Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

  Mabel followed Persephone through the house to the terrace, even though she had been coming to Darnley for thirty years. When she saw Flappy, she took in the pale chicness of her clothes and made a mental note to adorn herself in the same muted colours the next time she had to dress up. One always dressed up for Flappy, even though the invitations specifically stated ‘informal’. In Flappy’s world, there was no such thing. Standards must be upheld whatever the occasion, she maintained. As soon as one allowed them to slip one became as ordinary as the hoi polloi, which was Flappy’s greatest fear.

  ‘Hello, Flappy,’ Mabel trilled, marvelling at the splendour of her host through thick spectacles, which made her watery grey eyes look large and starey. ‘You look gorgeous. Like a painting. Yes, you look just like a painting. A beautiful work of art.’

  ‘Oh really, this old dress? I just threw it on, without a thought. Grabbed the first thing I could find in my wardrobe,’ Flappy responded in delight.

  ‘I imagine everything in your wardrobe is gorgeous,’ said Mabel, envisaging Flappy’s wardrobe with envy.

  ‘Have a glass of prosecco.’

  ‘How lovely.’

  ‘Bellissimo,’ said Flappy. There was no point in knowing how to speak languages if one never used them. ‘Isn’t this divertente?’

  ‘Oh yes, Flappy, very!’ Mabel agreed as always, impressed by Flappy’s knowledge of Italian.

  ‘Now, I received a charming invitation this morning,’ Flappy told her. ‘Did you get yours?’

  ‘From Hedda Harvey-Smith? Yes, I did. Isn’t it exciting!’

  ‘The whole town has been invited,’ Flappy informed her. ‘Isn’t that generous of her, to invite everyone?’

  ‘Oh yes, very generous,’ Mabel agreed.

  ‘You see, she asked Big Mary, who as you know is her niece, to put the list together for her. I mean, if I were her, I would have been a bit more discerning, but…’ Flappy gave a sniff. ‘She wouldn’t have thought of calling me for advice, would she? After all, she barely knows me. Big Mary was all she had, which is a pity. Still, it will be great fun, I’m sure.’

  ‘Perhaps, in future, when she knows you a little better, she’ll draw on your wisdom in these matters. But if you’re there, Flappy, it’ll be great fun.’

  The next to arrive were Sally Hancock, a brash woman with red hair and a penchant for glittery sweaters, and Esther Tennant, who couldn’t care less about her hair or clothes because she spent most of her time on a horse. ‘We’re not late, are we?’ said Sally, stepping onto the York stone in high heels.

  ‘You’re perfectly on time,’ said Flappy, glancing at the inappropriate shoes with disdain. She picked up the bottle of prosecco and poured two more glasses.

  ‘How lovely!’ Sally gushed. ‘This is just what I need after a whole day at my desk.’ Sally wrote unashamedly trashy romances under the pseudonym Charity Chance.

  ‘How’s the new novel coming along?’ Flappy asked, crinkling her nose to convey that, while she wouldn’t dream of reading such a thing herself, she could appreciate the vast number of Charity Chance’s readers. After all, someone had to entertain the uneducated masses.

  ‘I’m about halfway through,’ Sally replied, sinking into the fat cushions on the teak bench and taking a sip of prosecco.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Flappy. ‘Such an imagination.’

  Esther glanced at Mabel and the two women looked a little uneasy. Neither wanted to admit that they devoured Charity Chance.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Madge Armitage, scurrying onto the terrace in a tie-dye kaftan, her small feet clad in bejewelled flip-flops and her greying hair falling about her narrow shoulders in unbrushed tendrils. Flappy poured her a small glass of prosecco.

  ‘Don’t drink it all at once,’ she said with a smile, but she wasn’t joking.

  Madge sat beside Esther and took a small sip because Flappy’s sharp eyes were still upon her.

