The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘It feels strange driving to the airport without Granny,’ said Anastasia as the taxi bumped down the track.

  ‘We’ll come back,’ said Carina, folding her hands in her lap and looking out of the window at the countryside she had grown to love so much. ‘I have a plan.’

  ‘You’re going to rebuild La Colomba, aren’t you?’ Anastasia guessed, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  ‘I’m not going to live so far away from Mum ever again,’ Carina explained. ‘She needs me.’

  ‘She needs us,’ Anastasia emphasised. Then she grinned. ‘But you’ve been wrong about everything so far.’

  Carina smiled back knowingly. ‘Perhaps, Sherlock. But I’m not wrong about this.’

  And Anastasia had a funny feeling she was right.

  Chapter 27

  Badley Compton

  Flappy was in the garden, supervising the contract gardeners she had hired for Harry’s funeral – Sir Algernon and Lady Micklethwaite had accepted the invitation (sadly, the mayor had not), therefore it was imperative that there was not a single weed in sight – when the telephone rang. She heard it inside the house and had to run across the lawn to reach it in time. When she picked up the receiver she was panting. ‘Darnley Manor, Flappy Scott-Booth speaking.’

  ‘Are you out of breath?’ came the reply.

  ‘I’ve been toiling away in the garden, Mabel,’ said Flappy. ‘Really, when it comes to horticulture I can’t trust anyone to do it better than me.’

  ‘You mustn’t overexert yourself, Flappy,’ said Mabel, impressed that Flappy managed to do so much.

  ‘I’m a perfectionist, Mabel. It’s a curse.’ She sighed and put her hand on her thumping heart. ‘What news?’

  ‘Gracie didn’t come home last night.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Her daughter telephoned Esther and asked her to look after the dogs for a few more days.’

  ‘How inconvenient. We must get a message to her to let her know that it’s Harry’s funeral on Thursday and we need her. I don’t imagine she even knows he’s died.’ She gave a derisory sniff. ‘Why’s she staying longer? What’s going on?’

  ‘Her daughter didn’t say. She said that she and her daughter came home without her.’

  Flappy was confused. ‘Is she in trouble? Has something happened? It would be just like Carina not to tell us. Is she unwell?’

  Mabel wished she had more information. She could feel Flappy’s frustration down the line. Instead of ingratiating herself, she had managed to leave Flappy feeling exceedingly dissatisfied. ‘Everything is in order for Harry’s funeral. It really doesn’t matter whether Gracie is here or not.’

  ‘It matters very much,’ came Flappy’s tart reply. ‘It’s her duty to be here. I need all of you to support me. I’m giving the eulogy, for goodness’ sake. It’s going to be very emotional. I’m not sure I’m going to get through it.’

  ‘No one could do it better than you,’ Mabel gushed.

  ‘I know,’ Flappy replied, rallying. ‘I will just have to be strong. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.’

  Flappy put the telephone down and went back into the garden. She sat on one of the teak chairs, arranged around a low table adorned with a display of white hydrangeas, and watched the gardeners in green T-shirts labouring away in her borders. It was a warm morning and she fanned herself with The Lady magazine she had left on her seat. How very inconsiderate of Gracie to decide to stay on for another few days. Flappy wondered how she could afford it and presumed that her daughter was helping her with the bill. From what she had gleaned, Carina and her husband earned a considerable amount of money. Well, she thought sourly, it’s time her daughter stepped up to her duty and started looking after her mother. Flappy thought of her own four children and smiled smugly. She was so very very lucky to have such affectionate and loving offspring. Kenneth had already bought the first-class flights and luxury hotel suites for next Christmas in St Lucia. It was a treat he liked to give his family every year. Flappy relished the fact that every single one of them came, every Christmas, not because it was a free holiday (that would never have occurred to her) but because they wanted to come. They all wanted to spend time with her. She considered herself very blessed, but then again, she had always been a very good mother.

  The following day Flappy bumped into Esther in the street as she marched down the pavement on her way to Big Mary’s to check on the cupcakes and tea. On the end of two leads were Gracie’s dogs. ‘Ah, just the person I want to see,’ said Flappy. She was wearing a black trouser suit and white shirt with a stiff collar, still setting an example to the locals who had not chosen to show their grief in the same way.

