Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Phyllida,’ said Flappy, for she wasn’t going to let on how little she knew Lady Micklethwaite by using her title.

  ‘Flappy,’ replied Lady Micklethwaite.

  ‘I thought you were in Spain.’

  ‘We were, but I’ve come back to collect the last of our things that Eddie has kindly kept for us in the barn.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flappy, suddenly realizing, to her horror, that these two women knew each other.

  ‘Eddie and I were at school together,’ said Lady Micklethwaite.

  ‘Scrap was very naughty,’ said Hedda with a laugh, grinning at Lady Micklethwaite, who didn’t look at all like a Scrap. ‘Midnight feasts and dares you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Eddie bet I couldn’t run naked through the box garden, but I did!’

  ‘And won a big bag of sweets, if I recall!’ The two women laughed as only deeply intimate friends do.

  ‘Hello,’ said Big Mary, giving Flappy a wave from the other side of the teak table.

  ‘Ah, Mary,’ said Flappy. Never had she been so relieved to see Big Mary. She took the chair beside her and sat down.

  ‘I’m very sad I’m not going to be around for Eddie’s party,’ said Lady Micklethwaite, pulling a face.

  ‘No one is sadder than me,’ said Hedda, sinking into the chair beside Lady Micklethwaite. ‘But you will come back and there will be more parties. You know how I love to give parties.’

  Johnson brought Flappy a glass of wine. She was very grateful for it. These two women, knowing each other so well, had unsettled her. She took a sip and tried to find a way to reassert herself. Flappy did not like to feel on the periphery of things.

  ‘Badley Compton is all the poorer now that you have left,’ said Flappy to Lady Micklethwaite. ‘Who am I going to get to open the fêtes and be guest of honour at our charity luncheons?’

  Lady Micklethwaite was flattered. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find someone, Flappy,’ she said. ‘If anyone can, you can.’

  Flappy was delighted by Lady Micklethwaite’s praise, although she was right, of course. If anyone could find the appropriate person to open fêtes and be guest of honour at charity luncheons, it was Flappy.

  ‘I’ll volunteer, if you like,’ said Hedda.

  Before Flappy could reply that she required someone with a title, Lady Micklethwaite responded enthusiastically. ‘There, you have found someone already! Eddie would be perfect. She’s much grander than me.’

  Flappy laughed uneasily. ‘Oh, surely not,’ she said.

  ‘Of course she is,’ exclaimed Lady Micklethwaite. ‘Eddie’s uncle was a marquess.’

  This piece of information, so lightly given, took Flappy’s breath away. It was bad enough that Hedda was a member of the aristocracy, but the fact that Flappy knew nothing about it, that this was the first she had heard of it, was enough to prevent her from ever breathing again. But then, like a knight in shining armour, rescuing her just when she was in dire need of being rescued, or at least distracted, was Charles.

  ‘Charles!’ exclaimed Hedda and Lady Micklethwaite in unison as he appeared round the corner.

  ‘Hello, ladies,’ he said, stopping in his tracks to take in the four faces now turning towards him. ‘Hello, Mary,’ he added, smiling at Hedda’s niece. Then his green gaze alighted on Flappy. ‘Ah, Flappy. How nice to see you. I had a good game of golf with Kenneth this morning.’

  ‘I know you did,’ said Flappy, feeling a little more like herself again. ‘He said you’re a jolly good player.’

  ‘He’s too kind. He was on terrific form and covered himself in glory.’

  ‘How funny. He said the same about you.’

  He turned to Lady Micklethwaite. ‘Perhaps Algie would like to join us tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re playing again?’ said Hedda.

  Charles laughed. ‘There’s no stopping Kenneth.’

  ‘He is rather obsessed,’ Flappy agreed.

  ‘Well, the course is his, isn’t it,’ said Big Mary. ‘If I had a swimming pool named after me I think I’d use it every day as well.’ Flappy thought, considering her size, that she’d do well to use a swimming pool every day.

  ‘The Scott-Booth Golf Course,’ said Charles. ‘And a very fine course it is too.’

  ‘I’m sure Algie would love to play,’ said Lady Micklethwaite. He’d always been Sir Algernon to Flappy. ‘You know the house we’ve bought in Spain is actually built on a golf course.’