  Flappy lifted her leather-bound notebook off the table and put on her reading glasses. ‘Now, as we’re all here, I’ve put together a list of books for you to choose from for our next meeting. I’ve thought very hard about each one. As you know, I do try to please you all, which is quite a challenge. But I think I’ve got it just right. The first one…’

  ‘Did you all receive an invitation to Hedda Harvey-Smith’s party?’ asked Madge, who had downed the prosecco the moment Flappy’s attention was diverted and was suddenly feeling rather brave. Flappy looked at her over her spectacles, but in spite of the scary expression on her face, Madge continued. ‘Only, I’ve been dying to know, because I’ve never met Hedda Harvey-Smith so it was a lovely surprise to be invited.’

  Flappy took off her glasses. ‘Everyone has been invited,’ she said in a bored tone of voice.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Esther exclaimed.

  ‘Apparently the house is enormous,’ Sally added.

  ‘I suppose it has to be if she’s invited everyone,’ said Madge.

  They all turned to Flappy. ‘You are going to go, aren’t you, Flappy?’ Mabel asked.

  Flappy inhaled through dilated nostrils and gave a small, secretive smile. ‘I haven’t yet decided,’ she said. ‘I confess, I have another invitation which I’m considering.’

  Mabel gazed at Flappy in awe. It didn’t surprise her one bit that Flappy had been invited elsewhere. ‘What are you going to do? How can you choose?’ she exclaimed. ‘Only you could be so in demand, Flappy.’

  ‘I’m going to struggle,’ Flappy replied, pulling a face to show how hard that struggle was going to be. ‘Truly I am. I don’t want to let dear Hedda down and yet, the other invitation is very tempting.’

  ‘What is it?’ Esther asked.

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ said Flappy, pursing them.

  ‘Ah, it must be something very important,’ said Mabel.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot say.’ Flappy smiled enigmatically.

  ‘I do hope you choose Hedda’s,’ Mabel sighed. ‘A party’s not a party without you.’

  Chapter 3

  On Sunday morning Flappy was in a hurry to get to church. Kenneth, who liked to take his time over breakfast and read the Sunday papers in a leisurely fashion, was not. ‘Why are you so desperate to get there on time?’ he asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of his Jaguar fifteen minutes before the service was due to start. Normally they would be the last to arrive at one minute to ten. Everyone knew that.

  ‘Because, darling,’ she began as he climbed into the driver’s seat and stretched the belt over his big belly. ‘Our places in the front pew are not official, which means, when Hedda and Charles arrive, they might very well sit in them. There is nothing and no one to tell them they can’t. But if we are in them they will understand the unspoken rule and not attempt to usurp them.’

  Kenneth started the engine and the Jaguar purred contentedly. ‘Why do you think they want to sit in the front row?’

  ‘Because they have bought the biggest house in town. I suppose it is a teeny bit bigger than ours.’

  ‘They might want to sit in the middle, or at the back. They might not be as competitive as you think they are.’

  Flappy smiled patiently, as if she were explaining something very simple to a very simple person. ‘Darling, you couldn’t even remember who Hedda Harvey-Smith was, let alone what kind of woman she is. I can tell you, from the brief moments I have spent with her, that she is an exceedingly competitive woman.’ She laughed lightly and gave a little sniff. ‘Of course, she has no idea how transparent she is. How easy she is to read. I’ve always maintained that competitive people are just insecure people and should have our sympathy, not our condemnation. Still, it doesn’t mean I’m going to allow her to sit in our seats in church. One’s generosity has limits, doesn’t it, Kenneth.’

  ‘It does,’ he agreed, because life ran more smoothly when he agreed with his wife.

  ‘That is why we must get there early. Not too early, just five or so minutes. I’m sure Hedda wi
ll swan in at the last moment. I know her type. She will want to make an entrance.’

  * * *

  As Kenneth drew up and parked on the kerb, Flappy saw, to her dismay, a black Bentley already parked right in front of the gate that opened into the churchyard. She had never seen that car before, which meant only one thing: that it belonged to the Harvey-Smiths. Her skin bristled with rivalry. If it did, indeed, belong to Hedda and Charles, there could be no doubt that they were already inside the church, possibly at this very moment, lowering themselves into her and Kenneth’s seats. An image of Hedda’s large behind gave Flappy a moment’s relief, because hers was small and toned due to her morning yoga sessions, but she was in too much of a hurry to savour her sense of superiority, she needed to get into church right away while there was still time to make an intervention.

