Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Anyone else?’ said Flappy, looking at each one in turn and hoping to draw out volunteers. She certainly wasn’t intending to do anything herself.

  ‘I can produce the hay bales,’ said Esther. ‘We have a barn full of them.’

  ‘Good, you could perhaps bring one of your horses to give the children rides.’

  ‘I’ll bring the donkey.’

  ‘You have a donkey?’ said Sally.

  ‘Two. Rescue donkeys. Very friendly, especially when you produce the odd carrot.’ Esther laughed cheerfully.

  ‘I’ll take care of the tea,’ said Mabel. ‘I’ll ask Big Mary to supply cakes.’

  ‘Perhaps she could theme them,’ Persephone suggested. ‘Cupcakes with pumpkins on.’

  ‘Save that one for Halloween, dear,’ said Flappy. ‘She could decorate them with ears of wheat. That would be more appropriate. Remember, it’s harvest not Halloween. The odd pumpkin here and there is all very well, but if we have too many people will get confused and think it’s Halloween come early.’

  Persephone smiled. ‘I’m sure they’ll all know it’s not Halloween,’ she said.

  Flappy did not smile. ‘You’d be surprised, Persephone, how clueless people can be.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly let anyone else loose with the decoration,’ said Gerald. ‘Persephone can be my assistant. I’ll need an extra pair of hands. Can you spare her?’ he asked Flappy.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ said Flappy. She turned to Persephone. ‘The secret to being a success in life is to take opportunities to learn when they are given. Gerald is one of the finest decorators in the country. I mean, just look around you and admire what he has done for me. We’re a good team, aren’t we, Gerald?’

  Gerald had known Flappy for more than twenty years and was used to her taking credit when credit wasn’t due. ‘We are, Flappy,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time we started another project, don’t you?’

  Flappy narrowed her eyes, trying to think of a room that needed redecorating, but couldn’t find one. The rooms were all perfect and complete at Darnley. Then her sharp mind swooped onto the picturesque little cottage at the bottom of the garden that had once served as an artist’s studio when Flappy had gone through her painting stage (she had been brilliantly talented as one would expect, but in the end she had simply run out of time, being so incredibly busy). It was adorable with two upstairs bedrooms and a kitchen–sitting room downstairs with large sash windows that let in the light. She didn’t think she’d take up painting again – there was only room in the world for one Hockney, after all, but perhaps it could be used for something else? And then an idea popped into her head, as ideas tended to do just when she needed them: a meditation room.

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Gerald,’ she said. ‘And I have just the thing in mind.’

  * * *

  Kenneth returned from the golf club at lunchtime in high spirits. He’d played with Sir Algernon and Charles and exceeded himself, scoring a fluky hole in one. He sat down to lunch on the terrace, where Karen had laid the table in the shade, and poured himself a glass of wine. He poured one for Flappy too, although she didn’t usually drink during the day because it made her sleepy – and Flappy didn’t have hours to waste on siestas in the afternoons. ‘I have a favour to ask you,’ said Kenneth, tucking into the quiche, buttered new potatoes and salad that Karen had made.

  ‘Oh?’ said Flappy, already unwilling. The last time he’d asked her for a favour she’d rashly agreed to invite a golfing friend of his to supper with his new, indecently young wife, and regretted it. The girl had compared Flappy to her mother and had the gall to tell her how much younger her mother looked since her facelift. No, Flappy did not feel inclined to agree to whatever absurd request Kenneth was about to put before her.

  ‘Charles has asked whether he might have the use of our swimming pool.’

  Well, this was an entirely different matter. ‘Really?’ said Flappy, hiding her excitement. If there was one thing Flappy was good at, it was hiding her emotions when emotions were better off hidden.

  ‘Yes, you see, they don’t have a swimming pool at Compton Court.’

  ‘You would have thought they would have one, wouldn’t you?’ said Flappy, rather pleased that they had a pool and Hedda didn’t.

  ‘Charles has bad knees, so he has to be careful how he exercises. Swimming is the best thing for him.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ said Flappy, flushing a little at the thought of Charles in swimming trunks.