  Flappy was appalled to hear that. She’d thought more highly of the Micklethwaites. ‘How lovely,’ she gushed.

  ‘No, it’s dreadful,’ said Lady Micklethwaite. ‘But Algie loves it.’ She looked at Hedda and smiled. ‘Happy husband, happy wife, right, Eddie?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Scrap,’ Hedda agreed. ‘Now, I think it’s time for bridge, don’t you?’

  * * *

  Before they commenced their game, which was to take place in the blue drawing room (Compton Court boasted five), Flappy went to powder her nose. She didn’t need to use the bathroom, but she was curious to see more of the house and requesting to use the bathroom gave her the perfect opportunity without looking like she was prying. Now she knew that Hedda’s uncle was a marquess she was determined to find out who her uncle was, whether her father had been a lord, and what, if any, was her title. An honourable, perhaps? As she made her way through the house, behind Johnson who had been charged with escorting her to the ladies’ room, everything began to fall into place. The grandeur of the house itself, from the exquisite furniture, paintings and faded Persian rugs to the family portraits and trinkets, revealed aristocratic good taste and, perhaps, heirlooms inherited from distinguished ancestors. Hedda’s sense of entitlement, the way she had just plonked herself down in Flappy’s seat in church, for example, and the manner in which she accepted things without so much as a thank-you, as if they were her due, indicated someone who had been brought up in a certain style. In the kind of family that had staff, such as Johnson. Flappy, as much as she was irritated, was also impressed. Hedda hadn’t mentioned how grand she was, which was admirable. Flappy hated people who ‘blew their own trumpet’ as she called it. How much better it was to leave other people to sing one’s praises and shout about one’s achievements on one’s behalf.

  She was walking back down the corridor when Charles’s voice called her name from inside one of the rooms. She stopped. ‘Is that you, Charles?’ she asked.

  ‘Come over here. I want to show you something,’ he said.

  Flappy stepped into a study. By the look of the decoration and the use of deep, masculine greens and blacks, she could tell that it was his study. He was standing in front of the fireplace, surrounded by unopened cardboard boxes with the letters ‘CS’ in black marker pen written on the sides. ‘I haven’t got round to unpacking yet,’ he said. ‘Actually, the thought rather overwhelms me. It’s a devil of a thing moving house.’

  ‘They say it’s as traumatic as a divorce,’ said Flappy.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know,’ said Charles, turning his beautiful eyes onto her and causing a fluttering feeling to tickle her belly. ‘I want to show you this.’ He held up a butterfly in a glass case. ‘This is a very rare butterfly from Brazil. Isn’t it splendid?’

  ‘It’s exquisite,’ said Flappy, stepping closer to admire it. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before. Kenneth and I went to Brazil some years back, but I don’t recall seeing one like that.’

  ‘There are very few left in the world,’ he told her. ‘I wanted you to see it, because, like you, I appreciate beautiful things.’

  ‘Do you?’ she breathed.

  ‘I do. I appreciate beautiful flowers, beautiful creatures, beautiful art and music. I think you do too.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Flappy.

  ‘And women,’ he added, looking at her steadily. ‘I appreciate a beautiful woman more than anything.’

  Flappy felt as if a hand had just grabbed her by the throat. ‘Really?’ she said and her voice was suddenly dr
y and husky.

  ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Flappy.’ He laughed bashfully. ‘But you know that. Of course you know that. You must have been told a million times.’

  ‘Well, not a million, no,’ she replied, thinking more in the hundreds, to be accurate. She wanted to add that she’d never been told it by anyone who looked like him.

  ‘Forgive me, but I have to speak my mind. Ever since I met you in church yesterday I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flappy, watching his sensual mouth move as he delivered those beautiful words.

  ‘I know we’re both married, and what I’m saying is completely out of order, but I cannot help myself.’

  Flappy didn’t know what to say. She stood staring at him in astonishment, pleased and a little frightened too. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to help herself either.

  ‘I should leave you to your bridge,’ he said, putting the butterfly down.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’d better.’ Although Flappy would have much preferred to stay talking to him.