  ‘Me?’ Esther replied, looking hunted.

  ‘I wanted to check that everything is in order for the funeral on Thursday – and to find out if there’s any news from Gracie.’

  ‘The cupcakes—’

  ‘Do we know when she’s coming back?’

  ‘Carina is driving down at the weekend to pick up the dogs.’

  ‘Where is she taking them?’ Flappy was astonished and very put out that Carina had not thought to inform her of her plans before telling everyone else.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, for goodness’ sake, someone must know something!’ said Flappy in exasperation. ‘Doesn’t anyone know the right questions to ask!’ She resolved to telephone Carina at once and find out what the devil was going on.

  ‘We’ve decided—’ Esther began.

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ said Flappy, hurrying away. ‘I’m glad everything is in order.’

  As soon as she got home she telephoned Carina. ‘Flappy Scott-Booth,’ she said in an officious tone of voice.

  ‘Hello, Flappy,’ Carina said breezily, because she was still carrying the warmth of Castello Montefosco in her sweater like a hot potato.

  ‘I’m calling to find out from the horse’s mouth what has happened to Gracie. I’m hoping she’s all right.’

  Carina smiled to herself. Really, this woman was a caricature. ‘She’s having a lovely time in Italy,’ she replied.

  ‘Is she not coming back?’ Flappy laughed as if she thought the idea of Gracie not coming home preposterous.

  ‘She decided to stay on a little longer.’

  Frustrated with the withholding of information, Flappy asked, ‘Why has she decided to stay on? Isn’t she lonely on her own?’

  ‘I assure you, she’s not on her own,’ Carina told her and then couldn’t resist tormenting her a little more. ‘She’s in the very best hands.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Flappy, hoping for an explanation.

  ‘I must go. I’ve got so much to do.’

  ‘Yes, so have I. I’m arranging Harry Pratt’s funeral. You will tell your mother, won’t you? I know she’ll want to know. The funeral is on Thursday. I’m sure she’ll want to be here. Harry Pratt, local hero, you know, big occasion. Lots of important people coming. I’ve lent my garden. It’s the least I can do for a man who fought in the Battle of Britain. We have much to thank him for. Well, I’ll let you get on. Send your mother my love and do tell her about Harry. She won’t want to miss his send-off. I’m giving the eulogy. A big responsibility, but really, there’s no one else, it was left to me to step up to the mark. I’m so busy, you know, but I can’t let Harry down.’

  Flappy hung up the telephone, certain that Gracie would now race back from Italy. She was certain she knew where her loyalties lay.

  The morning of the funeral revealed the first concern for Flappy. It was drizzling. How dare it drizzle on her big day? She looked out of the window at the low cloud and realised, to her disappointment, that if it didn’t stop and the sun didn’t come out to dry the grass, no one was going to see her garden. Her beautifully trimmed and weeded garden, which she had so conscientiously prepared for her important guests, Sir Algernon and Lady Micklethwaite.

  Kenneth, who was a positive man, was not at all interested in the weather. �
�Everyone will be in the church and then in a tent,’ he told her over breakfast.

  Flappy, dressed in a black suit with a large diamond star pinned to her lapel, was not at all consoled. ‘I have worked very hard in the garden and now no one will see it.’

  ‘I’m sure the sun will come out later and everyone will get to appreciate your labour.’

  Flappy put on her specs and placed her eulogy on the table. ‘I’m going to read it over one more time, just to make sure I don’t trip on any words. The emotion, you know. It’s going to be a great challenge to get through this without shedding a tear. As for everyone else, well, I hope they bring tissues. What I’ve written is very moving, even if I do say so myself.’

  Kenneth frowned. ‘Did you know enough about him to write it?’ he asked.

  ‘He used to sit on that bench. I’ve put our bench in the eulogy. You know, the one we’re dedicating to him and gifting the town.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that’s a lovely idea, darling.’

  ‘And he was a fighter pilot. I’ve put that in too. Oh, and he liked boats. Big Mary told me he used to sit watching the boats for hours. He made model boats, apparently.’

