‘I think that’s an old wives’ tale,’ said Kenneth.
‘I don’t want to discover that it isn’t,’ said Flappy. ‘So, the cottage is my sanctuary, my little place of peace and solitude, where I can commune with my Higher Self, without interruption.’
Kenneth wasn’t sure what her Higher Self was. But he didn’t think Flappy had one, being so ‘high’ already. However, he agreed not to disturb her when she was there, then, taking the opportunity of a clear road, he overtook the lorry with a roar.
* * *
Flappy and Charles had devised a way of communicating secretly with a double blink. A double blink meant five o’clock at the cottage – a long single blink meant the rendezvous could not be met. Charles had given her the double blink outside church that morning. Flappy was very excited.
At five minutes to five, Flappy skipped lightly through the gardens, stopping only to pick a rose so she could arrive with it pressed against her nose. She didn’t want to look as if she had raced to their meeting without appreciating the gardens and the lovely day, for indeed it was impossible not to appreciate the gardens at Darnley in the sunshine.
Charles had parked his car on the track behind the property and made his way to the cottage as arranged. Having been given a key he had let himself in. When Flappy stepped inside, she found him upstairs, lying on the bed in nothing but his boxer shorts. He patted the place beside him and smiled his most dazzling smile. ‘Come to me, Flappy,’ he said, and Flappy did, sinking into his arms with the enthusiasm of a young lover and enveloping him in a cloud of tuberose.
* * *
The following morning after a swim and a naked dance in front of the mirror to the rousing music of Shania Twain, Flappy joined Kenneth for breakfast. Again he noticed that something was different about her and again he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. ‘Who are you playing golf with today?’ she asked cheerfully, because Flappy felt indecently cheerful this morning.
‘Charles and Hedda,’ he replied.
‘Hedda?’ said Flappy in surprise, suspending the butter knife over her piece of toast. ‘I thought she said she rarely played.’
‘Then this must be one of those rare times,’ said Kenneth.
Flappy narrowed her eyes, her quick mind working out the reason why Hedda should want to accompany her husband to the golf course. Did she suspect something? Was she keen to keep her husband in her sights? Surely Hedda was not playing golf because she wanted to hit a ball, she was playing golf because she wanted to keep an eye on her husband. Well, if Kenneth had looked like Charles, Flappy might have wanted to keep an eye on him too!
Flappy hoped Hedda wouldn’t decide to join their meditation sessions in the cottage.
Had it not been for the busy day ahead, Flappy might have gone to the golf course with Kenneth. In the early days of their marriage she had often accompanied him, joining him for a stodgy English lunch in the clubhouse after a morning traipsing around after him, being bored. Flappy found the game intolerably dull and his friends intolerable too. Now, however, the game held more appeal because of Charles, and the prospect of Hedda making an unexpected appearance on the course had certainly piqued her interest. But busy days were busy days and Flappy never ever cancelled unless sick or responding to a greater need. Golf did not qualify for either. ‘Well, I hope you have a lovely day,’ she said as Kenneth glanced at his Rolex and decided it was time to head off.
Flappy met Persephone in the hall at nine. ‘Good morning, Persephone,’ she trilled and Persephone noticed at once the bounce in Flappy’s step and the extra width in her smile. Flappy was glowing. In fact, Flappy was giving a whole new meaning to the word ‘glow’.
‘How was your weekend, Mrs Scott-Booth?’ Persephone asked, following her into the library.
‘Very jolly, thank you, Persephone,’ said Flappy. ‘How was yours?’
‘Quiet,’ Persephone replied.
‘You need a nice boyfriend to entertain you,’ said Flappy, and there was something in her smile that told Persephone that Flappy knew what she was talking about.
‘A boyfriend would be nice,’ said Persephone.
‘There is nothing more invigorating than being in love, Persephone. It keeps one young, gives one a delicious endorphin rush, gets the blood pumping around one’s body and puts one in an exceedingly good mood.’ Persephone knew Flappy was talking about herself. Flappy was unable to refrain from boasting when she had something truly exciting to boast about.
‘I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel like that,’ said Persephone, watching Flappy closely. ‘Did Mr Scott-Booth make you feel all of those things?’
‘I suppose he must have done once,’ said Flappy vaguely, for it was true, they had met so long ago she could barely remember anything about it, and she was realistic enough to know that had Kenneth not made the blood pump around her body at all she would not have married him. ‘One never forgets the feeling,’ she continued, turning her thoughts once again to Charles. ‘It’s intoxicating. Delightful. Probably the most heavenly feeling ever.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, to be young again.’ Then she smiled at Persephone. ‘You’re young. Don’t waste it. Appreciate how lovely you are while you’re lovely.’
‘But you’re still beautiful, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ said Persephone truthfully.
Persephone was right, of course. Flappy was still beautiful. But time was what it was and nothing could stop the gradual corrosion brought about by its relentless tread. ‘I know, I haven’t lost it yet,’ she said with a sniff. ‘But I’m teetering on the edge, Persephone. Teetering on the edge.’
Persephone laughed. ‘If you knew how people see you, you wouldn’t say that,’ she said.
