Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

  Persephone was perplexed. Mabel looked anxious. ‘Of course. I’m just going to buy something at Boots for Mrs Scott-Booth.’

  ‘That can wait. Come inside and have a coffee with me.’ She almost took Persephone by the hand and led her into the café.

  Esther, Madge and Sally were at a corner table. When they saw Persephone they smiled and pulled up another chair. Persephone greeted them and sat down.

  ‘What’ll you have?’ Mabel asked.

  ‘A caffè latte would be nice, thank you,’ she replied. Mabel went to the counter to ask Big Mary for a caffè latte and another round of coffees for herself, Esther, Madge and Sally.

  ‘Beautiful day,’ said Sally, as they waited for Mabel to return to the table.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Persephone agreed.

  ‘I always think spring and autumn are the prettiest seasons,’ said Madge.

  ‘Me too,’ Esther agreed. ‘January and February are punishing, especially if you’re out on a horse every day. Still, someone’s got to do it.’

  Mabel came back and sat down. ‘So,’ she said in an officious tone of voice. ‘We need to talk to you about Flappy.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Persephone uncomfortably, feeling disloyal suddenly.

  ‘Flappy is not herself at the moment,’ said Esther. ‘She’s gone very weird and is doing weird, out-of-character things, like getting drunk.’

  ‘Yes, she does look hungover this morning,’ Persephone agreed.

  ‘You’re with her every day. We thought you might know what’s going on,’ said Sally.

  Persephone shrugged. She did not want to be indiscreet, but then, these women were Flappy’s best friends. Perhaps they were right in being concerned about her. It was true, Flappy had been acting weirdly.

  ‘I’ve only just started working for Mrs Scott-Booth,’ said Persephone. ‘So, I’m not sure what is normal. But I can tell you that she has taken to meditating every evening at five.’

  ‘On her own?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘Well, I’m looking for a guru to teach her how to do it properly, but so far I haven’t found one. Gurus don’t grow on trees in Badley Compton.’

  ‘You need an Indian,’ said Madge firmly. ‘Flappy will want to be authentic.’

  ‘How long does she meditate for?’ asked Sally.

  ‘I’m not sure. I knock off at six and she’s not back. An hour and a half? Two hours?’

  The four women looked at each other thoughtfully while Big Mary put their drinks on the table.

  ‘Is everything okay between her and Kenneth?’ asked Madge, when Big Mary was gone.

  ‘I think so,’ Persephone replied. ‘Mr Scott-Booth plays golf every morning but comes back for lunch. They have breakfast and lunch together every day. They seem happy.’

  ‘So, she’s not having an affair?’ chuckled Esther.

  ‘Esther!’ cried Mabel. ‘You can’t say that! If there’s one person in Badley Compton who won’t be having an affair, it’s Flappy.’ She turned to Persephone. ‘Flappy is a woman of high principles and moral standards,’ she told her loftily.

  ‘She’s distracted,’ said Sally.

  ‘And vague,’ said Madge.

  ‘And unusually happy,’ added Esther.

  ‘Isn’t she normally happy?’ asked Persephone.

  ‘Not this happy. This is more than happy,’ said Esther.

  ‘This is a state of bliss,’ said Madge, nodding slowly to show that she knew what a state of bliss looked like because of her retreat in India. ‘If it’s meditation, then she’s going somewhere ordinary people don’t go.’

  Mabel sighed. ‘I normally speak to her on the telephone every day, but she hasn’t been calling me.’

  ‘She’s becoming quite friendly with Mrs Harvey-Smith,’ said Persephone.

  ‘Flappy is not the sort of person to drop her friends because someone more important turns up. Flappy’s not like that,’ said Mabel, wondering secretly whether dropping her friends was just another example of the peculiar change in Flappy.

  Persephone left them finishing their coffee and walked out into the sunshine. She headed off to the chemist for the eye drops, musing on Flappy’s friends and how little they really knew her. What Flappy said and what she did were two very different things, but these women were impressed, as Flappy wanted them to be. Persephone had a pretty good idea what had come over Flappy, but she wasn’t about to share that idea with anyone. It was enough to stand on the sidelines and watch how it developed. Meditation? Did they really think it was that?

