Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

‘And then I have the book club,’ she added, remembering suddenly that she was meant to have read the book. Not to worry, she thought as she got up from the table, she’d get Persephone to write a brief storyline and a few clever observations about the characters and plot.

  * * *

  At three Gerald appeared with the Buddha, concealed in a cardboard box. Because it was too big to carry, Flappy summoned one of the gardeners who took it down to the cottage in a wheelbarrow. ‘How exciting!’ Flappy gushed, following behind with Gerald. ‘I can’t wait to see him. I bet he’s beautiful.’

  ‘He is,’ said Gerald. ‘I’m very pleased with him and I know you will be too.’

  ‘One must have a focal point, mustn’t one,’ said Flappy, picking the head off a lavender and crunching it between her finger and thumb. ‘Ah, what a delicious scent.’ She inhaled it loudly. ‘We must make sure the room smells lovely too, Gerald. My sense of smell is very acute, as you know.’

  ‘I’ve already thought of that,’ said Gerald, pleased to have pre-empted her. ‘I’ve brought incense from the Buddhist temples in Nepal. I want your sanctuary to be as authentic as possible.’

  ‘You know me so well,’ said Flappy with a contented sigh, linking her arm with his.

  Once in the cottage, Gerald used a kitchen knife to open the box. He delved into the polystyrene packaging and lifted out a jade Buddha. Flappy gasped. It was just what she’d wanted. ‘Darling Gerald, where did you find such a gem?’ she asked, watching him place it carefully on the table.

  ‘This fellow comes all the way from Vietnam.’

  ‘Vietnam!’ She ran her fingers over the curve of his belly and the folds of his robe. ‘He’s darling. How clever of you to find him for me. From Vietnam to this sleepy cottage in the middle of Devon. Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘I’m going to build you a shrine over here,’ said Gerald, striding purposefully to the other end of the room. ‘It’s going to be tasteful. I’ve brought candles and incense. I suggest we place the Buddha in the centre, among ferns, lots of ferns. You need plants to inspire you, Flappy, and I think we should paint the walls a soothing pale green.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Flappy, clapping her hands in delight, because she was unable to contain this joy that was wanting to burst out of her. ‘It’s going to be perfect, just perfect.’ Then she turned to Gerald and smiled broadly. ‘I’m so so lucky to have you to do it all for me.’

  Chapter 10

  Flappy lay in Charles’s arms in the big bed beneath the eaves and sighed contentedly. ‘Darling Beastie,’ she said, for Beastie was the nickname she had given him. ‘You are the most wonderful lover. You really are. You make me feel like a teenager.’

  ‘You’re a teenager in all but number, Beauty,’ he replied, for Beauty was the nickname he’d given her. ‘If you hadn’t told me how old you are, I would have guessed you were at least twenty years younger. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘There’s a portrait of me in the attic which is growing old and ugly,’ she laughed, repeating smoothly the line she’d used a dozen times.

  ‘I doubt that very much. You will grow old, as we all will, but you will never grow ugly.’ Flappy was inclined to believe him, although growing old was bad enough. ‘I like our cinque à sept, the lovers’ hours. It makes me feel like I’m in Paris in the eighteenth century. I think everyone should have a lover. It puts one in such a good mood. I’m nicer to Kenneth, for example. Actually, I’m in such a good mood I’m nicer to everyone. Do you know, today, at the parish meeting, my mind drifted off twice and I had to make something up. I couldn’t say I was dreaming about my lover and all the delicious things he was going to do to me at five o’clock.’ She laughed throatily.

  Charles rolled onto his side and growled (like a beast). ‘I think I’m ready to do all those deliciously wicked things to you again,’ he said, taking her wrists and pinning them above her head. ‘Are you ready for another round, Beauty?’

  * * *

  By the time Mabel, Esther, Madge and Sally arrived at Darnley for the book club meeting Flappy had already drunk two glasses of prosecco (while singing along to Cliff Richard in the bath) and was lounging on the sofa in the drawing room in a long pleated skirt and pearl-grey cashmere sweater, with her third in her hand. There was something loose and uncharacteristically casual about her look. It wasn’t very Flappy. Quite apart from the clothes, she was not wearing any jewellery and her hair was slightly tousled. This new, unpredictable Flappy made the four women feel extremely uneasy. Something was afoot. Could it really be the meditation?