  ‘He was a member of the Harbour Club in London—’

  ‘Of course he was,’ Flappy interrupted with satisfaction. The Harbour Club was just the place a person like Charles Harvey-Smith would frequent.

  ‘I know you don’t like people using our facilities, I mean, it’s good of you to open the gardens in June, but Charles is a friend and—’

  ‘He can use it,’ she said.

  Kenneth raised his eyebrows and smiled in surprise. ‘He can?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Flappy. ‘He must get his exercise, after all.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. He’ll be very pleased.’

  ‘Good. You know, when one is lucky enough to have a swimming pool, it’s only right that one should share it.’

  Kenneth put his hand on his wife’s. He really was very grateful that she’d agreed. ‘You’re such a generous person, darling,’ he said. ‘Always thinking about other people. I don’t think there’s a person within a hundred miles who is as selfless as you.’

  * * *

  Flappy was beside herself at the thought of Charles coming to use the swimming pool. She immediately went to check that it was pristine with clean towels, soap and shampoo in the shower – it wouldn’t do for word to get back to Hedda that Flappy was careless with hygiene. However, as beautiful as the swimming pool was, Flappy never used it herself. She didn’t like to get wet, unless she was in the bath, or in the Caribbean in unbearably hot temperatures. It was a chore to have to dry her hair – she had a blow-dry twice a week in town which saved her from ever having to do it herself. The trouble was she had such thick and lustrous hair (really, it was impossibly thick and lustrous) the task was arduous and Flappy didn’t have the time. Although, she was the first to acknowledge how very very lucky she was to be so follicly blessed.

  When Flappy asked Kenneth when Charles was going to come, the answer was, ‘This very afternoon, if that’s okay with you, darling.’ Flappy responded coolly, giving nothing away, then hurried upstairs to repair her make-up and squirt perfume on her neck. She knew she was being foolish. If Flappy knew one thing, it was when she was being foolish, but she also knew that it was something she was unable to help. Dizzy with expectation and enjoying feeling like a teenager again, or perhaps for the first time because when she’d been a teenager she’d always felt like a forty-year-old, she went into the garden to pick flowers. When Charles’s shiny black Bentley rolled up in front of the house, Flappy made her way slowly round from the croquet lawn, in sunglasses and straw trilby, carrying a pretty bouquet of late-summer flowers. She beamed a smile. ‘Oh, Charles, you’ve caught me slaving away in the garden,’ she said, the scent of tuberose overpowering the more subtle scent of pinks and lilies. ‘But it’s a treat to see you.’

  He returned her smile, sending her a little off balance. ‘You’re very kind to let me use your pool. It’s the one thing I was looking for when we were searching for a home, but then we fell in love with Compton and that was that. No pool.’

  ‘You’re welcome to use ours whenever you like. Really, Kenneth barely uses it and I do my lengths every morning at dawn.’

  He looked at her with admiration. ‘You’re one of those early risers, are you?’

  ‘I have to be,’ she replied. ‘Otherwise, I simply can’t get everything done. The days just aren’t long enough.’

  He went to the boot and lifted out a chic leather holdall. It looked very Ralph Lauren, Flappy thought. How appropriate that Charles should have a Ralph Laur
en holdall. She led him into the hall. ‘Welcome to our humble abode,’ she said, hoping he would notice the Jonathan Yeo portraits. She lingered a moment to give him time and then, just as she knew he would, he looked up at the wall.

  ‘Gosh!’ he exclaimed. ‘What splendid portraits.’ But he wasn’t looking at Kenneth’s. He shook his head in wonder. ‘You look beautiful, Flappy.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a bit of fun,’ she said, waving the secateurs. ‘Jonathan insisted. I only wanted him to paint Kenneth, but he demanded to paint me as well. Kenneth wouldn’t let me decline, so, there it is. Moi.’ She laughed. ‘Quite charming, I think.’

  ‘It’s more than charming. It’s a masterpiece.’

  She laughed again, because everything Charles said made her want to laugh with joy. ‘No one has ever called me a masterpiece before.’

  ‘I doubt that very much. A woman like you must be tired of being called a masterpiece.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d ever tire of that.’

