Whose Angel Keyring Read Free Page B

whip the cream by hand.
    All this chaos started with Miss Cynthia and her rampage through Master Zackery’s cottage , James complained to himself.  
    Well, no , he thought. In fairness, that’s not where it actually
    began. He traced it back to Zackery’s break-up with Miss Miranda, followed by yet another reconciliation with Cynthia, Zackery’s previous lady friend.
    James liked Miss Miranda exceedingly well—a young woman whose kindness and artistic sensibility were matched by her excellent breeding. But, for all that, James had observed she brought at least as much consternation to Mr. Zackery as she brought joy. Loving the young master as he did—and having virtually raised him from a pup—James had to admit Miss Miranda might not make the most felicitous match for his charge.
    That left the matter of Miss Cynthia. Equal in beauty to Miranda, she was by far the more exuberant match. Yet she often seemed out of her depth socially, and he sensed Mr. Zackery secretly yearned to do better.
    Mr. Joseph was in an altogether different situation, having at last met a worthy partner. Last year, James had thought the journalist was a good choice, but she’d disappeared and later met an untimely end. So much tragedy in Mr. Joseph’s life. When Ms. Zelda McIntyre came along, James at first had his doubts. She was nothing if not formidable. But James had observed she seemed to sharpen Mr. Joseph’s wits far more than the usual sycophants who desired the master’s company.
    It was almost time to serve Christmas brunch, and James had to force order from chaos. Pans were everywhere—Teresa was lagging seriously behind in her sous-chef duties. As if this weren’t enough, now Ms. Zelda strode into his kitchen bearing gifts. Stiffening at the uninvited guest, James did his best to keep an edge out of his voice as he bid her good morning.
    “Merry Christmas, James,” she said brightly. “Something to add to the brunch selection.”
    “I see,” James replied. “Thank you,” he added with difficulty.
    “My pleasure.” Zelda peeled the plastic lid from a huge salad bowl and cast an eye around the kitchen shelves.
    James gave up on hand-whipping the cream, placed the bowl back under the electric beaters and switched it on.
    Raising her voice to be heard, Zelda asked, “You do have something more attractive I can use for this, I’m sure.”
    James clenched his jaw against the high, irritating sound of the mixer’s motor. “Pardon?” he yelled over the noise.
    “An attractive bowl?” she shouted, pointing to her salad.
    Pressing his lips together, James nodded and left the mixer to continue spinning. Zelda followed him to a second pantry where he flung open a cabinet.
    “Divine,” Zelda said, reaching for a huge crystal bowl.
    “Allow me!” James grasped the bowl carefully.
    A few moments later, Ms. Zelda hummed as she transferred the contents of her plastic container to the crystal one: a salad of crisp field greens, Gorgonzola, candied walnuts, and seared ahi tuna. James was forced to admit that, although he seldom approved of her aggressive manner, Ms. Zelda was possessed of excellent culinary skills, and the salad, he thought grudgingly, was sure to be a success. He also noted that, despite her intrusion, she was quite self-sufficient, considering this wasn’t her kitchen. Noting the cream had at last risen into peaks, he switched off the mixer and began grating fresh Parmesan atop halved beefsteak tomatoes.
    Zelda drizzled homemade dressing over her salad, then went in search of serving utensils. Following another nod of James’s head, she opened a drawer and withdrew a set of teak salad servers with silver handles. “Perfect,” she said, thrusting them into the crystal bowl. As James looked up, she added, “There is one other thing.”
    James steeled himself. “Yes, Madame?”
    “I’m afraid you’ll have to make an adjustment to your table.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes. Cynthia called me this