  ‘Help yourselves,’ Flappy instructed from the sofa. ‘There’s prosecco molto freddo e delizioso, and a bottle of vino bianco, if anyone would prefer that. I want you all to be happy. Tutte molto felici!’ They poured their drinks in stunned silence as Flappy held forth with a half-empty crystal flute. ‘Gerald came round today with a Buddha. It’s made of jade and is absolutely the most beautiful Buddha I’ve ever seen. You see, if one is going to make a sanctuary one has to do it properly, or it’s not worth doing at all. Gerald knows that. Gerald knows me so well. I’m so so lucky to have Gerald.’

  Sally and Madge took their drinks to the sofa, Esther and Mabel took theirs to the armchairs. They all sat down. Suddenly, into Flappy’s busy mind popped an idea. She pushed herself up with purpose. ‘Come, let me show you my Buddha. You must see him. You can’t really appreciate how delightful he is without seeing him for yourselves.’

  The four women got up. ‘Bring your drinks,’ Flappy added, wafting over to the drinks tray to refill her glass. ‘One mustn’t let one’s glass get too low,’ she said with a giggle, filling it almost to the top.

  ‘Flappy, are you all right?’ asked Mabel, panicking suddenly that Flappy might be having a breakdown. Didn’t people go mad sometimes before they had a breakdown?

  ‘Mabel darling, I have never been better. Never. I’m molto felice Molto, molto felice.’ She waved at them as she marched through the French doors. ‘Come, come. Before it gets dark and we all fall into the rose bushes.’

  * * *

  The five of them set off through the gardens, the many beautiful gardens, which were cultivated so devotedly at Darnley. The sun was setting, turning the sky a pale orange-pink, and birds twittered in the branches of the horse chestnut trees, settling down to roost and making quite a fuss about it. Dew was already dampening the grass as the shadows lengthened and the air grew cold. Autumn was edging in slowly, eating away the last of the summer days.

  Flappy was buoyant. She walked with a skip in her step, stopping every now and then to smell a flower and comment on it. The four women hurried along behind her, exchanging anxious glances. It was a very strange thing to see Flappy like this. Was she perhaps in a state of bliss? they wondered. Was this what Buddha had meant when he talked about Enlightenment? Had Flappy reached Nirvana? Could Nirvana be reached in only a week?

  They arrived at the cottage and Flappy put the key in the lock and turned it. She inhaled the smell of incense, for when she and Charles had been there earlier that evening she had shown him her Buddha and lit a stick of incense, filling the cottage with the smell of a Nepalese temple. She inhaled deeply. ‘Isn’t it divine!’ she said, referring to the scent. ‘It lifts one, doesn’t it? Makes one feel quite giddy.’

  Sally looked around the room. She had never been into Flappy’s cottage before. It would be the perfect place to write, she thought, nestled in the trees right at the bottom of the garden, in tranquillity and solitude. ‘It’s gorgeous!’ she exclaimed enviously. ‘What a jewel.’

  Flappy floated over to the Buddha, which Gerald had placed in situ against the wall with the incense and tea lights. ‘He’s come all the way from Vietnam,’ she told them, caressing him fondly.

  ‘So, what do you do?’ asked Esther, trying to picture Flappy cross-legged on the carpet going ‘Om’.

  ‘I sit here,’ Flappy replied, imagining what she would do were she to meditate, which she hadn’t yet because
of Charles. ‘And I put my hands like this.’ She demonstrated, resting her thumbs against her fingers. ‘Then I focus on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. With every outward breath, I go deeper and deeper until I am far, far away. I am a nothing. I am beyond ego. Beyond the cares of life. I am at one with the Source.’

  ‘The Source?’ asked Esther, screwing up her nose. It all sounded a bit too New Agey for her liking.

  ‘The Source is what you’d call God,’ Madge answered, taking a swig of prosecco. ‘It’s the Light. Where we all come from.’

  ‘And where we are all going,’ Flappy added, a beatific smile on her face, which suggested she was a teeny bit further along the path than they were.

