‘No, that’s okay. This is one battle I have to fight on my own.’
‘Hedda might be more understanding than you think. If Charles has done it before.’
‘She might, but on the whole, women are quick to blame other women.’ She shrugged and her eyes drifted to the window. ‘If it were me, I’m sure I’d blame her.’
‘Can I make you a cup of coffee?’ Persephone asked, feeling sorry for Flappy. She did not feel comfortable with this new, crushed Flappy. She longed for the old, confident Flappy to return.
‘Yes, come and keep me company. You can psyche me up before I go to the gallows.’ Flappy laughed bitterly. ‘Still, I can’t complain. I’ve brought it all on myself.’
The two women went into the kitchen and Flappy sat down at the table. ‘How was it with George last night?’ she asked. ‘Please tell me that you had a lovely evening. That will take the edge off my misery.’
Persephone smiled broadly. ‘He kissed me,’ she confessed.
Flappy’s spirits lifted a little. ‘Oh, I am pleased!’ she exclaimed. ‘I trust he’s a good kisser. It’s very important for the man to be a good kisser.’
‘He is,’ said Persephone, putting the coffee cup on the Nespresso machine. It made a whirring sound and then the smell of coffee wafted into the air. ‘I think this is going to be serious,’ she added. ‘I have a good feeling about it.’
‘So do I,’ Flappy agreed. ‘You know his great-uncle was a marquess? He’s very grand.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Persephone, who didn’t care one way or the other.
‘Oh yes, Hedda’s money is old money. What does George do?’
‘He’s an architect and lives in London. In Shoreditch.’
Flappy didn’t know any architects, nor did she know anyone who lived in Shoreditch, so it was impossible to box him. Flappy did like to box people according to their place in society. ‘He’s talented then,’ she said. ‘How lovely to have a talented boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ said Persephone, but she was grinning.
‘Yet,’ said Flappy with emphasis. ‘And don’t go moving to Shoreditch, will you? Now I’ve got used to you, I don’t think I can do without you.’
Persephone looked appalled. ‘Of course I won’t,’ she said, bringing Flappy her cup of coffee. ‘This is the best job I’ve ever had.’
‘It’s certainly rich and varied,’ said Flappy with a shrug. ‘But I won’t underestimate the power of love.’
* * *
Flappy was still at the breakfast table when Kenneth appeared. He bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Good morning, darling,’ he said.
‘Good morning, Kenneth,’ she replied, managing a small smile.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Worse for wear. But it’s totally my fault,’ she said, watching him go to the bread bin and pop a piece in the toaster. ‘Let me do that for you,’ she added.
‘No, you stay sitting down,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll make breakfast this morning.’
Flappy was surprised. Kenneth hadn’t made breakfast in a long time.
‘What are your plans for today?’ he asked.
Flappy dropped her gaze into her empty coffee cup. ‘I’m going to whizz over to Hedda’s to see if I can help with the clearing up.’
Kenneth looked baffled. Flappy was not one to volunteer to clear up. ‘I thought we could have lunch at the golf club today.’ He grinned. ‘They do a delicious quiche.’
Flappy did not feel like being seen today, and yet, she didn’t want to say no to Kenneth. ‘I’d love that,’ she said, hoping that, if he did find out about her and Charles, he’d take her enthusiasm to have lunch with him at the golf club into account.
* * *
At mid-morning Flappy drove down the winding lanes towards Compton Court. She had not called in advance to warn Hedda that she was coming. There was no point in doing that. For all she knew Hedda might refuse to see her. And Flappy did need to see her. She needed to plead her case. Indeed, she needed to put on the best performance of her life and apologize. However, apologizing did not come easily to Flappy because she was so rarely in the wrong. She wasn’t even sure how to do it. She hoped that, when the moment came, she would instinctively know what to do.