  ‘Meditation,’ said Mabel decisively. ‘That’s what it is. But how is she doing it, all alone, without a guru?’

  ‘We need to find out,’ said Madge.

  ‘Let’s spy on her,’ suggested Sally, shivering with excitement.

  The three women stared at her in horror. But then, as they processed it, their horror lifted and was replaced by a sense of intrigue and mischief. They looked at each other guiltily. ‘What if she discovers us?’ asked Madge nervously, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  ‘She won’t,’ said Sally firmly. ‘We’ll be careful. We’ll park at the edge of the property, behind the cottage, and creep through the wood. We can peep in through the window. If she’s meditating she’ll have her eyes closed.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Esther.

  ‘All right,’ Madge agreed.

  ‘And if she were to discover us, we could say we’re spying out of concern,’ said Mabel.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Sally.

  ‘We just want the old Flappy back,’ said Mabel, and they nodded their agreement. They all wanted that.

  Chapter 11

  Flappy did not feel well. She went into the garden and lay on one of the sun loungers. When Persephone returned from Badley Compton with the eye drops, she found her boss asleep with the Spectator lying across her chest. Concerned that Flappy was going to get sunburnt, Persephone moved the parasol so that her face was no longer in the sun. Even though it was early September the sun was still hot and quite ferocious and she knew how much Flappy cherished her skin. It was on account of that small gesture that when Flappy stirred from her slumber her face was not lobster red, but lightly flushed. The snooze had done her good and she was feeling better.

  ‘I bumped into your friends in Big Mary’s,’ Persephone told her when Flappy came inside.

  ‘Which ones? I have so many friends in Badley Compton.’

  ‘Mrs Hitchens, Mrs Hancock, Mrs Tennant and Mrs Armitage,’ Persephone replied.

  ‘Ah, a veritable coven. I suppose they were talking about me,’ said Flappy, fanning herself with the magazine. ‘It’s still hot out there, isn’t it? What a summer we’ve had.’

  ‘They asked how you were,’ Persephone replied carefully.

  ‘As well they might. I suppose I did get a teeny bit tiddly last night. Very unlike me. I never ever get tiddly.’ She smiled and there was a touch of delight in it. ‘I think it’s imperative to let one’s hair down occasionally, don’t you, Persephone? Life’s very dull if one is always on one’s best behaviour, and who better to let one’s hair down with than one’s closest friends?’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Persephone. She had only worked for Mrs Scott-Booth for a couple of weeks but knew already that the best policy was always to agree. She had learned that from Kenneth, who was a master.

  ‘Tonight I’m playing bridge with Mrs Harvey-Smith,’ Flappy reminded her. ‘I’ll be doing my usual meditation at five. Remember, no one must disturb me. That’s very important. If one is going to go deep into one’s subconscious, one must not be jolted out of it by a clumsy intruder.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Scott-Booth. Everyone here knows not to disturb you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flappy. ‘We are so so lucky. The staff are very considerate here at Darnley.’

  * * *

  Flappy felt better, but still not a hundred per cent. More like seventy, if she really thought about it, which she did because she didn’t have anything else to do to
day. Had she done her yoga, she would feel balanced and serene, she knew. Had she swum and danced naked she would have felt that wonderful sense of euphoria again that had propelled her through the last week. But no, she had got drunk and, because of her lack of self-control, was now feeling leaden inside. Nothing seemed able to lighten it. Not even the thought of Charles, doing all those deliciously naughty things to her, managed to lift her spirits. She decided she would spend the afternoon in her bedroom, wander down to the cottage for a meditation with her Buddha at five and then drive to Hedda’s for bridge at seven. She was loath to cancel Charles, but it couldn’t be helped. Beauty was not her best today and Beastie deserved only the best.

  While Flappy slept in her darkened room, Persephone was busy in the library working on the jumble sale, the Harvest Festival tea, the Halloween children’s fancy dress parade, Bonfire Night, plus replying to all the emails Flappy received with regard to the parish committee and various other committees and groups that Flappy was part of. She answered the telephone, liaised with the gardeners, and Karen and Tatiana, and generally took over the running of Darnley, which took some running being such a big and beautiful place. And all the while Flappy slept, and dreamed of Charles and how she was going to shine at the bridge table tonight, because she was, it must be acknowledged, an exceedingly good player.