  ‘Hedda will be wondering where you are.’

  ‘I’ll say I got lost.’

  He flashed a dazzling smile and Flappy almost swooned. ‘I will tell her I found you. Come.’

  Flappy followed him. As they approached the blue drawing room he turned to her and added, ‘I’m so very happy I’ve come to live in Badley Compton.’

  Chapter 5

  Flappy was in a fluster. She did not want to return home in such a state. Kenneth would suspect something. Not that anything had happened. It hadn’t. Just a little flirtation. No harm in that, was there, Flappy thought as she pulled into a farm entrance and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, which were really quite frantic. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when her nerves had been so agitated.

  What a tremendous evening it had been, she reflected, sitting in the car. She’d played exceedingly good bridge. Big Mary, who she had partnered, had said she was ‘on fire’. Well, she’d been right about that. Flappy felt as if her entire body was on fire. Every inch of her. She’d never felt more alive. Ever. Hedda had been so impressed with her skill that she’d asked her to become a regular member of her bridge team, and Lady Micklethwaite had invited her and Kenneth to stay with them in Spain. Carried on a wave of goodwill, Flappy had climbed into her car at the end of the evening and turned to the hostess. In her most gracious voice, she had said she would love Hedda to replace Lady Micklethwaite in the opening of events and being guest of honour at her charity luncheons. ‘The honour will be all mine,’ Hedda had replied and Flappy had flashed her most enchanting smile and given a royal wave as she drove off down the drive. The evening had been an enormous success.

  However, her most enduring memory of the evening was of Charles. The moment when he had looked deep into her eyes and told her, in a voice so low that she was the only person to hear it, that he was very happy he’d moved to Badley Compton. Well, fancy that!

  Flappy believed she was in love. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been in love before. Of course, she’d fancied men in her youth, and Kenneth, when she’d first met him across the gloves counter in Harrods (her first job), had certainly caused something mildly exciting to stir inside her, but it was nothing near the commotion Charles induced. This was different, very different. There was a terrible urgency about this feeling. A sense of need and, dare she admit it, an uncontrollable sexual desire. Yes, it was indeed sexual desire with all its hot flushes and aching loins. Nothing remotely close to it had ever taken hold of Flappy. She’d read about it (in Charity Chance’s novels), heard other people talking about it (Madge after a few glasses of wine could be surprisingly vulgar), and seen it played out in movies, but never had she truly experienced it. She recognized that now because all she could think about was lying naked in his arms and of him caressing her, every gorgeous inch of her, with a slow and gentle touch.

  By the time she reached Darnley she had acquired a semblance of calm. Kenneth was in the television room watching a replay of Poirot. ‘How was your bridge game?’ he asked, pressing the pause button on the television and reluctantly drawing himself away.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Flappy breezily. ‘Just lovely. Lady Micklethwaite was there and has invited us to Spain. Isn’t that nice of her?’

  ‘Very nice,’ Kenneth agreed.

  ‘They live on a golf course. Literally on it. One wouldn’t imagine them to live in a place like that, would one?’ she added.

  At the mention of a golf course Kenneth perked up. ‘A golf course in Spain? How splendid!’

  ‘Oh, and Charles invited Sir Algernon to play golf with you tomorrow.’

  Kenneth’s small eyes brightened with enthusiasm. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘I think Sir Algernon is a top player.’

  ‘You know Hedda and Phyllida are old school friends. Isn’t that a surprise? And Hedda’s uncle was a marquess. I was wondering, as I drove home tonight, what her title must be, because, if her uncle was a marquess, then his brother, her father, must have been a lord, wouldn’t you say? In which case, she must be an honourable. Her brother Harry must have been an honourable too. How extraordinary. I should think Hedda has a different mother to Harry because he was in his eighties when he died and Hedda can’t be much older than me. I must find out. I’ve asked her to take Lady Micklethwaite’s place and open our events. Isn’t that a good idea? Had she not been an aristocrat I would not have considered her, but as she is, it’s appropriate that she should do her duty for the town. Titles are all very well, but they come with a great deal of responsibility and one must give back, mustn’t one?’ Flappy caught her breath. All this excitement was too much. ‘Hedda has staff, you know,’ she continued, although Kenneth was only half listening. ‘A butler called Johnson and a cook called Mrs Ellis, who cooked the most delicious dinner for the four of us. I’m not sure what happened to Charles. He must have gone out for he didn’t join us at the table. It was strictly women only.’ She sighed, regretting that part. ‘But when I did manage to talk to him, briefly, he said what a good game of golf he had had with you. Isn’t that nice, darling?’