Flappy did not notice the pretty colours as autumn breathed her cold breath onto the trees and hedges, curling their leaves and transforming them into reds and golds. She did not notice the cobalt skies, the fluffy white clouds or the gulls that circled above her. She thought only of her humiliation and her foolishness. Persephone had told her that Charles had done this before. That piece of information made Flappy feel sick. Flappy had never done this before, never ever. She’d thought that Charles hadn’t either. She’d been under the impression that they were two people compelled to betray their spouses for the one and only time in their lives because they simply couldn’t control their ardour for one another. How many times had Charles done this? she wondered. Had she been simply another conquest in a long line of conquests? She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re a foolish old woman,’ she told herself crossly. ‘A very foolish old woman to fall for that.’
It was with a heavy heart that Flappy drove into the forecourt of Hedda’s magnificent mansion. She walked up to the door. Her instincts were to climb straight back into the car and whizz off, but her head told her that that wasn’t a sensible thing to do. She had come to apologize and apologize is what she would do, sincerely, regretfully and earnestly. With a trembling hand she rang the bell. She waited, barely daring to breathe, her heart racing so fast in her chest that she thought it might break out and fly away like a terrified bird. At last Johnson opened the door. ‘Ah, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ he said and smiled.
‘Is Mrs Harvey-Smith available? I need to see her urgently.’
Johnson looked at her impassively. There was no indication from his expression that there might have been a massive row between husband and wife, or that Hedda might have locked herself in her bedroom and refused to come downstairs. He simply opened the door wider and invited her in. ‘Please, come this way. Mrs Harvey-Smith is taking refuge in the garden.’
The mere mention of the word ‘garden’ caused Flappy’s insides to turn over. But she followed Johnson as he led her at a frustratingly slow pace through the house and out to where the marquee was being dismantled by an army of shirtless men. Flappy did not want to see the marquee or any other evidence of the party, so she was relieved when Johnson led her away from the scenes of the night before and into the vegetable garden where Hedda was sitting on a bench in the sunshine, drinking a cup of tea. When she saw Flappy she smiled in surprise. Flappy was alarmed. Had George not yet told her?
‘Darling Flappy, what are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I need to talk to you,’ said Flappy.
‘How lovely. Johnson, will you bring Mrs Scott-Booth a cup of tea, no milk, with a slice of lemon. Come and sit down, Flappy. It’s lovely here in the sunshine. I fear these are the final days of summer before it gets too cold to sit outside.’
‘The party was wonderful,’ said Flappy, sitting down next to Hedda.
Hedda grinned. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to such a beautifully organized event in all my life. Really, Hedda, you put anything I’ve ever done in the shade.’
‘I don’t believe that. From what I hear about your parties from Mary, they have a unique magic.’
‘That’s very sweet of her,’ said Flappy, feeling incredibly small suddenly, and grateful for any compliment.
‘So, what do you need to speak to me about?’ Hedda asked. Her nonchalance told Flappy that she didn’t know. Flappy was about to make something up, but nothing popped into her mind. Usually Flappy could count on something, but strangely this time, just when she needed it most, her mind was blank. There was nothing for it, she would have to tell Hedda about the kiss.
‘Charles kissed me last night,’ s
he said and her eyes filled with tears, because hurting Hedda was suddenly more dreadful than having to apologize. ‘I’m so sorry, Hedda. I don’t know what came over me. It must have been the drink, combined with my medication, you know, for depression…’
But Hedda put a hand on Flappy’s arm and smiled kindly. ‘Let me stop you right there,’ she said. Flappy stopped and wiped her eyes, leaving her fingertips smudged with mascara. ‘Firstly, I appreciate you coming to apologize. George told me this morning as he was very upset. You see, his father has done this before. I didn’t expect you to come and see me. It just goes to show what a decent woman you are, Flappy.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Flappy, needing now to tell her the whole truth so that there was nothing left to gnaw at her conscience. ‘I’m awful. I’m the worst kind of woman there is. It wasn’t just a kiss. Charles and I have been having an affair for the last three weeks.’
Hedda laughed. Flappy stopped crying. What on earth was there to laugh about?
‘I know,’ said Hedda. She stopped laughing and grew serious. ‘How could I not know when Charles returned every evening smelling of tuberose?’
