Johnson did not know Flappy at all well, but he did not blink. Instead, he nodded and replied smoothly, ‘Of course, Mrs Scott-Booth. Leave it to me.’ A few minutes later he returned with an elderflower cordial garnished with mint, on a silver tray.
‘Lovely,’ Flappy gushed, taking the crystal glass and smiling up at him warmly. ‘Thank you, Johnson.’
Flappy made polite conversation with Amanda, but it was a challenge. The woman was nice enough, but goodness she was dull. Flappy wished she were sitting on the other armchair, closest to Hedda and Big Mary. The two of them were laughing heartily with the intimacy of family members, even though they had only discovered each other some five months before. Flappy couldn’t help admiring Hedda for including Big Mary, who, it had to be acknowledged, was very common. With her platinum hair and leggings, not to mention her Devon brogue, she should have been out of place here at Compton Court, with the niece of a marquess. However, Hedda had no airs. Sure, she was strident, confident, and entitled in that ‘to the manor born’ way, but she was not a snob. If Flappy hated one thing above all others, it was a snob. Proper posh people were not snobs, only those not quite there looked down their noses at the lesser folk. Flappy would never ever do that. After all, the Duchess of Devonshire was gracious to everyone and Flappy admired her very much, and believed that, although she did not like to boast, she and the Duchess were really quite similar.
It was a relief when Hedda announced that it was time for bridge. ‘I might just nip to the loo,’ said Flappy, who did not need it but had heard Charles’s voice in the distance, talking to Johnson. ‘Won’t be a minute,’ she said, hurrying out. She followed the sound of Charles’s clipped vowels, across the hall and down a corridor and on into unfamiliar territory. Sure enough, there he was, holding a painting in a gilt frame.
‘Flappy,’ he exclaimed and his beautiful green eyes lit up.
‘Surely not a surprise,’ she said, smiling flirtatiously.
‘No, I knew you were coming. I’m glad you sneaked out.’
‘I wanted to say hello.’
‘I missed you today,’ he said, lowering his voice.
‘I missed you too.’
He put the painting on the floor and leant it against the wall, leaving his hands free to take Flappy by the waist. He kissed her on the mouth. ‘You smell delicious, Beauty,’ he said.
‘So do you, Beastie.’ But as she said it Kenneth’s red face materialized in front of her eyes. She blinked him away.
‘I want you,’ said Charles, and the urgency in his voice made something in Flappy’s stomach flutter.
‘We must wait until tomorrow,’ she said.
‘I can’t.’
‘You must.’ Flappy panicked suddenly that he was going to take her right there in the corridor.
He grinned and Flappy went weak. ‘I will find a way. Leave it to me.’
‘I’d better get back to the drawing room before they miss me,’ said Flappy, wriggling out of his grasp.
‘I’ll see you later.’ Flappy gave him a stern look, which only made him more ardent. ‘I will,’ he said firmly, his face full of mischief. ‘It’s my house and I’ll do what I want. You’ll see.’
Flappy returned to the drawing room to find the women already seated at the table. ‘Come on, Flappy,’ said Hedda. ‘You’re my partner, so you’d better be on form.’
‘Oh, I am on form,’ said Flappy, who was now fired up and about to burst with excitement. How was Charles going to engineer a tryst tonight? she wondered. And in his house too, with Hedda, Big Mary and Amanda sitting in here, oblivious. How incredibly exciting! She turned her mind to the cards. She did not want to let Hedda down and she certainly did not want to be outshone by the boring old dried-flower arrangement. However, as they began to play it transpired that Amanda was a demon at bridge. The dried-flower arrangement came to life and suddenly the beige was transformed to a competitive scarlet and the woman who had nothing interesting to say grew lively and, Flappy had to concede, witty too, as she wiped the table with them all.
At the end of the game, Flappy had to pretend that she didn’t mind losing; after all, only lesser mortals lost their tempers when they didn’t win. Flappy most certainly was not one of them. She was gracious and charming, although, it must be said, she had to dig deep to find those qualities in herself. Mrs Ellis had made a delicious light supper and the four women sat around the kitchen table, discussing the game in a lively post-mortem.
