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

She looked down.

Her hands were shaking; the teaspoon rattling against the side of the mug.

Tossing the spoon into the sink, she pressed her palms together. ‘Stop it!’ she said out loud. ‘Just stop!’

‘What?’ Leo called from the other room. ‘Did you want me?’

Leticia took a deep breath. ‘No. It’s nothing,’ she called back.

It’s nothing, she repeated in her head. It’s over. All over now.

Leo was right, this wasn’t La Traviata. All she had to do was brew the tea, wash the floor, make the fat woman her nightdress.

Then she stopped.

What about Hughie? Was Leo right? Was she allowing herself to care about some boy who would no doubt leave her too? That was the last thing she needed. She couldn’t risk falling apart over some kid.

She took the tea in to Leo, put it gently down on the table next to him.

He smiled up at her.

She smiled back.

I can’t lose him, she thought, suddenly terrified. Please, God, not him.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she nodded. ‘Just fine.’

Heading back into the kitchen, she stacked the chairs on top of the table and took off her shoes. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her impeccable white silk blouse, took the bucket of scalding water and got down on her hands and knees.

Leticia scrubbed.

She scrubbed until the floor was spotless, until her hands were red and sore, until her shoulders ached.

And then she scrubbed harder, until her mind went numb.

High Tea at Claridge’s (#ulink_17093b1e-c547-58a4-812f-88732fdd829d)

Later that afternoon, Hughie sat in Valentine’s flat in Half Moon Street.

‘Well,’ Valentine settled into a large leather chair near the fireplace. ‘My question to you, Mr Venables-Smythe, is, are you game?’

‘Yes, sir. I think I am.’

‘Good. You have a great deal to learn, young man, and very little time in which to learn it. It takes time to build up a repertoire, but I’m afraid current demand means you’re just going to have to do the best you can. Henry will look after you. Listen and follow every instruction without fail. We’re going to spend a considerable amount of money remodelling you. You need a haircut, a decent suit, a pair of proper shoes and a good watch. Here.’ He stood up and took an ebony box down from the mantel. Opening it, he selected a gold Rolex from a long row of five or six and threw it across to him. ‘Never underestimate details. Women notice them immediately.’

Hughie slipped the watch around his wrist. It was heavy, gleaming, the kind of fuck-off piece of kit which instantly reminded him of his father. ‘That’s very generous of you!’

‘Not that generous.’ Valentine pushed a button on his desk and the doors of the cabinet behind him slid away to reveal a large screen. ‘There’s a tracking device in it.’ He pressed another button and the screen flared to life, a mass of glowing points against the backdrop of a London street map. ‘I like to know what my boys are up to at all times.’

‘I see.’ He felt like James Bond, part of a secret, underground organization.

Valentine pushed a state-of-the-art customized PDA across the desk to Hughie. ‘Keep this charged at all times. It’s a phone, Internet access and most importantly sat nav. You’d be surprised how many marks wander off course.’

Hughie turned it on. ‘Brilliant!’

‘Do you smoke?’

Hughie tried to sound responsible and grave. ‘I’ve every intention of giving up.’

‘Well, don’t.’ Valentine tossed a silver lighter across to Hughie. ‘Yes, it’s a lighter but it’s also a highly effective listening device. Not absolutely essential but occasionally quite useful. And before you go, I need all your measurements. Leave them with Flick. Now down to the nitty-gritty. Your rate of pay will be £1,000 per hit. Aborted or imperfect missions will not be paid. For tax reasons, you need to file your own return and will be known as a personal consultant. And one final point, your entire career with this organization depends on your unconditional discretion. No one must know what you do or who your clients are. A single leak could fatally compromise the security of this enterprise. From now on, as far as your friends and family are concerned, you’ve got a job making corporate training videos. Failure to comply with the terms of your confidentiality agreement will result in immediate dismissal. Do you have any questions?’

Hughie stared in wonder at the mass of top-of-the-range gear he’d suddenly acquired. ‘So, you’re saying that all I have to do is chat to these women and I’ll be paid £1,000 a go?’

It was more money than he was used to making in a year.

Valentine pressed the tips of his fingers together under his chin. ‘There’s a lot more to a successful flirt than that.’

‘Why did you choose me? I mean, I thought I hadn’t done very well in my interview. It’s not as if I’m some great ladies’ man.’

Valentine regarded him closely. ‘Contrary to what you might imagine, ladies’ men do not make great flirts; their egos demand too much attention. A successful flirt is an entirely different experience than scoring with women. We don’t collect phone numbers or chalk up sexual conquests. In fact, it’s not about you at all. It’s far more subtle. And the real art of flirting is dependent upon an unselfconsciousness with women that allows you to put them at the centre of your attention. You have that quality, Hughie. You’re a natural. And I can tell you from many years’ experience, it’s extremely rare.’

Sandwiched firmly between his mother and Clara, Hughie had spent his whole life surrounded by women. He’d also spent a terrific amount of time trying to figure out how to soothe, calm and flatter them – to quiet whatever storms were raging inside them, splashing out onto the comparatively uncomplicated surface of his life. They’d bullied him, spoilt him, taken him in hand and then dropped him; but the feeling of women, the act of sitting and listening to them, of being their confidant, was second nature. He was relieved that he didn’t have to pretend to be a playboy or a lover.

‘I think I can do this,’ he said slowly. ‘I think this might be something I can do.’

Valentine smiled. ‘I think so too. Now, are you ready to begin your training?’

As if on cue, Henry appeared in the doorway, so handsome, flawlessly dressed, emanating smooth elegance.

I want to be like that, he thought. Leticia would love that. And another echo of his father resounded somewhere in his chest.

‘Oh, there is one thing I failed to mention,’ Valentine said, standing. ‘You must be single.’

‘Oh. Really?’ To his surprise, Hughie felt the bottom of his stomach disappear.

‘This isn’t a profession that sits happily next to long-term relationships. Girlfriends, partners, wives are all strictly off limits. A little jealousy can destroy the entire set-up. We’ve tried in the past; invariably it’s a disaster. Even the most self-possessed woman finds the idea of her man flirting with hundreds of women every month trying. Of course, we don’t expect you to be celibate. Have sex to your heart’s content. All we ask is that you confine yourself to sex and only sex. One-night stands, preferably. Anything more meaningful is forbidden.’

‘Oh.’

Valentine’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re single, aren’t you?’

‘Sure,’ Hughie nodded.

‘Good. Make sure it stays that way.’

Hughie stood up, caught Henry’s eye. For a moment he thought his face betrayed him. But, of course, that was stupid; what was there to betray?