  ‘Can anyone do it?’ asked Mabel, because if it really was meditation that was making Flappy so relaxed and happy, then she’d like to do it too.

  ‘Of course anyone can do it,’ Flappy answered. ‘We all have to start somewhere. One gets better with practice.’

  ‘Why don’t we start a meditation club, like our book club?’ suggested Mabel. ‘You could teach us how to do it, Flappy.’

  Flappy did not look as excited about it as Mabel expected. ‘Well…’ she began, crinkling her nose.

  ‘What a brilliant idea!’ said Madge. ‘I once went to a yoga and meditation retreat in India. It was magic.’

  ‘I’m not sure meditating is my thing,’ said Esther. ‘I don’t think I could sit for very long and do nothing.’

  ‘But that’s the point,’ said Mabel excitedly. ‘If you listened to what Flappy was saying, you’re not doing nothing. You’re travelling. Yes, you’re a traveller, setting out on an adventure into your deepest self.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have one of those,’ said Esther.

  ‘Everyone does,’ said Madge. ‘The secret to Enlightenment is to find it.’

  ‘I’d like to write in here,’ interjected Sally. ‘Such a perfect place to create.’

  ‘If you meditate you might find you’re more inspired, Sally,’ said Mabel. ‘What do you say, Flappy? Can we join your meditation club?’

  Flappy was not aware that she had a meditation club. She swayed a little, steadied herself on the Buddha, and then said, ‘Once Gerald has redecorated and completed my shrine, we shall see.’

  * * *

  The following morning, Flappy awoke at fifteen minutes past nine with a headache. She put a hand to her forehead and groaned. She had not, for as far back as her memory stretched, which was very far, had a hangover. Hangovers were for people who could not control themselves. For people without restraint or dignity. Flappy was not one of those. At least she hadn’t been, up until now. She stared at the clock on her bedside table, blinked a couple of times, and then stared at it again. It couldn’t be past nine o’clock. It simply couldn’t. She hadn’t slept in like this since she was a teenager. Sleeping in was for people like Kenneth. People who snored and had big bellies and filled their days with nothing but golf. It was not for lithe, slender, yoga-practising people like Flappy.

  Slowly, Flappy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Persephone would be in the hall and Kenneth would be getting up, she thought with a sinking feeling. She wondered how she could pretend she’d been up since five, but her usually sharp and busy mind felt sluggish and empty and no bright idea popped into it. She dragged her heavy feet along the carpet to the bathroom. She could tell by the smell of toothpaste that Kenneth was already up. Kenneth had never got up before her in all the years they’d been married. Flappy had made a point of it. No man should witness a woman with sleep in her eyes and morning breath. If there was one thing she was very good at, it was looking and smelling her best at the breakfast table.

  Flappy was horrified by the sight that confronted her in the bathroom mirror. She gasped. The old woman in the glass gasped too, put a hand to her mouth and stared back in panic. Blinking a few times did not make her go away. Flappy dug deep, as only Flappy could, and found her determination. Never before had she needed it like she needed it now. With single-mindedness and unwavering focus, she set about repairing the damage done by an evening of heavy drinking. She washed her face, she brushed her teeth, then she went to her vanity table where the hard work would take place. Now was not the time to joke about the portrait in the attic, for the portrait was right here, staring out at her from the mirror.

  At ten o’clock Flappy went downstairs. She’d put on a pair of casual trousers and a blue, open-neck shirt, adorning her ears, neck and wrists with her usual gold jewellery. Her hair was sleek and her skin, if not glowing with its typical radiance, was at least even. Besides mascara there was little she could do with her eyes, which were bloodshot, so she covered them up with a glamorous pair of big sunglasses. There was no point denying she’d had too much to drink, she might as well make a feature of it.

  Persephone was in the library at her desk, being busy. When Flappy appeared, she stopped what she was doing and stood up. ‘Good morning, Mrs Scott-Booth,’ she said, knowing it would be impolite to ask her how she was.

  ‘Good morning, Persephone,’ said Flappy. ‘I’m afraid I had a teeny bit too much to drink last night with the girls. I’m paying for it this morning.’

  ‘You’d never know,’ said Persephone tactfully.