  When Flappy awoke she was almost back to her normal ebullient self. Her liver had repaired itself as healthy livers like hers tend to do and her eyes were no longer bloodshot. She did not need dark glasses to hide the bloodhound. The bloodhound was gone. She just needed a teeny bit of make-up, a herbal tea, perhaps a banana and honey and then she’d feel well again.

  And so it was with a bounce in her step and the scent of roses in her nostrils that she made her way through the many manicured gardens to the cottage for her meditation. She rather regretted cancelling Charles, because now she felt up for it. Still, perhaps an hour of contemplation would push her up to one hundred per cent, so that she’d really be on form for Hedda’s bridge game. After all, there were plenty of evenings to be had with Charles. They stretched out into the horizon, and over it, in a series of heavenly rendezvous of which there seemed no end. Was it possible to wear out one’s body with so much activity, she wondered as she put the key in the lock and turned it.

  Flappy lit the tea lights and the four incense sticks that Gerald had carefully placed around the Buddha in pretty ceramic holders. She attached her Apple phone to the speaker and turned on the New Age music Persephone had selected for her, which was played against the sound of a stream trickling through a forest. Delightfully soothing, she thought. Lastly, she sprinkled the flowers she had picked on the way at the Buddha’s feet – she considered that quite authentic – slipped out of her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bright orange cushion that Gerald had bought especially. Really, Gerald was so attentive, she reflected as she settled into the lotus position. She wondered when he was going to arrange for the walls to be painted and which fabrics he was going to suggest for the curtains and blinds. Perhaps she should change the carpet too. She imagined Gerald had thought of that. Gerald thought of everything. Then, as she put her hands on her knees and lightly joined her thumbs with her forefingers, she thought how lucky she was to be able to sit in this position, because most of the women she knew, and men, of course, were too stiff to even attempt it. But years of yoga had kept Flappy supple. Very supple. So supple, in fact, that she could hold this position for hours if she needed to. Flappy never ever boasted, but it would be erroneous not to acknowledge that she had the body of a much younger woman.

  While Flappy closed her eyes and tried to still her busy mind, which was quite impossible considering how very busy it was, Mabel, Madge, Esther and Sally arrived in Mabel’s car and parked on the edge of the property a short distance behind the cottage. Quietly and nervously they climbed out. ‘Do you think we’re doing the right thing?’ asked Madge, suddenly wishing she were anywhere but here.

  Mabel turned on her. In the absence of Flappy taking control, Mabel was turning out to be a bit of a tyrant. ‘Do you want the old Flappy back?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ said Madge with certainty. She did not much like the new Mabel, either.

  ‘Then come along.’ Mabel looked at her watch. ‘It’s quarter past five. She must be at it by now.’

  The other two did not protest and followed Mabel up the path that snaked its way through the trees. The afternoon light was turning a rich shade of gold and they trod softly over the dappled ground, trying not to make a sound. ‘Shhh!’ hissed Mabel as Esther stood loudly on a branch. Mabel put her finger across her lips. Esther pulled a ‘sorry’ face, but as soon as Mabel’s back was turned she rolled her eyes to Sally and Madge. Sally and Madge smiled in sympathy.

  At last they arrived at the back of the cottage. In spite of Mabel being in charge, her heart began to thump. She put a hand on her chest, hoping to stifle the sound. They stood, the four of them, pressed up against the wall. Madge felt sick. She did not want to be caught by Flappy. Sally was as nervous as the others, but the small risk of getting caught would be worth it as she could put the adventure into one of her books. Esther was ready to blame the entire escapade on Mabel, were Flappy to discover them. They waited for Mabel to give the order. Mabel hesitated, wondering in a sudden flash of clarity whether this really was such a good idea. Then Esther lifted her hand. They had come this far, after all, she thought. They might as well follow the plan through to the end. ‘Come on,’ she said, and without waiting for the other three began to edge her way round the corner.