Flappy felt sick again. Hedda had often complimented her on her perfume.
‘But I don’t mind. You see, we have an arrangement. As long as he’s discreet, he can sleep with whoever he likes.’
‘You have an arrangement?’ Flappy repeated in astonishment.
‘Yes, in fact, I should be thanking you. The last thing I want to do is make love with my husband. I haven’t wanted to for years. I shut the shop about a decade ago and told Charles he could get his oats elsewhere as long as he was discreet. The trouble is, he gets overexcited, and overconfident, and then gets caught. This is not the first time one of his children has caught him in flagrante delicto.’
‘You knew all along and you didn’t mind?’ said Flappy, still trying to digest this extraordinary piece of information.
‘Absolutely. The one thing about Charles is that he has very good taste. His choice of woman is always of the highest standard. I knew he’d go for you the moment I met you. In fact, I encouraged it. An hour’s meditation every evening in your cottage was perfect. No one would know and there was little chance of him getting caught. You’re happily married, so there wouldn’t be any talk of divorce. You couldn’t have been a better choice.’
‘Oh, Hedda, I don’t know what to say.’ Which was quite an admission for Flappy because she always knew what to say.
Hedda patted her arm again. ‘You don’t need to say anything, but I’m afraid it must stop now. Charles has got his fingers burnt and he must be punished, otherwise, how’s he ever going to learn to be discreet?’
‘Oh, it’s very much over. Very much,’ said Flappy, overcome with relief.
‘Please tell me you haven’t confessed to Kenneth!’ Hedda asked, putting a hand to her mouth at the thought that this might have gone further.
‘No, I haven’t and I won’t. Kenneth doesn’t need to know.’
‘Quite,’ Hedda agreed, dropping her shoulders with relief. ‘Let’s keep this between us girls, shall we?’
‘Thank you, Hedda,’ said Flappy, overcome with affection for Hedda.
‘No, thank you for understanding, Flappy. There aren’t many women who would understand, but you, Flappy, are not just any woman. You’re unique and that’s why I like you.’ She turned her attention to Johnson, making his way towards them with a tray. ‘Your tea,’ she said. ‘Now, let’s not talk about Charles anymore. Let’s talk about the tango. Where on earth did you learn to dance like that?’
* * *
When Flappy left Compton Court, she was buoyant with happiness. Her feet barely touched the gravel as she made her way to the car. All was forgiven. No one would ever mention it again. Kenneth was none the wiser and she and Charles were penitent. Flappy couldn’t wait to tell Persephone. In fact, she decided, as she climbed into the car, that she would give the girl a rise in salary to thank her. That was the least she could do.
Flappy listened to Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’ all the way back home, breaking into song during the chorus. She had suffered a terrible night of anxiety and remorse. It had really knocked her for six. She hoped she would never suffer another night like it. When she got home she went straight into the library to tell Persephone the good news.
‘Hedda has forgiven me,’ she told her.
Persephone was relieved. ‘I’m so happy,’ she said. ‘That just goes to show what a big and generous-spirited person she is.’
‘She’s an aristocrat. That’s what she is. They do things differently from the rest of us.’
‘I think you’re probably right. They’re very open-minded,’ said Persephone.
‘I’m going on a detox,’ Flappy announced. ‘I’m not going to touch a drop of alcohol for a month. And I’m going to concentrate on my meditations and in cleansing the soul. If anyone’s soul needs cleansing right now, it’s mine.’
‘Speaking of which, I believe I have found you a guru,’ said Persephone.
‘Really?’ said Flappy.
‘Yes, he just called while you were out.’
‘Goodness, how wonderful. He’s appeared just when I need him most. You do know what they say about gurus, don’t you? That you don’t find them, they find you.’
Persephone, who had most definitely found him herself, did not dampen Flappy’s excitement by correcting her. ‘He sounds very wise,’ she said.
‘What’s his name?’ Flappy asked.
‘Murli,’ said Persephone. ‘He doesn’t have a last name. He’s just Murli.’