It was at the end of supper, when Flappy was sipping a fresh mint tea and Hedda was enjoying a bottle of sweet dessert wine, shared by Big Mary and Amanda, that Charles walked in. ‘Good evening, girls,’ he said in a cheerful voice, a turquoise cashmere sweater draped casually around his shoulders. He bent down and kissed them in turn. Flappy had to make a big effort not to give herself away. But when it came to acting, Flappy put Meryl Streep in the shade. She was truly gifted. She smiled in that charming, nonchalant way of hers and no one would have guessed at the things she and Charles got up to in the cottage.
After a brief chat, during which Hedda told him that she and Flappy had lost to Amanda and Big Mary, because she was yet to find a player who could out-play Amanda, Charles held up the painting. ‘Darling, I’m trying to find a place to hang this,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you and your three friends can give me some advice.’
Hedda shook her head and chortled. ‘Don’t be silly. I haven’t a clue.’ She looked at Flappy. ‘Ask Flappy. She’s the only one around this table with an eye for that sort of thing. Would you mind, Flappy? You’d be doing me such a favour.’
Flappy looked bashful, which was quite an achievement for a woman who had never felt bashful in her life. ‘I’m not sure I’m really qualified,’ she said.
‘You’re much more qualified than any of us,’ said Hedda.
‘Come on, Flappy,’ said Charles. ‘You can be Badley Compton’s Minister for Good Taste.’
Flappy put down her teacup. She already was Badley Compton’s unofficial Minister for Good Taste, she thought wryly. ‘Very well. If you really can’t do it yourself,’ she said, getting up.
‘You’re a darling,’ said Hedda, refilling the three wine glasses. ‘Thank you, Flappy.’
Flappy followed Charles out of the kitchen, astonished that he had come up with such an ingenious way to get her on her own. ‘You’re a devil,’ she said in delight.
‘A devil and a beast,’ he laughed. ‘I’m clearly a very dangerous man!’
He swiftly ascended the sweeping staircase, and Flappy had to admit that the staircase at Compton was grander than the one at Darnley, although Darnley, she felt (with satisfaction), had more charm. Flappy quickened her pace to keep up. ‘There’s a corridor up here where it might go nicely,’ he said, turning to give her a wink.
‘Oh, Beastie,’ she gushed. ‘You’re so naughty!’
A moment later they were in a spare bedroom, the painting discarded on the carpet, making love on the big and bouncy four-poster bed. Flappy thought it was the most thrilling thing she had ever done. It was wicked beyond her most wicked dreams. To think that Charles Harvey-Smith was inside her while his wife, her niece and friend were downstairs in the kitchen in blissful ignorance. The excitement brought the episode to a quicker climax than normal, but Flappy was quite relieved. She did not want Hedda to discover them in flagrante delicto. Charles rolled off her and sighed with pleasure. ‘I’m a beast!’ he exclaimed.
Flappy stared up at the ceiling of the four-poster bed, which was decorated with panels of pretty paintings, faded with the passing of centuries, and wondered why they didn’t have a bed like this at Darnley. ‘I can’t believe you pulled it off,’ she said.
‘I told you I would.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘It’s my house and you’re my mistress. I’ll take you whenever I want.’
Flappy felt a frisson of excitement. She had never been anyone’s mistress before. Besides, the word ‘mistress’ implied a young and sexy woman wit
h curves in all the right places. She was flattered. ‘In your own home, too. I’d never have thought you’d have the nerve.’
‘If I were a younger man, I’d do it again.’
‘What? Now?’
‘Yes, Beauty, now. If we were in our twenties, I wouldn’t put you down.’
She caught her breath. ‘Beastie, you’re unstoppable!’
Charles looked down to find, to his surprise, that his excitement was rising again. ‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you ready for another round, Beauty?’
Chapter 12
As the evening of Hedda and Charles’s party approached, Flappy turned her busy mind to a trivial but highly important matter. What was she going to wear? It was a question fraught with possibility. On the one hand Flappy had a reputation to uphold for she was without doubt the best-dressed woman in Badley Compton. That was an undisputed fact, like Big Mary made the best cakes and Mabel Hitchens was the best gossip. However, on the other hand, Flappy, being a sensitive and tactful soul, did not want to make other people, especially her hostess who was fast becoming one of her most intimate friends, uncomfortable. In short, Flappy did not want to outshine to the point of blinding. She wanted to look elegant, tasteful, with a touch of her inimitable (although Mabel tried very hard) flair, but at the same time she wanted to look approachable. That was not going to be easy.