  Flappy gave a wan smile. ‘You’re very sweet, Persephone, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to wear sunglasses inside, which I never ever do. Only minor celebrities and vain and insecure film stars wear sunglasses inside. It’s frightfully common, but I’m left no choice. My eyes look like a bloodhound’s.’

  ‘Would you like me to drive into town and buy you some eye drops? I know a brand that really works for hangover eyes.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Flappy, hope flaring in her heart. She did so hate looking like a bloodhound.

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll go right now, if you like.’

  ‘That would be very kind, thank you.’

  ‘Mrs Harvey-Smith called asking whether you’d be on for bridge this evening. She said she’s invited a couple of very good players and would love you to partner her, as you play better than everyone else.’

  Flappy’s spirits perked up. ‘Did she say that? How sweet of her. Well, I did rather show them all a clean pair of heels last week. Call her back and tell her that I’d love to come once I’ve wriggled out of my late afternoon meeting.’

  Persephone looked puzzled. She began searching the diary. ‘Which meeting is that, Mrs Scott-Booth…?’

  ‘There is no meeting, Persephone. If working for me will teach you anything, which I hope it will, you will learn that it always pays to look busy, especially when you aren’t. No one wants people who are not in demand. People who no one else wants.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Persephone.

  ‘I’m going to get something to eat. I’m feeling rather queasy this morning. I hope I feel better in time for bridge. I don’t want to let Hedda down.’ And she wandered off towards the kitchen.

  Kenneth was at the kitchen table, reading The Times. The Daily Mail was on the island. ‘Ah, morning, darling. Are you all right? I thought you might have died in the night, but then, as you were breathing, I realized you hadn’t and that you’d probably had a big night. So I left you to sleep it off.’

  Flappy frowned. ‘What time did you come home? And, remind me where you went?’

  ‘I went to the golfing dinner at the club, the one you didn’t want to come to,’ he replied.

  Flappy put a hand to her head. ‘Oh.’ She couldn’t remember anything about it.

  Kenneth chuckled. ‘You’d passed out by the time I came home.’

  ‘Had I?’

  ‘Yes, you were lying on the bed in your clothes.’

  Flappy’s jaw dropped. ‘In my clothes?’ She sat down.

  ‘Yes, in your clothes. I put you into your pyjamas and tucked you up in bed.’

  Flappy was appalled. How incredibly undignified. She put a hand to her chest as a flourish of heat spread across her face. ‘You
put me to bed?’

  He gave her an amused look. ‘Darling, I am your husband. Who else was going to put you to bed?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. If there was one thing she was usually very good at, it was knowing the right thing to say.

  ‘There’s nothing to say. You had a heavy night with the girls. I’m sure you had a lot of fun.’ He put a hand on hers. ‘To be honest, I’m glad you got drunk. You need to let your hair down sometimes.’

  ‘Well, I let it all down last night, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did.’ He then laughed, the kind of laugh that has been suppressed and suddenly bursts out. ‘You called me Beastie,’ he said.

  Flappy blanched. ‘Beastie?’

  ‘Yes, Beastie.’

  ‘Good Lord.’ She was about to swoon.

  ‘I don’t ever recall you calling me Beastie,’ said Kenneth, who was very happy with the name. ‘But you can call me Beastie again, if you like. I think it suits me.’

  Flappy tried to smile. ‘The things one says in one’s sleep…’ she mumbled.

  ‘And, by the way, the Daily Mail arrived with The Times. Must be some mistake. I asked Persephone if it was hers, but, as I thought, she’s much too highbrow to read that kind of rag.’

  ‘I’ll let the delivery man know.’

  ‘And take it easy today,’ he said, getting up.

  ‘I will.’

  He grinned at her broadly. ‘Beastie’s going to play golf.’

  * * *

  Persephone drove into town to buy Flappy’s eye drops. It was a lovely early autumn day. The wind was slightly crisp but the sun was shining brightly on the blackberry bushes as she drove down the winding lanes towards Badley Compton. She parked the car on the kerb outside Café Délice and got out. Just as she was about to set off down the road, Mabel Hitchens popped out. ‘Persephone,’ she said, glancing up and down the street, ‘can I grab you for a moment?’