‘And where does he live?’
‘In town, so it’s not too far for him to travel. He teaches yoga and meditation and is a life coach. But he doesn’t advertise.’
‘Of course he doesn’t,’ said Flappy approvingly.
‘It was quite a challenge to find him.’
‘He found you, remember?’ said Flappy with a smile. ‘Well, I could do with a life coach right now, couldn’t I? When can I meet him?’
‘I have taken the liberty of booking him in for tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! How splendid. Once I’ve tried him out myself I’ll let the girls know. They’ll be so pleased to be included. I do think it’s important, when one is as lucky as I am, to share one’s luck.’ Flappy made for the door. ‘Just off for lunch at the golf club with Kenneth. To think that a day that started so badly could turn out so well!’ And she grabbed her jacket from the hall and left the house with a skip.
* * *
Flappy drove through the black iron gates of the golf club. They were, surely, the grandest gates of any golf club in the country, she thought with satisfaction. Carved into a marble plaque on the wall, in large, unmissable gold letters, was the name Scott-Booth. If Flappy had been feeling a little down, which she wasn’t, not anymore, the sight of her name displayed like that, so grandly, would have cheered her up. She didn’t even have to stop at the barrier and give her name, for the official recognized her car at once and Flappy’s face as she smiled and gave a royal wave and drove straight on through.
The clubhouse was a sprawling white building with a red-tiled roof and a wide veranda stretching the entire length of it. It was modern and functional, but lacked charm, which, had Flappy had a hand in the designing of it, would not have been the case. If there was one thing Flappy was good at, it was knowing what was good taste and what was not. The Scott-Booth Golf Club was not. However, Flappy was in a generous mood, having been reprieved. She felt as if she had been walking to the gallows, only for the Queen to step in at the eleventh hour and declare a royal pardon. The slate had been wiped clean. It was as if her affair had never happened.
She parked her car in her own special place, marked clearly with the word ‘RESERVED’ in big letters above her name, and stepped out. It had been a while since she had been to the club. Usually, she would sweep her eagle eye over the pots of flowers either side of the front door and notice th
ey needed watering, or pruning or dead-heading, and set about finding the person responsible. Today, she chose not to notice. She was not in the mood to be critical. She was in the mood to be kind.
She heard Kenneth’s voice the moment she stepped into the reception hall. It was loud, with its own unique resonance, and happy. Kenneth was always happy. How unhappy might he have been if things had turned out differently, she thought. What a near escape she’d had. But all’s well that ends well, she mused, as she strode on towards the dining room. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head and smiled at the members of staff in blue-and-green uniforms who acknowledged her deferentially. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ they said, and Flappy glanced at their badges and greeted them each by name.
Kenneth was at the bar with Charles, enjoying a beer. Flappy had not expected to see Charles and was a little taken aback. But she gathered herself, as only Flappy could, and smiled in her distinctively charming way. ‘Charles,’ she said. ‘What a wonderful party you threw last night. I don’t think Badley Compton will ever get over it.’
Charles’s eyes were greener and brighter than usual and Flappy was surprised to find not a trace of remorse or contrition in them. ‘Flappy,’ he replied, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’m so happy you enjoyed yourself. It would not have been a party without you and your tango.’
‘I didn’t even know my wife could dance the tango,’ said Kenneth with a chuckle. ‘I should really learn a few steps so I can dance with her myself. It could be our showpiece.’
Flappy laughed. ‘Darling, with all due respect, I think you should stick to golf!’
Kenneth laughed with her. Admittedly, dancing was not his thing. ‘Darling, Charles is joining us for lunch. It’s mayhem at Compton with all the clearing up.’
‘How lovely,’ said Flappy, but she did not catch Charles’s eye. Something told her that, for him, nothing had changed.
The three of them went to the table and Kenneth ordered an expensive bottle of wine. Flappy ordered a cranberry juice, remembering her decision to give up alcohol for a month and wanting very much to stick to it. Flappy was not the sort of woman who made a resolution and then broke it.
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