‘Persephone,’ she called from the hall five days before the party. Persephone duly appeared, with an alert, ready-for-anything expression on her face. Flappy was getting quite accustomed to the girl’s face and decided that she liked it very much. It was intelligent, and, being an intelligent person herself, Flappy appreciated a quick and agile mind. ‘I need to buy a dress for Hedda’s party. I have nothing suitable in my wardrobe. I’d like you to come with me and help me find something in town.’ Town did not mean Badley Compton. There certainly wasn’t anything suitable to be found there. Town was Chestminster, which was a forty-minute drive north.
Flappy and Persephone set off in Flappy’s car. Flappy played classical music. ‘I have a loathing for pop music,’ she said, which Persephone knew wasn’t true because a few days before Flappy had asked her to fill her car up with petrol and, as soon as she’d started the engine, Celine Dion’s ‘Think Twice’ had blared out of the CD player. However, Persephone knew how best to answer her boss.
‘I agree with you, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ she said. ‘Classical music is so refined. I’m afraid most people, especially people my age, don’t have the fine, cultured mind that you have and would rather sing along to Radio One.’
‘The ill-educated masses,’ said Flappy with a sigh. ‘They’ll get there,’ she added generously. ‘We are all on our spiritual path, aren’t we? It doesn’t matter how long we take or by which road we travel, we will all get there in the end.’ She gave a little sniff because she was in Fast Track and would get there a darnn sight quicker than everyone else.
‘You’re so right,’ Persephone agreed. ‘How are you finding your meditation?’
‘Just wonderful,’ enthused Flappy. ‘Sometimes I go so far away, I fear I might not come back.’
‘That wouldn’t be good.’
‘No, I’d be dead,’ said Flappy with a laugh, because since taking up with Charles she found everything funny.
Persephone laughed too. ‘I’m sure that’s a very rare occurrence.’
‘Still, I do need to keep a grip on reality, Persephone,’ she said seriously. ‘What’s that saying: one mustn’t be too heavenly minded so as to be no earthly good?’
‘Quite,’ Persephone agreed. ‘By the way, I’m still trying to find you a guru. It’s not easy in Badley Compton. There are a few possibilities, but I need to find out whether they’re the real deal or simply charlatans out to take advantage of you.’
‘Goodness, that would be dreadful. One is so vulnerable when one is far away.’
They arrived in Chestminster, a cathedral town which boasted, besides a magnificent Gothic cathedral, a John Lewis and a Starbucks coffee shop. Flappy parked in the municipal car park and then marched down the pedestrianized street to the shop that never failed her, Chic Boutique. The owner, a small, tidy woman in late middle age, just happened to be in today, and, when she saw Flappy, embraced her like a long-lost friend. ‘Mrs Scott-Booth, what a lovely surprise,’ she gushed, and then greeted Persephone politely. By the attention she lavished on Flappy, it was clear that she did not expect Persephone to be spending any money.
‘I’ve brought my PA with me, Cheryl,’ said Flappy grandly. ‘Persephone has a jolly good eye for this sort of thing and I value her opinion. I need a dress for a party.’
‘What kind of party?’ asked Cheryl.
‘It’s a cocktail party at Compton Court. The last party of the summer,’ said Flappy.
‘So you need something between seasons. The evenings are drawing in now and it’s getting quite chilly when the sun’s down. Come, let me show you what we have.’
Flappy followed Cheryl to a rail of dresses while Persephone answered her mobile phone. It was Gerald, arranging a time that afternoon to bring round his designs for the cottage. ‘Three would be perfect,’ said Persephone.
‘Make it four,’ interrupted Flappy, who had cocked an ear to their conversation. If Gerald was at the cottage when Charles arrived it would give their meeting an air of respectability. To hide in plain sight, she thought to herself with satisfaction. She would send Charles a text to warn him.
