Kathleen Tessaro 3-Book Collection: The Flirt, The Debutante, The Perfume Collector

But she just blinked.

He stood, handed her back the paper.

Oh, well, he thought, as he ambled up towards the tube entrance. That’s fucked.

Maybe there’s a job going at HMV or something.

Flick sat very still, for a long time, on the bench in Green Park. It had been a beautiful early-autumn day, and now it was just beginning to fade, mellowing into that time of evening when the light drains from the sky. The people around her were moving slowly, enjoying the last of the hazy warmth.

But Flick sat frozen.

She felt unusual, disorientated, flustered even. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who was accustomed to feeling flustered. After all, she’d been through this process a hundred times over the past twelve years. Normally these auditions were either excruciating or comical. But today was different. This young man had stirred something inside her; something she’d almost forgotten existed. He’d managed to disturb her entire equilibrium in a way that left her feeling exposed, vulnerable but at the same time exhilarated.

Valentine walked down from Piccadilly and sat next to her. He handed her a takeaway coffee. ‘Well …?’

This is where the two of them would usually dissect the whole adventure and more likely than not, have a good laugh. Instead, she frowned.

Hughie had reminded her of someone.

‘Flick …’

A memory floated to the surface, of another young man, different in physical type from Hughie but similar in his eagerness and enthusiasm.

It had been years since she’d thought about the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d struggled to make conversation the first time they’d met. His desire to be with her had been palpable; a solid, physical force she’d found irresistible. And she’d yielded, almost immediately. Her face flushed from the recollection.

‘Flick!’ Patience was not one of Valentine’s virtues. ‘What’s come over you?’

She forced her eyes to focus on Valentine’s face and suddenly it dawned on her, what had happened.

‘I’ve been seduced!’ she said. ‘That little shit has just charmed the pants off me!’

Valentine’s mouth curled up at the corners as he slowly stirred his tea. ‘You don’t say.’

Shaking her head, she sipped her coffee. But it was too hot; too sweet and strong. She put it down again. ‘He’s really very handsome,’ she added, ‘much handsomer in real life. I didn’t expect him to be so tall. And then there’s the smell of him … none of that dreadful thick cologne but a kind of clean, soapy freshness.’

Valentine laughed. ‘Mary Margaret Flickering, I do believe you’re smitten!’

She tossed him a look. ‘You wouldn’t understand. There was nothing at all forced about it, or smarmy. My God, he even blushed! So sweet! So terribly, terribly sweet …’

‘Ah,’ Valentine arched an eyebrow, ‘but do we need sweet?’

She thought a moment.

‘Yes,’ she decided firmly. ‘We need something unrehearsed, raw, a bit awkward. Not prepackaged or particularly sophisticated …’ Standing up, she pulled her mackintosh around her. ‘We need something fresh, Valentine.’

‘Where are you going?’ He rose too, affronted. He wasn’t used to being taken for granted; normally just the fact that he was present was reason enough to warrant her undivided attention.

But instead, she handed him back the takeaway coffee, as if he were a bus boy.

‘I’m going for a walk.’ Her voice was dreamy, faraway. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a little while.’

He’d never seen her so distracted. He watched as she made her way down the hill, through the avenue of plane trees towards St James’s, until he felt a bit poignant and ridiculous and decided enough was enough, this wasn’t an old film and he could really do with a drink.

As Flick strolled along, dry leaves, bereft of colour, crunched underneath her feet. Her thoughts were drawn again to the past and her gauche young lover – of the way he used to look at her. He was the first person who’d made her feel intoxicated; completely alive and powerful. At the time, she imagined that feeling would be hers for ever.

What a shock it had been when she began to grow invisible to men and they no longer registered her. How humiliating to discover time had abducted her favourite version of herself and replaced it with a saggy middle-aged woman instead.

Then she thought of Hughie Venables-Smythe’s amazing, clear blue eyes. Even now, she could still feel them gazing into hers, taking her in; seeing her.

And she smiled.

It was autumn. The leaves had begun to fall.

And she was still lovely, after all.

The Rules (#ulink_7ed7546c-150c-5593-8c86-268bc459fc5f)

Hughie rang the bell of Leticia’s shop later that evening.

‘I’ve never seen you in a suit,’ she said, as she unlocked the door and let him in.

He smiled.

They hadn’t seen one another in days. And now a delightful frisson sparked between them, a certain shyness that made him feel as if they were starting all over again. She looked perfect tonight; all soft and so young in a simple pink silk dress. And he was struck again by how much he’d missed her. The room was dimly, sensuously lit and a breeze lightly ruffled the sheer curtains of the open window.

‘I had an interview,’ he explained, catching her about the waist and pulling her to him. ‘But seeing as we’re all dressed up, why don’t I take you to dinner?’

Her body yielded against his. And, nuzzling into his neck, she traced her fingers lightly over his torso. ‘Fuck me first, darling. You know I hate sex on a full stomach.’

He sighed.

It had been a long, weird day. Sometimes he wished he could just take her out on a date like any normal girl.

But, as her hand slipped down the front of his trousers, he reconsidered. ‘Oh, all right then.’

‘Your suit makes you look so distinguished.’ There was a gleam in her eye. ‘Like a big, powerful businessman.’

Forcing him backwards, she toppled him into one of the chairs. She shimmied a little and the silk dress shifted, slowly working its way down her naked shoulders. Brushing her mouth against his, she climbed on top of him and the dress fell to her waist. ‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ she whispered, her lips caressing his neck. ‘It seems I’ve forgotten to type those letters you wanted.’ He tried to pull her closer but she continued to work her way down. ‘I’m a very bad secretary.’ She deftly unzipped his fly. ‘But perhaps I can make it up to you.’

Hughie closed his eyes.

Her mouth was so warm, soft, wet …

Amidst the usual parade of pornographic images, his day began filtering through his mind. The woman on the bench, cricket scores, yellow Post-its screaming, ‘You Can Do It!’ Suddenly he felt tired and unexpectedly emotional. Loneliness threatened, of the variety he’d remembered as a schoolboy, dumped at the train station with his trunk and his uniform at the beginning of each new term.

Opening his eyes, he focused on Leticia’s breasts, their nipples stiff and pink, bobbing up and down between his thighs. Her lips were slightly swollen, her eyes half-closed with pleasure; she was doing something wonderful – stroking gently, her tongue everywhere. But, still, it was hard to concentrate. And he hated to disappoint her.

Taking her face in his hands, he stopped her. She looked up, surprised.