  ‘Very,’ said Kenneth.

  ‘I think we’re going to like having the Harvey-Smiths in Badley Compton.’

  Kenneth nodded and pressed ‘play’ on the remote. Poirot resumed and Kenneth’s attention was lost.

  Flappy went to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of white wine. Then she went upstairs and ran a bath. While she lolled in the warm scented water, sipping Chardonnay, she let her mind drift once again to Charles.

  * * *

  The following morning Flappy hosted a meeting for the Harvest Festival tea in her exquisite drawing room. Really, every time she walked into that room she appreciated how truly exquisite it was. All taupes and creams and good taste. Lots of good taste. Indeed, it could not be denied that there was simply so much good taste at Darnley.

  Esther, Madge, Mabel and Sally were the core members of all Flappy’s committees – they could not have refused even if they’d wanted to, such was their terror of Flappy’s disapproval – but Flappy enjoyed including a few men from time to time, so that their meetings didn’t grow stale. For the Harvest Festival committee, there was the vicar, Reverend Willis, who was sensible and pragmatic, and Gerald Pott, unmarried, in his early sixties, with ginger hair and soft brown eyes, who was not. Gerald was Flappy’s decorator. He was flamboyant, effete, and thought the world of her, which was his greatest qualification. Today he found her somewhat distracted. ‘Flappy darling, has your sharp eye found some imperfection in the room that might need correcting?’ he asked. It was always worth a try. Flappy had loads of money and was easily persuaded to redecorate.

  ‘What do you mean, Gerald?’ Flappy asked.

  ‘You’re distrait.’

  ‘Moi?’ Flappy frowned, but not so much that it disturbed the smooth skin on her forehead.

  ‘Poor Flappy, you do too much,’ said Mabel. ‘That�
�s the trouble. But now you have Persephone, you should step back a bit. As you always say, you can’t be all things to all people.’

  ‘But one must try,’ said Flappy earnestly. ‘The town depends on me, you see. I’ve always had a strong sense of duty. Those to whom much is given, much will be required, n’est-ce pas?’

  Reverend Willis, who was quite happy to allow Flappy to do all the talking, reserving his right to long soliloquies in the pulpit only, smiled in a vicarish way, and said, ‘Luke 12:48. A wise quote indeed. Badley Compton appreciates all the hard work you do, Flappy. It’s a fine thing to have such community spirit. I’m very glad you’ve employed a bright young person to share the load.’ He looked at Persephone and gave her a vicarish smile too.

  Persephone had made everyone tea and coffee, produced a plate of digestive biscuits and taken notes throughout the meeting. She had spent the evening before coming up with decorating ideas for the marquee, as Flappy was going to host the tea on her lawn on the Sunday afternoon. She’d thought of making candleholders out of miniature pumpkins and arranging hay bales in circles for seating. Sheaves of wheat would look pretty and nostalgic, and toffee apples for the children were always popular. She’d given the list to Flappy prior to the meeting and Flappy had been delighted. However, it had come as something of a surprise when Flappy had claimed those ideas as her own. Persephone was powerless to do anything but watch, helplessly, as Flappy took credit for her hard work. ‘There,’ she said after listing them. ‘I’ve come up with the ideas, who’s going to carry them out?’

  ‘I can make the candles,’ Madge volunteered. ‘I once did a candle-making course, many years ago. I could give them a cinnamon scent. Do you think that would be nice?’

  Flappy didn’t. ‘It’s not Christmas, Madge,’ she said. ‘I think a woody smell would be more appropriate, or something more relevant to harvest time, like blackberries or apples.’

  Madge nodded. ‘Of course, you’re quite right, Flappy. We don’t want people thinking Christmas has come early, do we?’ She laughed nervously.