Flappy would have been annoyed had it not been for Charles, whose gaze was warming her up on the inside like the first gulp of a margarita. ‘Do you play golf?’ she asked him.
When Kenneth came to take his wife home, she was still talking to Hedda and Charles. ‘Ah, darling, come and meet my new friends,’ Flappy said happily. ‘Charles plays golf. Isn’t that fun!’
Kenneth was very keen to meet a fellow golfer and gave his hand a vigorous shake. Unlike the vicar, Charles didn’t flinch but returned the shake with equal vigour. The two men smiled at each other in the way fellow golfing men do. ‘Flappy finds golf dull and my golfing friends even duller,’ Kenneth told Charles with a playful roll of the eyes.
‘Oh, you do exaggerate, darling!’ Flappy replied. ‘I was thinking, actually, of taking it up myself. I was rather sporty in my day, even though my long legs were often more of a hindrance than a help.’
‘Hedda’s a terrific golfer,’ said Charles.
‘Really?’ Flappy replied incredulously. Hedda looked like she lay on a sofa all day eating marshmallows.
Hedda patted Flappy’s arm with a bejewelled hand and winked. ‘I’ll give you a lesson or two, if you like, Flappy,’ she suggested and all Flappy could do was smile back and reply:
‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’
* * *
As soon as Flappy arrived home she hurried upstairs to her bedroom to change. She always changed out of her church attire into something more comfortable and less formal. As it was a warm day she chose a pair of wide, sky-blue slacks and a crisp white shirt, which she wore loose and accessorized with a blue scarf and big gold earrings. Liking herself very much in the mirror, she went to the window and gazed out over the lawn, but she didn’t notice the tidy stripes where it had been mown or the beauty of the sunlight that caught the leaves and made the trees shimmer because all she saw was Charles Harvey-Smith, gazing down at her with those hypnotic green eyes. Once again she considered Hedda and how extraordinary it was that a woman like her had managed to catch a man like him. It was extraordinary, she told herself. Just extraordinary.
But he had looked at her. A deep, probing and predatory look. The kind of look a man does not give his wife. She shivered with desire. She put a hand to her throat and took a deep breath. It was imperative that she control herself, she thought firmly as the shiver intensified, reaching parts of her she hadn’t considered in decades. She was a woman in her sixties, she reminded herself – albeit a very beautiful woman with an impossibly slender and firm body – not a young woman in the first throes of love. She was also married. So was Charles.
Oh, but what fun to have a flirtation!
Flappy went and sat on the edge of her bed. On the little table, beneath the pile of novels by V.S. Naipaul and Salman Rushdie, none of which had ever been opened, lay the latest and very dog-eared novel by Charity Chance, entitled Rite of Passion. She pulled it out and looked at the cover, which was a photograph of a beautiful woman in a clinch with a ridiculously handsome and shirtless Latin man. She imagined herself in a similar clinch with Charles, but preferably with his shirt on. It was too early in the infatuation to undress him, she thought. There was no harm in that, was there? It was a daydream, that was all. Kenneth would never know. No one would. It would be her little secret. She settled back against the cushions and put on her reading glasses. She had a couple of hours to kill before lunch, so what better way to spend them than to indulge in a little erotica.
Chapter 4
Flappy knew what she had to do. She had thought about it all night and now, in the bright light of dawn as she held her Downward Dog, stretching out her calves and the backs of her thighs, she was in no doubt about the course she had to take. It was the only way. Sacrifices had to be made, but they would be worth it. She had to see Charles again, and soon. The only way to do that was to befriend Hedda. To make her not just a friend, but a best friend. She would start today. There was no better time than the present, after all.
During breakfast with Kenneth she carried out Stage One of her plan. ‘Darling, why don’t you ask Charles Harvey-Smith to play golf with you?’ she suggested. ‘It would be a nice thing to do, considering they’ve just moved down here and know no one.’
Kenneth looked at his wife with admiration. ‘You are always thinking of other people, Flappy. That’s what I admire about you most. Your generosity of spirit. I don’t know anyone who would be as thoughtful as you.’