  ‘I would have thought Big Mary might have been a better person to give the eulogy. Not because she would write it as well as you, of course, but because she knew Harry better than anyone else. They had real affection for one another.’

  ‘Ridiculous, Kenneth. I couldn’t allow her to stand up in front of Sir Algernon and Lady Micklethwaite!’

  Kenneth raised his eyebrows, but he knew better than to contradict his wife. Once she got something into her mind nothing he could say would get it out.

  The morning was busy with the coming and going of people. Sally arrived with a van full of flowers, Big Mary turned up in a minivan with her troop of helpers to set up the tea, and the local tent company departed, having finished putting the tent up, which they had started the day before. By midday the second concern was revealed. ‘It’s me, Mabel,’ said Mabel when Flappy answered the telephone. ‘I’ve got news.’

  ‘Gracie’s back,’ said Flappy cheerfully. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know,’ Mabel answered in surprise.

  This wrong-footed Flappy, who had to now admit that she didn’t know. ‘Is she not? I presumed—’

  ‘No, Harry has left everything to Big Mary in his will,’ Mabel declared in a trembling voice, excited to be giving Flappy a really meaty piece of information.

  ‘Well, he didn’t have any relatives, did he, and Big Mary and he were friends.’

  ‘No, they were more than friends.’ Mabel’s voice quivered as she was about to deliver her denouement. ‘He was her father,’ she said.

  Flappy sank into an armchair. ‘What?’ She was too shocked to pretend she already knew.

  ‘And he’s left her a considerable amount of money. Who knew he had anything like as much as that?’

  ‘Well, how much is it?’

  ‘Considerable,’ said Mabel.

  ‘Didn’t you ask? Who did you hear this from? Is your source reliable?’

  ‘Big Mary.’

  ‘She told you herself?’

  ‘She’s telling everyone. The whole town knows.’

  Flappy’s lips twitched. She had seen Big Mary this very morning and she hadn’t mentioned it. Flappy emptied her mind and waited for a brilliant idea to pop into it. A moment later she hung up and hurried through the house into the marquee.

  She found Big Mary dressed as if she were going to a wedding, not a funeral, in a pink-and-white floral frock. ‘Mary,’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘I gather you’ve had some rather surprising news.’

  Mary’s smile was not as sweet as Flappy’s. ‘Harry was my father,’ she said.

  ‘And he’s left everything to you in his will.’

  ‘Well, that’s a bonus, but the big news is that I now know who my father is. I’m only sorry that he never told me during his lifetime.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking, actually, I should have asked you earlier, but I’ve been so busy arranging today that I just never got around to it. Would you mind doing me a favour and giving the eulogy? You knew Harry better than anyone, and certainly better than me. I thought of asking you even before I heard that you are, indeed, his only remaining relative . . .’

  Big Mary lifted her chin. ‘Yes, I’d like to say a few words.’

  ‘Good, that’s settled then. This is Harry’s day, I really don’t want it to become all about me.’

  ‘Regarding the other living relatives, there is one and she’s coming,’ said Big Mary.

  Flappy’s smile froze. ‘How nice. Who is she?’

  ‘His sister, Edda Harvey-Smith. Admittedly, they were estranged, but she would like to pay her respects all the same.’

  ‘Very well, I will let Madge know because she must sit in the front pew. As must you, Mary. How nice that Harry has family, after all. Very nice.’

  ‘Madge knows,’ said Big Mary. ‘It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flappy, but it came out more like a squeak. ‘Then I don’t need to do anything, do I?’ Her eyes strayed to the pyramids of cakes being laid out on the white tablecloth. They were all in the shape of boats. ‘Lovely cakes,’ said Flappy, because she could think of nothing else to say to Harry Pratt’s daughter.

  Big Mary grinned. ‘He’d have loved those.’

  ‘Yes, well, he did love boats, didn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, he did,’ Mary agreed, and Flappy wandered back into the house to pour herself a large glass of wine which she would sneak up to her bedroom and drink in private.

