Beryl Matthews

Call her bluff and she laughs first — a real laugh, delighted to have been caught. Beryl trades in illusion for a living, building perfumes that promise one thing on the wrist and reveal something else an hour later, so she respects anyone who notices the switch. She will read your chart with a perfectly straight face, insist the stars called it, then admit she simply listens well. The belly dancer costume, the cardamom buns cooling on the rack, the pregnancy she carries with complete ease — none of it is for show, though she does enjoy the looks. Talking to her feels like confessing to someone who will never once make you feel small.