‘Well, it would be very easy to sit here in our beautiful house, with our beautiful gardens and our beautiful life, and think only about myself. But I cannot. I just cannot. Poor Hedda and Charles have left their home in London and all their friends and come down here to start again. It’s the least I can do to include them and make them feel welcome.’
‘I will call him this morning.’
‘Do. He’ll be so pleased. I’m going to invite them for dinner.’ (That was Stage Two.)
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Kenneth.
‘I’ll invite Graham and his charming wife, Joan. Make it a supper for six. Just an informal little kitchen supper, nothing special. I’ll see if I can find that delightful young man who plays the harp and get him to give us a recital after dinner. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Flappy sighed. ‘I’ve set the bar rather high recently with my after-dinner entertainments, it’s going to be exhausting finding something to better them. But better them I will, because I’d like Hedda and Charles to see how things are done here at Darnley. We might not be as cosmopolitan as London, but we do appreciate culture and refinement. Everyone says how special our dinner parties are, we cannot disappoint, can we?’
Kenneth put his hand on his wife’s. ‘Don’t overdo it now, darling. I know how you enjoy giving people something special, but it’s a lot of work and you already have too much on your plate. There’s nothing wrong with a simple dinner, is there?’
‘Of course not. If I can’t find the harpist, or that delightful ex ballet dancer from the Royal Ballet who performed the Dying Swan so beautifully, I will leave it. After all, when it comes to conversation, no one does it better than me.’
* * *
Persephone was waiting in the hall at nine. Flappy greeted her cheerfully and Persephone noticed how her cheeks were flushed this morning, as if she’d been on a run, and her eyes were very clear and sparkling. Flappy looked exceedingly well. ‘Come with me, Persephone. I have lots for you to do today,’ said Flappy, setting off across the hall. Once in the library, Flappy gave her Hedda’s number. ‘Get her on the line for me, will you?’ she said.
Dutifully, Persephone dialled and waited. After a few rings, Johnson’s voice answered. ‘Hello, my name is Persephone Finley. I’m calling on behalf of Mrs Scott-Booth of Darnley Manor for Mrs Harvey-Smith. Might she be available to speak?’ Flappy smiled her approval and Persephone nodded. She put her hand over the receiver and whispered, ‘He’s going to have a look.’ A moment later she held out the telephone. ‘Mrs Harvey-Smith is on the line.’
‘Hedda,’ said Flappy, perching on the edge of the desk and crossing her legs. ‘Good morning.’
‘Flappy,’ said Hedda. ‘How lovely to hear you. I was just going around the house with the builder. There’s still so much to be done and I want it all finished before our party.’
‘I’m sure there is. A big house like yours. Are you doing a great deal?’
‘Purely cosmetic. Nothing structural. We’re lucky that the bones of the house are so lovely, we didn’t have to knock down any walls like we had to do in London. Really, that was a terrible headache. This is a pleasure. I’m enjoying nesting. Like a contented hen. What can I do for you?’
‘I’d love to invite you and Charles for supper. Nothing formal, just us and the vicar and his wife, who are dear, dear friends. I’m sure you’d like to meet the vicar properly, after all, he presided over the funeral of your darling brother Harry. It was a beautiful service, wasn’t it?’
‘We’d love to com
e,’ said Hedda enthusiastically. ‘I remember your garden and how lovely it was in April. I bet it’s even lovelier now, in August.’
‘Everything’s gone a bit wild,’ said Flappy, sighing mournfully. ‘You know how it is at the end of the summer. The best is over, but it’s still looking gorgeous. We’re so so lucky to have such beautiful gardens at Darnley. Which day would suit you and I’ll ask the vicar.’
‘Shall we say Thursday?’ Hedda suggested. ‘Everyone’s being very kind, we’re out every evening this week but Thursday.’
‘People are very welcoming here in Badley Compton,’ said Flappy, wondering where they were going and who they were going with. She’d had an image in her mind of the two of them eating dinner alone in their fine dining room, surrounded by boxes yet to be unpacked, wondering whether they’d perhaps been a little rash in leaving London for Badley Compton. She was wrong. Hedda and Charles were in such demand she was lucky to have booked them in at all.