  Leaving Kenneth to catch her up she strode purposefully along the path. ‘Did you see that Bentley?’ she said to him when he reached her.

  ‘A beauty,’ he replied.

  ‘I wouldn’t trade my Range Rover for a Bentley, even if you paid me,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘But then I’m terribly discreet. I’m not sure discretion is one of Hedda Harvey-Smith’s most notable qualities.’

  They entered the church to find the pews packed and the congregation full of chatter. Flappy’s aquiline vision immediately honed in on Hedda Harvey-Smith at the front of the church, talking to the vicar. Without a moment’s hesitation, Flappy marched down the aisle. She didn’t look to her left or right, or acknowledge the expectant faces of her friends who turned to her like sunflowers. She didn’t have time to bestow greeting. Right now she had an important matter to attend to.

  As she approached them, the vicar raised his eyes and smiled at her, for besides being the local vicar, he was also a friend. After all, it was important for the queen of Badley Compton to be on good terms with God.

  Hedda, noticing his straying gaze, turned round. When she saw Flappy, her expression changed. She beamed a smile, the kind of smile one gives to a cherished old friend one hasn’t seen in a very long time. ‘Flappy, my dear,’ she said, holding out her hands.

  Flappy returned her smile, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and took the sturdy, unmanicured hands. ‘Hedda, how lovely to see you.’

  ‘You look so well, Flappy. Have you been away?’

  ‘We always spend a couple of weeks in our house in the Algarve in July. I suppose I have retained my tan, although I never ever put my face in the sun.’

  ‘That’s why you look so young,’ said Hedda. Then, to Flappy’s astonishment, she sat down in Flappy’s seat. Without apology or hesitation, or the slightest indication that she was even aware of the faux pas she was making, she plonked herself down as if it were just an ordinary pew. A moment later, before Flappy had time to prevent it, a breathtakingly handsome, grey-haired man, who Flappy realized with a stab of envy was Hedda’s husband Charles, came and sat beside her, in Kenneth’s seat. Flappy, for once in her life, was dumbfounded. She stood there, lips parted in amazement, eyes wide with horror.

  ‘Ah, Flappy, there you are,’ said Kenneth, rescuing her in the nick of time. ‘Why don’t we sit on the other side in the third pew. There are two free places.’

  Flappy was not to be defeated. She inhaled through her nostrils, gathered her wits and smiled graciously down at Hedda and Charles. For if there was one thing Flappy was good at, it was being gracious in times of crisis. ‘Hedda darling, you and Charles are in our seats.’ She put out her hand to prevent them from getting up. ‘Please, no apology. I’m delighted that you enjoy the view from the front row. We’ve enjoyed it for over twenty years, it’s the least we can do to share it with you, who have just arrived in Badley Compton.’ She shifted her eyes to Charles, who was gazing at her with the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen. They were the colour of sea glass and as mesmerizing as Kipling’s Kaa. Flappy caught her breath, falling suddenly into the beautiful green.

  ‘Flappy Scott-Booth,’ he said in a voice so aristocratic it seemed to vibrate over her body in a delightful caress.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flappy, forgetting suddenly how to speak.

  ‘You’re as charming as they say you are,’ he said, and then he smiled and Flappy’s stomach flipped. It had never done that before, not even when Kenneth had flashed the Cartier diamond engagement ring at her on the terrace of the Palace Hotel in St Moritz. With her legs turned to dough and the words still lost in muddled thought, she dug deep, very deep, for her willpower and managed to tear herself away.

  Flappy, in the third row, which was a terrible affront to her dignity, was unable to keep her eyes on the vicar. She could only see the back of Charles’s head and a sliver of his profile, but it was enough. How on earth had Hedda managed to ensnare such an attractive man? Of course, she wasn’t unattractive herself, her face was pleasant enough and her eyes, big and brown, were warm and intelligent, but if one judged them from the perspective of the food chain, she and Charles were on very different levels. He was a white tiger or a silver fox, and Hedda was – Flappy narrowed her eyes and considered Hedda’s stout body, her thick brown hair and long eyelashes – an Ayrshire cow, she concluded with satisfaction.