  She led him through the house so that he could see as much of it as possible. As she’d hoped, he recognized her good taste at once. ‘You have a stunning home, Flappy.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it, because there was very little thought put into it. I just, kind of, threw it together.’

  ‘Well, the effect is impressive.’

  ‘I got lucky. It fell into place rather nicely. A total fluke.’

  She led him into the kitchen so that she could put the flowers into a vase. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of something?’

  ‘A glass of water would be nice,’ he replied. ‘It’s a warm day, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a lovely day. Usually, I’m too busy to enjoy days like these, but this afternoon I had a couple of hours free to spend in the garden. It’s hard work, but it’s pleasurable, isn’t it? To be out in nature.’ She sighed. ‘I do love nature.’

  Charles was looking at her with a dreamy look in his eyes when Kenneth walked in. ‘Ah, Charles,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Kenneth,’ Charles replied, bringing his gaze into focus. ‘Your lovely wife is looking after me.’

  ‘She’s good at that.’ Kenneth smiled appreciatively at his wife.

  Flappy put the vase of flowers on the table. ‘There, don’t they look nice? Summer’s not over yet.’ She turned to Charles. ‘Your party is going to be the last of the summer.’

  ‘I think it is. Hedda’s been busy planning it.’

  ‘We’re very much looking forward to it,’ said Kenneth.

  ‘Yes, we are,’ agreed Flappy. ‘Come, let me show you to the pool.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Flappy. I’ll show him if you like,’ said Kenneth.

  ‘No, no. I’ll do it, darling,’ she insisted casually. ‘I need to fetch something down there anyway.’

  Flappy took Charles through the house to the swimming pool, which Kenneth and Flappy had built when they bought the house some thirty years ago. It was a light, airy room with lots of windows and glass doors opening onto the rose garden and a terrace where Flappy occasionally entertained friends for lunch. Charles was admiring of the pool, especially the mosaic hippo grinning up through the turquoise water. ‘Flappy,’ he said and there was a seriousness to his tone that made her turn round with a pang of anxiety.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied.

  ‘I need to make a confession.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked bashful.

  She wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss it. ‘What have you done?’

  He looked at her steadily, those sea-green eyes sheepish suddenly. ‘I don’t have a problem with my knees.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Flappy’s heart began to accelerate.

  ‘No. I don’t need to use the pool for physiotherapy.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t need to use it at all.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I needed an excuse to see you.’

  The ‘Oh’ that escaped Flappy’s lips was more of a breath.

  ‘I’m sorry, Flappy, to put you in this awkward position, but I cannot help myself. I have fallen in love with you.’

  Flappy thought she might swoon. But if she was good at one thing, it was gathering her strength when she needed it most. She looked straight into his eyes and sighed. ‘Oh, Charles.’

  Chapter 6

  Flappy was not the sort of woman to plunge into something as dramatic as an extramarital affair without a great deal of thought – and consideration for her husband of whom she had only a few minor complaints. So it came as an enormous surprise to her when, abandoned suddenly by her customary self-control, she allowed Charles to kiss her.

  The kiss itself was rash enough, but the fact that he did it in the middle of the pool house where glass windows and doors exposed them like goldfish to any gardener just happening to walk by or, indeed, to Kenneth himself, who liked to wander around the gardens and ponder on his success, was downright stupid. But neither Flappy nor Charles were thinking rationally. Fuelled by an uncontainable passion that turned their brains to mush, they considered no one but themselves.

  Flappy had never been kissed like that before, not ever. Sure, Kenneth, in his day, had been an adequate kisser, and prior to him she had endured the odd kiss at parties, but Flappy had never really liked being kissed. Kisses were too wet, too messy and ‘bestial’. There, that word again; sex and kisses reduced the human being to the level of an animal and that, up until now, had been beneath Flappy’s dignity and avoided where possible.

  Charles’s kiss was different. There was something delightfully erotic about it that gave her feelings in all the places she knew she ought to have feelings, but never had. Naughty places. Places where lurked the beast in her nature, up until this moment safely harnessed and ignored. But now, in a frenzy of unleashing, the beast was set free. They hurried into the changing room, breathless and overheating, and tore at their clothes. Charles put his hand up her shirt to feel her breasts and Flappy unbuckled his belt. With deft hands they explored each other like teenagers at a ball. And then he was inside her and Flappy was aware only of the delicious, intoxicating sensations occurring in every corner of her body. Out of her mind with pleasure she forgot herself, her ambitions, her petty wants and desires, and was aware only of Charles and what he was doing to her.