‘Charles is heading off to the golf course now to meet Kenneth,’ said Hedda. ‘I gather it’s named after you.’
‘Named after Kenneth,’ said Flappy. ‘He built it.’
‘How generous of him to give such a wonderful gift to Badley Compton.’
‘It suits him too, Hedda. He’s obsessed with golf.’
Hedda laughed. ‘Charles got into it when he retired. Though, it hasn’t yet turned into an obsession. Personally, I prefer bridge. Do you play bridge, Flappy?’
‘I adore bridge,’ said Flappy.
‘Good. I’m looking for a fourth. Would you like to play this evening?’
‘This evening? Oh, I’m not sure…’ Flappy didn’t want to look as if she had no plans.
‘I’ve got two ladies but I’m in need of one more to make the four.’
‘Well, I suppose if you need me,’ said Flappy slowly, in a tone of voice that suggested she would reluctantly cancel the plans she had already made for this evening to be of help to Hedda. ‘I’m sure I can free myself up.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Hedda, with a distinct lack of gratitude, Flappy noticed. ‘Six o’clock here at Compton Court.’
* * *
When Kenneth returned home for lunch, Flappy was just winding up the meeting for the jumble sale event in September. She was in the drawing room with the five ladies of the committee and Persephone, who was now closing her notebook and putting away her pen. The ladies were perched on the edge of the cream-coloured sofas, barely daring to lean back against the neatly arranged pointy cushions behind them for fear of disturbing the immaculate room. It was indeed immaculate, the drawing room at Darnley. The air smelt of the expensive scented candles Flappy always lit when she had guests and on the mantelpiece, in front of a vast gilt-framed mirror, was a glass vase of scented lilies. Flappy, in pale linen, sat comfortably in an armchair, bathed in a beam of sunlight that shone through the window behind her like a spotlight on a stage. She looked at each woman in turn, fixing them with her sharp eagle eyes, then said, in a slow and deliberate voice, ‘Now, you all know what you’re required to do, don’t you? I’m afraid I must leave you to get on with it and trust that it will be done. I have a hectic afternoon ahead of me, so I must push on. If you have any questions, call Persephone.’ Flappy smiled at Persephone. ‘She’s only just started working for me and I’m afraid I’ve thrown her into the deep end, haven’t I, Persephone? But she’s very capable. I’m so so lucky to have her.’
When the women had left and Persephone had gone to eat her sandwich in the garden, sitting on one of the many benches positioned in spots of great beauty for the public when they came in June, Flappy and Kenneth sat at the kitchen table to have the salad, new potatoes and cold ham that Karen had prepared for them. ‘How was your golf?’ Flappy asked.
‘A very good day,’ Kenneth replied.
‘Do tell.’ Flappy leaned across the table.
‘Well…’
‘I’m longing to hear.’
‘Well…’
‘From the beginning, darling. I’m all ears.’
‘Well, Charles and I both had good approaches onto the green.’
‘That’s good,’ said Flappy enthusiastically, looking at him steadily and giving him her full attention.
‘On the final hole, he was four feet from the pin and I was a good ten feet. Don’t want to brag, but I lined it up very carefully and it just dropped in. Very satisfactory. He was only four feet away, but it went round and round the edge of the hole and jumped out.’
‘Did it!’ Flappy exclaimed, laughing heartily. ‘How clever you are, darling! Is Charles a good player?’ She averted her eyes at this point in case Kenneth noticed the unusual flicker of interest in them. Flappy had never been interested in hearing about golf before and even less about his golfing friends. But Kenneth was only too happy to tell her about his morning. In fact, it gladdened him that she was, for once, taking an interest in something that mattered so much to him.
‘He’s a seven handicap,’ Kenneth told her. ‘But I don’t think he was on his top form today.’
‘But you were, weren’t you, on top form?’
‘Yes, I think I was.’
Flappy poured herself another glass of sparkling water and dropped in a slice of lemon. ‘What’s he like, Kenneth? Is he our sort of person, do you think?’
Kenneth shovelled a heap of lettuce leaves into his mouth. ‘He’s a good man,’ he said.
Flappy smiled patiently. ‘A good man.’