  The vicar gave a rousing sermon, to which Flappy would have normally listened with great focus so that she could comment on it later, but today she didn’t hear a word, not a syllable. Her mind was whirring and not with the things with which it usually whirred. Never before in her life had she been so immediately smitten. Never before had she felt so powerless to resist. Never, not ever, had she felt ‘bestial’ without, at the same time, feeling utterly embarrassed and ashamed. Charles Harvey-Smith, in a few short sentences and one very long, lingering look, had awakened the beast within and Flappy was a new woman.

  At the end of the service Flappy and Kenneth made their way out into the sunshine. They shook hands with the vicar, who stood at the big double doors beside a pair of children holding silver collection plates, and thanked his congregation for coming. ‘How Christian of you to give the Harvey-Smiths your seats,’ he said with a grateful smile, which would normally have given Flappy a frisson of pious delight, but she was so distracted by Charles she barely heard him.

  ‘They’re not our seats,’ said Kenneth, giving his hand a firm shake then dropping a fifty-pound note into the collection plate.

  ‘Unofficially, they are, Kenneth,’ the vicar replied, taking back his hand with a wince. ‘It was kind of you to give them up.’

  ‘We don’t mind where we sit, do we, Kenneth?’ said Flappy, aware that Charles and Hedda were just behind them in the queue to greet the vicar and might easily overhear. ‘As long as we can enjoy your rousing sermon, Graham, we’re very happy anywhere.’

  Flappy moved into the churchyard and was immediately accosted by Mabel. ‘Did you see Hedda’s husband, Flappy?’ she hissed, barely able to contain her excitement.

  ‘Her husband, why, what about him?’ said Flappy coolly.

  ‘He’s so handsome!’ Mabel could barely contain herself.

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘You hadn’t?’

  ‘Not really. I thought he was charming, but as for his looks, well, you know me. I like to see beyond the superficial. A person’s looks can be very misleading, and character is so much more important.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Flappy. Ah, there he is now, coming out of the church.’

  Flappy turned to look at this Adonis, a head taller than everyone else, grey hair silver in the sunshine, now making his way slowly towards her with his stout wife by his side. Flappy smiled and said to Mabel in a low voice, ‘Indeed, he’s very nice-looking. How clever of you to spot that, Mabel.’

  Flappy’s eyes twinkled at him flirtatiously. She was aware of her beauty and hadn’t forgot
ten how to use it.

  ‘Thank you very much, Flappy, for giving up your seats,’ he said, his gaze penetrating right into her and giving her feelings she hadn’t had in decades, or perhaps ever. ‘Had we known, we would have sat elsewhere.’

  Flappy waved her hand as if it was but a trifle. ‘Oh, think nothing of it. Really, I’m delighted you sat there,’ she said, giving him her most charming smile.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Hedda added. They both looked at Mabel.

  ‘May I introduce you to Mabel Hitchens,’ said Flappy, watching Mabel’s delight as she shook hands with Charles.

  ‘I’m very excited about your party,’ Mabel gushed. ‘You’re so generous to invite everybody.’

  Hedda smiled. ‘The idea is to meet as many people in Badley Compton as possible and to make lots of new friends. It’s thrilling starting again in a new place. We were so tired of London and the relentless social scene. I imagine it’ll be a little sleepier down here, which will be a blessing.’

  ‘Are you coming?’ Charles asked Flappy and Flappy could tell from those deep green eyes that he really wanted her to.

  ‘Flappy has another invitation, don’t you, Flappy?’ said Mabel, pulling a sad face. ‘Such a shame. A party’s not a party without Flappy!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charles, looking disappointed. ‘That is a shame.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Hedda, looking even more disappointed.

  ‘I am coming,’ Flappy said at last. ‘I declined the other invitation only this morning. I wouldn’t miss your party for the world.’

  Mabel clapped her hands. ‘That’s wonderful news, Flappy.’

  ‘I am glad,’ said Hedda. ‘I imagine it’ll be a year before we throw another one.’

  ‘What fun! An annual party,’ gushed Mabel. ‘The last party of the summer. What a way to end it!’