  By the time of the funeral Kenneth was proved right. The wind had blown the clouds away and the sun had come out. Flappy was at the church door, greeting the vicar, when she heard a clipped, aristocratic and very assertive voice on the path behind her. She turned, cutting off the vicar, expecting to see Sir Algernon and Lady Micklethwaite. Instead, she saw an elegant woman in a black dress and jacket, with black feathers in her chestnut-brown hair and diamonds pinned to her lapel, walking up the gravel, arm in arm with Big Mary. ‘What a quaint church. Adorable, like something out of a film,’ she was saying. Flappy caught her breath. She had not expected Harry’s sister to look – or sound – like that.

  ‘You must be Flappy Scott-Booth,’ said the stranger, extending her hand. Flappy noticed the diamond ring and the manicured red nails and gave it a lukewarm shake. ‘I’m Harry’s little sister, Edda. Mary tells me that you have gone to all the trouble of organising Harry’s send-off today. I’m so grateful to you. Really, you are unbelievably generous and kind, considering you are not family. And I’m so grateful to Mary, too, for getting in touch and inviting me. I wasn’t even aware my brother had died, but Harry had the foresight to put my details in the letter he wrote to Mary.’ She turned to Big Mary and beamed a smile. ‘Isn’t it lovely that I have a niece! Harry was such a rogue. And a dark horse, too. Who’d have thought he had a love child! Now a very wealthy love child. He hated the way I went through money. He was the opposite, a terrible old hoarder and socialist. Money meant nothing to him. Now Mary can enjoy it and I will advise her. I’m a brilliant shopper.’

  Flappy didn’t know what to say. She looked at Edda steadily and instead of Edda blinking back in panic like everyone else, she returned her gaze with spirit. Bravado even, and Flappy was taken aback. ‘Welcome,’ she said at last. ‘I have made sure you have a reserved seat in the front pew.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Edda, accepting it as her due. She headed on into the church, shaking hands and exchanging a few words with the vicar on her way.

  Flappy was feeling very unbalanced when, to her relief, Sir Algernon and Lady Micklethwaite appeared on the path. Flappy swiftly composed herself, thrilled that something, at last, was going right. Lady Micklethwaite kissed her with real affection, which corrected the balance in Flappy’s world and made her feel superior again, while Sir Algernon put his hand a little too low on her back, perhaps even on her bottom
, but Flappy dismissed that as impossible in a man with the class to know how to behave, and kissed her too. With great self-importance, she led them into the church.

  They processed slowly down the aisle, having found Kenneth dutifully waiting for them in the porch. A stately procession of dignitaries, Flappy thought happily, as she bestowed her smiles equally to those on her left and right. It wasn’t until she reached the end that she noticed the boat. The boat filled with flowers that she had quite clearly told Madge not to do . . . or had it been a plane she had dismissed as ‘common’? Oh horror! She groaned at the tackiness of it as her feverish mind struggled to think of a way of distancing herself from it and blaming it on someone with no taste or class. But as she showed Lady Micklethwaite to her seat, the lady turned and said, ‘I do love the boat. It’s darling. Whose clever idea was that?’

  ‘Mine,’ said Flappy, without so much as a blink. ‘I’m so pleased you like it.’

  After the funeral the entire congregation arrived at Darnley Manor for the reception. Lady Micklethwaite loved the boat-themed cakes, for which, once again, Flappy took credit, and Sir Algernon and Kenneth stood on the lawn in the bright sunshine and talked about golf. Flappy, in order to restore the balance between her and Edda, took it upon herself to show off her garden. Edda followed her from border to border, making all the right noises. She admired the lime avenue where hundreds of red tulips had been planted and leaned over to sniff the Daphne odora. ‘You have a lovely garden,’ said Edda.

  ‘Thank you,’ Flappy replied graciously. ‘We open it to the public, only because we feel it’s unfair to keep such beauty all to ourselves.’

  ‘How good of you.’

  ‘People come from miles around to see it. I spend much of my time toiling away. My hands are ruined.’ She held out her soft white fingers, the fingers of a woman who had never dug up so much as a weed, and pulled a despairing face. ‘But it’s worth it. It’s a privilege to have such a splendid home.’