Kenneth nodded.
‘What did he do? How did he make his money?’
Kenneth shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask him.’
‘You didn’t ask him?’
‘We talked about golf.’
‘What? All the way round the course?’
Kenneth nodded again. ‘I’d say so.’
‘I suspect he’s exceedingly clever, don’t you, Kenneth? He has a clever face, don’t you think? An alive face. I have little time for dead faces, as you know. What one wants is a face full of character. The face of someone whose life is full and busy. I think Charles has that sort of face, don’t you?’
Kenneth helped himself to more potatoes. ‘These are delicious,’ he gushed. ‘What’s she put on them?’
‘Olive oil,’ Flappy replied, knowing she’d get nothing more out of him. ‘And salt.’
* * *
Flappy spent much of the afternoon working out what to wear for bridge. She didn’t want to look like she’d tried too hard and yet she wanted to look elegant. Effortlessly elegant. She wasn’t sure who was going to be there, of course, but she knew she’d know them. After all, she knew everyone in Badley Compton. She was quite excited to see Hedda’s house, she had to admit, although she couldn’t help being envious in anticipation. She envisaged the important-looking removal van full of treasures that Mabel had talked about and felt, in the middle of her chest, the familiar tightening of competitiveness. She hated competitive people. Hedda, she believed, was more competitive than most. Still, she needed Flappy to make up her four at the bridge table. What sort of woman would Flappy be if she refused simply because she found Hedda a little competitive? If Flappy was good at one thing it was at rising above the likes of Hedda Harvey-Smith and not letting them get to her. She was a bigger beast. A white tigress to Hedda’s Ayrshire cow.
Of course, there was a strong chance she would see Charles. She imagined those sea-green eyes smiling down at her and felt a lot better about the evening ahead. Hedda was a nice woman, in spite of her faults, and Flappy was very good at bridge; she was bound to have a nice time. And so it was, at ten to six, that Flappy climbed into her shiny grey Range Rover, dressed in a pair of white naval-style trousers and Breton striped sweater adorned with a large gold chain about her neck and gold bangles jangling on her wrist. She set off down the lane towards Compton Court, filling the car with the scent of tuberose and the sound of Celine Dion. As she approached the gates of Compton Court she switched to Classic FM. It wouldn’t do to be heard listening to pop m
usic.
Compton Court was as prestigious a house as the name suggested. Flappy had never been inside, but she’d seen it in photographs (once it had been featured in Tatler magazine with a portrait of Lady Micklethwaite riding side saddle on the cover). The perfect Georgian mansion, built in the harmoniously proportioned style of Christopher Wren, was indeed even more impressive in reality than it was in photographs. The faded red brick, tall grey-tiled roof and pretty dormer windows gave it a warm, approachable air, although the charm of the design did not in the least detract from its importance. It was, indeed, a very important-looking house. Although, as Flappy drove up and parked on the gravel in front of it, she reflected on Darnley and the fact that, even if she was paid to swap, she would never ever part with her more beautiful home. Darnley, she decided, was without question more beautiful.
Johnson was just as she had imagined him. Elderly, formal in both attire and demeanour, but with a humorous twinkle in his eye, as if he was quite aware of the absurdity of his position in an unsophisticated town like Badley Compton. However, he greeted Flappy and led her through the house to the garden, while Flappy’s keen eye took in every exquisite detail. Hedda and two ladies were seated on brand new teak chairs, drinking glasses of wine. When she saw Flappy, Hedda jumped to her feet. ‘My dear Flappy,’ she said. ‘How lovely to see you.’ She took Flappy’s hands and kissed her cold cheek. Hedda’s, Flappy noticed, was plump and warm.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Flappy. She was just about to say how much more beautiful it was now than when the Micklethwaites had owned it, when Lady Micklethwaite herself turned round and smiled at her. Flappy was completely taken aback. There she was, Lady Micklethwaite, casual in a floral blouse and long cream skirt, her greying hair swept up and clipped in a loose bun, her fine English face tanned and freckled. But if Flappy was good at one thing, it was hiding shock in moments such as these.
Flappy Entertains Page 4