Read Online The Flirt by Kathleen Tessaro - Free Book Online Page A

fell in love with the student in drama school who played Juliet to his Romeo only to discover that when the production was over, the feeling faded. And now he was involved with an older woman.
    Valentine examined the photo carefully. For all his Merchant Ivory good looks, the boy had the feel of a blank sheet of paper; a kind of wide-eyed optimism emanated from him that was the hallmark of either an idiot or a saint. Next to him, the young Welshman seemed positively louche.
    Valentine held the picture up triumphantly. “Flick, can you see it? Isn’t it amazing? I haven’t seen a specimen like it in years!”
    She leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, I do! It’s remarkable! Like looking into a void!”
    “A completely unformed character!” he agreed. “Perfect! Would you be so kind, Flick, as to give Mr. Hughie Armstrong Venables-Smythe a call? If he’s half as malleable in real life as he is on paper, then I do believe our search is over.”

A Subtle Twist of Fate
    R ose stood awkwardly in front of a table massed with silverware. Her interview wasn’t going well. It began over an hour ago when Mr. Gaunt, the butler, interrogated her about her slender CV. Then he moved on to what he referred to as “the practical exercises.” They’d just established that she knew nothing about the proper care of silver and now were involved in a guessing game with various bits of cutlery. The suit she’d borrowed from her friend Sheri was too big in most places and too tight in others. And it itched. But she didn’t dare scratch in front of Mr. Gaunt.
    Gaunt, in turn, had never recovered from the considerable impression that the television series Upstairs, Downstairs had made on him in the seventies. It was an era when he’d struggled with his identity and the result was a curious devotion to archaic class distinctions along with a violent obsession with Jean Marsh. Power plays that might have resolved themselves quite harmlessly in the more traditional sadomasochistic club circuit thus oozed out into his professional life with alarming regularity.
    Poor Rose watched in dread as his gloved hand moved toward another exotic utensil.
    “And this, Miss Moriarty?” He held up a narrow, curved piece with three long prongs.
    It was agony.
    She hesitated. “Another fork?”
    He sighed, making a mark in his notebook next to all the other marks, before replacing it with the rest. “It is a lobster trident, Miss Moriarty. Extremely rare. At a push it may also be used to serve crab. But only at a push.”
    “Oh.”
    She’d tried being funny about her mistakes in the beginning but that was a long while ago now and there weren’t that many amusing things to say about cutlery.
    “This is the last one,” he informed her, making his final selection.
    She nearly laughed with relief. “A dessert spoon!” she cried triumphantly.
    Gaunt’s silence was withering.
    “It is a serving spoon,” he said at last. “And a particularly large one at that.”
    Rose watched as he made a final, devastating mark, then closed the notebook.
    “I’m afraid, Miss Moriarty, that your dinner-service knowledge leaves something to be desired.”
    Her golden life-changing opportunity was slipping through her fingers.
    “Yes, but I could learn about that. You know, get a book from the library or something.”
    “The position of junior assistant to the acting assistant household manager is one of extreme delicacy and discretion. The circles in which the Bourgalt du Coudrays move are filled with aristocracy, politicians, famous actors and actresses, well-known figures from the art world, musicians…”
    “Yes,” Rose cut in eagerly, “I know all about them! Ask me some questions!” An avid reader of Hello! magazine, here was one test she was bound to pass with flying colors.
    “My point,” Gaunt went on, glaring at her, “is that these are people who are used to a certain level of service and with