Flappy pulled out four possibilities and Cheryl hung them up in the changing room. ‘Can I bring you a cup of coffee?’ she asked.
‘Lovely,’ said Flappy. ‘And one for Persephone. I keep her so busy she needs sustenance, don’t you, Persephone?’
‘Absolutely,’ she replied. ‘Thank you very much.’
Persephone sat on the pink upholstered sofa and sipped her coffee while Flappy came out in each creation. Persephone had to hand it to her. Everything she put on looked wonderful on her. She just had that kind of willowy body that suited clothes.
‘Oh, that blue is your colour,’ gushed Cheryl when Flappy flounced out in a deep indigo dress that accentuated her slim waist and hips beautifully.
Flappy admired herself in the mirror. ‘Yes, it does seem to be my colour, doesn’t it,’ she agreed, liking her reflection very much.
‘Everything looks good on you, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ Persephone said truthfully. ‘Did you ever model?’
Flappy screwed up her nose in distaste. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘You see, I’ve always been fortunate to have a good brain. Modelling is for shallow women who have nothing to offer but their beauty. I would never ever rely solely on that. Beauty fades, after all.’ She put a hand to her face. ‘I’m so so lucky that mine hasn’t faded yet.’ Then she added in her usual self-deprecating manner, because Flappy was loath to boast, ‘Of course, it will eventually. Time catches up with us all in the end, doesn’t it.’
Flappy was delighted with the blue dress. It was perfect. Elegant for the women and subtly sexy for Charles. With her gold jewellery and a shawl she had at home that would complement it beautifully, it would cement her position as the best-dressed woman in Badley Compton. Just as she was about to leave the shop, her telephone pinged with a text. She took it out of her handbag, put on her reading glasses, and had a look. It was from Charles. ‘Good morning, B. I’m a devil today. Looking forward to 5 p.m. I hope you’re ready for me.’
Flappy felt a stirring in her loins. She was ready for him now. ‘Darling B, I’m always ready for you. Counting down the hours till five.’
She turned to Persephone. ‘Let’s buy you a dress too,’ she said, for she was now in an exceedingly good mood and generous with it.
‘Really?’ said Persephone in surprise.
‘Cheryl, what do you have for Persephone?’
Half an hour and two further cups of coffee later, Persephone left the shop with her boss carrying two large shopping bags and wearing a big smile. ‘You’re so kind, Mrs Scott-Booth,
’ she said for the tenth time.
‘You deserve it,’ said Flappy. ‘You work very hard and I always reward where a reward is due.’
‘Well, thank you. It’s just so generous of you to think of me.’
‘It’s my pleasure, after all, my daughters are grown-up now and living on the other side of the world. Even when they lived at home they were hard to buy for.’ An unpleasant memory surfaced then of a fight the three of them had had in London, on the second floor of Harvey Nichols, because everything Flappy had pulled off the rail they had hated and everything they had pulled off the rail Flappy had refused to pay for. Persephone had accepted the dress Flappy chose for her and had said a very heartfelt thank you afterwards. Now, that was the kind of shopping Flappy enjoyed. It was a shame her daughters hadn’t been more like Persephone.
They stopped at a coffee shop on the way to the car park and Flappy bought them both a cake. ‘Tell me,’ she said as they took the table for two by the window. ‘When did you last have a boyfriend?’
‘I split up with Zac a year ago. We’d been going out for four years. We met at uni.’
‘Oh, that’s a long time. Did he break your heart?’
‘It had run its course. We both knew that. But still, it was hard on both of us. I miss him, but I don’t regret that we broke up.’
‘One day, when you’re happy with someone else, you’ll look back and thank your stars that you aren’t with Zac.’
Persephone pulled a sad face. ‘I hope so, Mrs Scott-Booth. The trouble is, there aren’t any men I fancy in Badley Compton.’
‘It’s a small pond, I agree,’ said Flappy thoughtfully. ‘You need to spread your net a little wider.’
Persephone shrugged. ‘How?’
‘Leave it to me. I’ll find you someone.’
‘Really?’ Persephone laughed. Flappy had already generously bought her a dress and a cake, it seemed too much to expect her to find her a boyfriend too.
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