  Flappy was undone. The control for which she was so highly respected in the community had melted like ice in sunshine. ‘We should not have done this,’ she said as she buttoned up her shirt and pulled on her trousers.

  ‘We shouldn’t have,’ Charles agreed, slipping into his swimming shorts. ‘But we couldn’t help ourselves.’

  ‘I think a swim will be a very good thing,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I do need to cool down.’

  ‘We mustn’t do that again.’

  Charles looked at her with those beautiful eyes and grinned. ‘But you know we will.’

  Flappy lifted her chin. ‘I can excuse a moment of madness, but two is reckless.’

  He wound his hand round her neck and kissed her on the lips. ‘Then I’m afraid I have to admit that I’m very reckless, Flappy.’

  Flappy left him to do his lengths and hurried upstairs, hoping not to bump into Persephone or Kenneth. Fortunately, Kenneth was watching the golf on television and Persephone had driven into town to buy the wine Flappy had requested for her wine-tasting dinner on Thursday, which was what her informal supper with the Harvey-Smiths and the Willises had become. Persephone was to write a report on each of the wines so that Flappy could show off her knowledge. It would also give her a good opportunity to show off her languages too. She had requested Spanish, French and Italian wine. ‘Bueno, bon, buono!’

  In the safety of her bedroom Flappy went into the bathroom and locked the door. After spraying perfume all over her body, she scrutinized her face in the mirror. Did she look different? Was there perhaps something wild in her eyes that might give her away? Could the beast be seen? Satisfied (if a little disappointed) that she looked just like sh
e always did, she went into her bedroom and sat at her vanity table. She brushed her hair, reapplied her make-up (although Flappy wore very little, for being a natural beauty she did not need face paint to fake it) and once again studied her face. Getting old was a tragedy, she conceded. She knew she looked good for her age, but she was still her age, and ageing. There was no avoiding it. Of course one could opt for surgery, but Flappy loathed the idea of going under the surgeon’s knife for something so banal. She’d be jolly miffed if she died on the operating table simply because she’d wanted to look a little younger. And besides, no one ended up looking younger, they ended up looking lifted. No one ever said, ‘Doesn’t she look good,’ they always said, ‘Hasn’t she had a lot of work done?’ Non, Flappy would never have a facelift. She would grow old gracefully, but still, it could not be helped, growing old was a pity.

  Flappy lay against the pillows on her bed and closed her eyes. What she had just done in the pool house was unforgivable, really, considering how attentive and kind Kenneth was. He didn’t deserve to be a cuckold. Sure, one could complain that he had a lover of his own, but the golf course didn’t really count. Flappy was not jealous of the golf course. In fact, it suited her. She didn’t want to see too much of Kenneth. However, she felt a growing sense of guilt. She wallowed in it for a moment, thinking of Kenneth’s round face going all pink with hurt, and feeling bad that she’d caused it. But, it was hard to immerse herself in guilt when the pleasure of that moment was so overpowering. Her guilt was quickly forgotten as she lay on the bed and relived every delicious moment of her encounter with Charles.

  Flappy did not want to compare Charles to Kenneth. That was unfair and unkind. But after struggling with the impulse to do so, she gave up the fight and allowed herself to measure up both men. After all, Flappy’s mind was so alert and so busy it was impossible to rein it in when it had decided to gallop ahead. Apart from the fact that Charles was handsome and Kenneth was not, there were other differences that weighed in Charles’s favour. He was tall, Kenneth was short; Charles was slim and athletic, Kenneth was portly and unfit; Charles had lots of thick grey hair, Kenneth was bald and shiny on top; Charles had the most astonishing eyes, Kenneth’s were just eyes. In fact, if one considered the food chain, Charles was a white tiger and Kenneth was a toad, which, as it happened, was the nickname she’d coined for him in the early days of their marriage.