  Flappy’s mind was like a rebellious cricket. The more she told it to still, the more it hopped about, as if it did so just to spite her. She tried focusing on the music, then she focused on her breathing, finally she tried to imagine every thought as a cloud wafting across her mind. But the clouds turned into sheep and they began frolicking about in an annoying, out-of-control sort of way, and she was unable to conjure up a sheepdog to herd them all into line again. There was only one thing for it. She would have to try ‘Om’.

  As Esther’s face peeped in through the bottom left-hand corner of the window, Flappy began to chant ‘Om’. There was something about the vibration in her chest that was really quite pleasing. Yes, she thought excitedly, this feels very nice indeed. She took another breath. ‘Oooouuuummmmm,’ she went in a long, buzzing hum that began behind her ribs and came out through her nose. ‘Oooouuuummmmm.’

  Mabel, Madge and Sally joined Esther at the window. With wide, incredulous eyes, they watched Flappy in amazement. There she was, sitting in the Lotus position in a fog of incense and candlelight, chanting happily to herself. The ecstatic expression on her face confirmed what Madge had known all along, that Flappy had reached Nirvana. She had stilled her busy mind and descended into the very core of her being, the secret chamber of her subconscious, the very essence of her soul; Flappy had united with the Source.

  The women were unable to tear themselves away. It was a thrilling sight, after all, to see someone reach Enlightenment, and they were transfixed. Each woman silently questioned whether this blissful state was something she could achieve, or whether it was only possible for high-minded, superior people like Flappy. After what seemed like a very long time, Mabel tugged Esther’s sleeve. She gave her a look. Esther nodded and nudged Sally, who prodded Madge. They edged away from the window and back to the car the way they had come. Midges hovered in the fading light, the air grew damp and an autumn chill blew in off the sea. It was a while before they spoke. The sight had rendered them speechless, and a little disappointed; it did not look like they were ever going to get the old Flappy back.

  * * *

  At five minutes to seven Flappy turned into Compton Court in her Range Rover, singing along to Dolly Parton’s ‘9 To 5’. She parked outside the front door, smoothed down her hair in the mirror, pinched her cheeks and smiled, for her meditation had given her a youthful glow and she was feeling quite pleased with herself
. Johnson greeted her at the door. They exchanged pleasantries and Johnson gave her a smile that, while retaining the appropriate distance between butler and guest, made her feel like she belonged there at Compton, as a dear friend of his mistress. Flappy was shown into the drawing room, for the evenings were too chilly now for sitting on the terrace. Hedda, who’d been perching on the club fender, got up to greet her. ‘Flappy!’ she exclaimed, smiling happily. ‘How lovely to see you.’

  ‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Flappy replied graciously. The two women held hands and kissed each other on the cheek.

  ‘I do love your scent, Flappy,’ said Hedda. ‘Every time you go anywhere, you leave a cloud of tuberose behind you.’

  ‘It’s Jo Malone,’ said Flappy grandly.

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Hedda. ‘Jo Malone’s tuberose is unmistakable.’ She turned to the other two ladies seated on the sofas. ‘You know Mary, of course, but I don’t think you know Amanda Worthington?’ Flappy was surprised that she didn’t. She knew pretty much everyone in Badley Compton. ‘Amanda lives in Appledore,’ Hedda continued. Well, that explains it, thought Flappy. She did not know everyone in Appledore.

  Flappy shook Amanda’s thin hand and took in her blowsy hair and bland, lifeless face and thought she looked like a dried-flower arrangement that has spent too many years on a windowsill in the sun so that all the colours have faded to a lacklustre beige. However, when Amanda spoke, Flappy realized that she was very posh. Not aristocratic, like Hedda and Lady Micklethwaite, but a notch below. Upper middle class, to be exact, and Flappy did like to be exact in these matters. Amanda wore no discernible make-up and displayed discreet, delicate jewellery on her small wrists and ears, jewellery passed down through the family that really should have been banished to the back of a drawer for its lack of flair. If there was one thing Flappy was good at, it was dressing with flair. Amanda Worthington had none.

  Flappy sat in one of the armchairs and when Johnson asked her quietly what she would like to drink, she replied just loud enough for Amanda to hear, ‘Something soft, Johnson, thank you. You know me so well, I trust you to make me something nice.’