry. Probably he hadn’t had lunch in the cafe near his office – usually he went there during his lunch time. Judging by the positions of the crumbs, he ate biscuits standing near the window— and maybe his woman, too. Jane felt blood started to hammer in her temples.

      She left the kitchen and opened the bathroom door. There was a terrible mess. Water was running from the tap as someone hadn’t tightened it up; the loo lid was open; there was a piece of tooth paste, half an inch long, on a sink brim; the towel hanging on a rail was creased in a loathsome manner. Mark could have left the bathroom in such disorder only if he had been in a great hurry. Where did he hurry to? To the bedroom where the woman had been waiting for him?

      Jane’s palms became moist, hammering in the temples strengthened. She closed her eyes for a moment. Whatever or whoever she found in the bedroom, she should be absolutely quiet; otherwise she might have a heart attack.

      She went and peeped into the bedroom. There was neither Mark nor his lover in it. His bed was in perfect order, all the subjects were on their places. Jane sighed with relief. Suddenly it occurred to her that there might have been no woman in the house at all. Mark could have come home for lunch because, for example, he had forgotten his wallet here. It had happened once or twice before. And the perfume could have got into the hall from the street. Some women spray so much of it onto their body that it can be felt miles away.

      Calming down a little, Jane proceeded to the living-room. Opening the door, she was rooted to the spot. There was a thin cognac bottle and two glasses on the coffee table. Next to the bottle there was an empty chocolate wrapper and some biscuits on a saucer. Chocolate and biscuit crumbs were scattered on the table, on the leather sofa and on the floor – eleven or twelve crumbs altogether. Slowly, Jane approached the table and saw a faint print of lipstick on one of the glasses; then she smelt a slight odour of the French perfume in the air.