‘How do people see me?’ Flappy asked, eager for the compliment she knew was coming.
‘They say you have the secret to eternal youth.’
Flappy had heard that before. However, now was the moment for a self-deprecating remark. If Flappy was good at one thing, it was knowing when not to look smug. ‘My secret to eternal youth, Persephone, is an old and ugly portrait in the attic,’ she said, referring to the famous story, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, which she had never read. Flappy did enjoy dropping in the odd literary reference every now and then.
* * *
Flappy left Persephone with all the boring things she would usually have done herself – or passed on to one of her ladies-in-waiting, like Mabel – and left for town in her shiny grey Range Rover. She had a parish meeting at eleven, in the town hall, which gave her time for a cup of coffee at Café Délice. Flappy rarely set foot in Big Mary’s café. She certainly never went in there with the intention of staying and drinking coffee. That was frightfully common, sipping coffee in a café with the hoi polloi. Yet, for some reason, she felt differently today. She was in a tremendously good mood and rather craved one of Big Mary’s sticky buns. What had she called them? Devil’s Desire? Her mouth watered at the thought of them as she drove down the leafy lanes in the sunshine, in her dark glasses and trilby, singing along to Celine Dion.
Badley Compton was busy for a Monday morning. Seagulls squabbled about the bins, fishermen tended their boats and ordinary people who were not lucky enough to have a PA hurried down the pavements to the post office, the newsagent or the supermarket. Flappy was unable to find a parking space close to the café, so had to park at the top of the hill beneath some trees and hope that the birds in residence there would not drop unsightly things onto her car. As she wandered down the street she noticed an old man sitting on the bench that she and Kenneth had generously given the town in memory of Harry Pratt, who’d liked to sit and watch the coming and going of little boats in the harbour below. How charming it was, that bench, and how lovely that someone was enjoying it, thought Flappy. She wondered whether he’d read the inscription on the plaque: In loving memory of Harry Pratt 1919–2010, kindly given to Badley Compton by Kenneth and Flappy Scott-Booth. It was, indeed, very kindly given, Flappy mused as she crossed the road and hea
ded towards the café, distinguished by the pink-and-white-striped awning and the few tables and chairs arranged on the pavement beneath it.
She pushed open the door. As she’d expected, the café was quite full. It was, after all, the heart of the town. Now Flappy had turned up she suspected it would beat a little faster than usual. She swept her eyes over the faces turning to see who was coming in and spotted John Hitchens at a table with his little granddaughter, their golden retriever lying on the floor at their feet. Esther, Madge and Sally were seated at another, and various other people Flappy knew well enough to greet with a smile and a nod were dotted about the room.
‘Hello, Flappy,’ said Esther, Madge and Sally in unison. The three of them invited her to join their table. An invitation they assumed would not be accepted because it was well known that Flappy only ever came into the café if she needed to ask Big Mary to cater at one of her events.
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Flappy replied to the astonishment of the ladies. ‘Back in a sec. Good morning, John,’ she said, stopping beside his table. ‘And who might you be?’ she asked his little granddaughter.
‘Mattie,’ the girl replied.
‘Ah yes, Mattie. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re the one who makes necklaces out of shells, aren’t you?’ Mattie giggled and nodded. ‘How clever you are. I bet they’re a lot nicer than anything one can buy in a shop.’ She smiled and the child smiled back and Flappy felt an ache in the centre of her chest that surprised her. She was a grandmother, after all, but only got to see her grandchildren once or twice a year. She lifted her chin and sighed. Such was life, she thought, not allowing negative thoughts to dampen her day. If Flappy was good at one thing it was being positive in the face of sorrow. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ she added.
‘I’m sick,’ said the child.
Flappy laughed because she didn’t look sick at all. ‘I see. Poor you. Let me buy you a cake. Is that all right, John, if I buy Mattie a cake?’
John looked at his granddaughter with affection. ‘Why don’t you go up and choose one with Mrs Scott-Booth.’ The child took Flappy’s hand.
‘You can call me Flappy,’ said Flappy, approaching the counter.
‘Why are you called Flappy?’
‘That’s a very good question,’ said Flappy, but she didn’t answer it. ‘Ah, look at all these delicious cakes. Good morning, Mary.’
Big Mary, who was in her usual position behind the counter, greeted Flappy warily. She wasn’t used to this new Flappy who was lingering in her café, being sociable. The child chose a cake with sprinkles on it and Flappy chose a Devil’s Desire for herself. ‘I’ll have a cup of coffee too,’ she added. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ She chuckled. Big Mary frowned. She wasn’t used to Flappy chuckling either. This was very odd. There was something remarkably different about Flappy today.
‘I’ll bring everything to the table, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ said Big Mary, taking down a mug from the shelf.
Flappy took the child back to her chair, then sat down with her three friends, who had been whispering behind her back, wondering at the change that had come over her. Indeed, she was quite altered. Each of them recalled the change that had come over Gracie Burton when she’d decided, quite suddenly and most uncharacteristically, to go to Italy to do a cookery course. Flappy had vociferously vented her disapproval. If there was one thing she abhorred, she’d said, it was when people ceased to be themselves. What, the three women asked themselves, had come over Flappy?
‘Isn’t this nice!’ Flappy exclaimed, taking off her sunglasses and hooking them in the V of her white linen shirt. ‘We should do this more often. What a nice café this is. So full of life.’
‘We come here all the time,’ said Madge.
Sally laughed to hide her nervousness – it wasn’t often that she socialized with Flappy without a drink to give her courage. ‘Almost every day, in fact,’ she added. ‘You’re welcome to join whenever you like.’
‘Thank you, Sally,’ said Flappy. ‘What a nice blouse you’re wearing,’ she added, dropping her eyes to the blue and silver glittery number that Flappy would normally have disliked. If there was one thing she really hated it was glitter.
‘Oh, really? I didn’t think—’ Sally began. She was about to say that she didn’t think she’d be bumping into Flappy, otherwise she would have chosen something more suitable. But Flappy cut her off.
‘It’s delightful. What’s not to love about a little cheer? It’s uplifting. There’s enough negativity in the world, why not put a smile on everyone’s face with a bit of dazzle.’
Esther narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re in a very good mood this morning, Flappy. What’s going on?’
‘You look wonderful,’ Madge added truthfully. For it could not be denied, Flappy was aglow with something new and different and they longed to know what it was.
‘Do I look wonderful?’ she asked in delight, a secretive smile spreading across her face.
‘You look like that cat that’s got the cream,’ said Esther, who was the only one who had the confidence to be so outspoken.
‘I have taken up meditation,’ she announced as if she were the first to have thought of it.
‘Meditation?’ said Sally. ‘Meditation is making you look like that?’
‘Yes, I’m redecorating my little cottage and turning it into a sanctuary. Gerald is helping me.’
‘Have you found a guru to teach you?’ asked Madge. She didn’t imagine meditation alone had caused such a marked transformation in Flappy.
‘Not yet. Persephone is on the case. In the meantime, I am meditating on my own. Every evening at five. It’s very peaceful in there. Peaceful and calm and…’ She sighed, thinking of Charles. ‘Heavenly.’
Big Mary brought over Flappy’s cup of coffee and cake. Flappy took a bite and shivered with pleasure. ‘This is the best cake I have ever tasted,’ she said, inhaling through dilated nostrils and closing her eyes to savour it.
Big Mary exchanged glances with the other women. If meditation was having this effect on Flappy, they should all be doing it.
* * *
Flappy was in a cheerful mood when she arrived at the town hall for the parish meeting. However, twice she lost her train of thought and twice she had to apologize. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind right now,’ she explained and left the decisions to be made by the other members. It was very unlike Flappy to take a back seat when she was used to driving. But the other women, especially, were grateful to have the opportunity to shine and looked upon the unusually subdued Flappy with an odd combination of appreciation and bewilderment.
At lunch Kenneth told Flappy what an excellent golfer Hedda was. ‘She might even be scratch, I tell you. Quite unbelievable. Put us all in the shade,’ he said, tucking into Coronation Chicken.
Flappy would normally have been put out by this piece of information. She did not like it when other women excelled beyond her own abilities. But today she felt nothing but joy and admiration for Hedda. ‘How clever of her to have such a talent,’ she gushed. ‘I always admire people with talent, don’t I, Kenneth?’
‘You certainly do, Flappy,’ he replied.
‘She’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she? So gifted and yet so modest about it. I do loathe people who swank and Hedda is not a swanker. I never ever boast about my talents and achievements. Much better that people hear about them from others. By swanking, one only sets oneself up for a fall.’ She inhaled through her nostrils, satisfied that she was being generous and kind about Charles’s wife and feeling very good about herself because of it. ‘How is Charles?’ she asked breezily. ‘Take me through the morning, shot by shot.’
Kenneth assumed that Flappy’s interest in the game had more to do with her new friend Hedda than in the golf itself, but he gave her the highlights, relishing the way she gazed at him intensely, listening to his every word. Normally, when he talked about golf, her eyes glazed over and she changed the subject at the first opportunity.
‘How fascinating,’ said Flappy when he had finished. ‘Sometimes I wish I’d had the time to take up golf, you know, when we were young. It would have been something we could have enjoyed together like Hedda and Charles.’
‘I don’t think Hedda had played for a while. She did say she was rusty.’
‘But she wasn’t, was she?’
‘No, she wasn’t.’
‘Still,’ she said, putting her hand on his. ‘We’re very happy, aren’t we, darling?’
‘Very,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘It makes no difference to me whether you play golf or not.’
‘How sweet you are,’ she exclaimed, aware that she was meeting Charles at five and feeling a teeny bit guilty about it. Being extra nice to Kenneth made her feel better.
‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ he asked, putting his napkin on the table for the meal was now over.
‘Gerald is bringing my Buddha over at three and then I’m going to meditate at five, which is my usual slot. You do remember, don’t you, Kenneth?’
‘I won’t disturb you,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re so busy giving yourself to everyone, it’s right that you should take an hour or so for yourself.’
‘Perhaps a teeny bit more than an hour,’ said Flappy.
‘Take as long as you want,’ said Kenneth.
Flappy Entertains Page 10
