Flappy Entertains

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they remind me of my childhood. I’m a nostalgic person,’ he said with an apologetic smile, as if being nostalgic was a flaw. Persephone noticed that his eyes were green, like sea glass.

  ‘Okay, I’ll go for sprinkles,’ she said. ‘I’m nostalgic too.’

  ‘Don’t blame me if you regret it.’

  ‘I won’t regret it,’ she laughed. ‘I think it’s a good choice.’

  ‘My name’s George, by the way.’ He extended his hand.

  ‘Persephone,’ she replied, shaking it.

  ‘Are you from round here?’

  ‘Yes, I live in Badley Compton.’

  ‘Nice place, isn’t it?’

  ‘I like it. Too quiet for some people, I imagine.’ He looked like a Londoner. Certainly not from down here in Devon, she thought. Badley Compton hadn’t produced anything as attractive, as far as she knew.

  ‘Anyway, better be going. It was nice meeting you,’ he said, taking his coffee cup off the counter.

  ‘Thanks for the cake advice,’ she said, disappointed that he was leaving.

  ‘Pleasure. I hope you enjoy it.’

  Persephone asked Big Mary for a caffè latte and a cake. When she turned round, George had gone.

  * * *

  Sometime later, a few blocks up the road, Flappy was sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the mirror, reading Hello! magazine, when Mabel walked in. Behind her, the hairdresser was carefully painting strands of her hair and wrapping them in foil.

  ‘Hello, Flappy,’ said Mabel, surprised to see Flappy reading that sort of magazine.

  Flappy smiled. ‘Hello, Mabel. Are you coming to have your hair done?’

  ‘I am,’ said Mabel cheerfully. ‘I’m excited about the party tonight. Big Mary says there’s a surprise entertainment.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flappy, trying not to look put out. It was usually Flappy who arranged parties with entertainers in Badley Compton. ‘How thrilling. I wonder who she’s got.’

  ‘I’ve got no idea. Big Mary didn’t say. I’m sure it’ll be something exciting.’

  Mabel settled into the chair beside Flappy. ‘Do you want to read this?’ said Flappy, handing her the magazine. ‘I’ve read it. I love reading Hello! at the hairdresser’s, don’t you? One gets so weary of reading the Economist and the Spectator all the time. It’s good to give one’s brain a rest.’

  Mabel, who felt no shame in reading Hello!, took it. ‘By the by, guess who I saw being chatted up in Big Mary’s?’

  Flappy couldn’t be bothered to guess. After all, it could be just about anyone. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Who?’

  ‘Persephone,’ Mabel told her with glee.

  ‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. She’s a pretty girl.’

  ‘But you won’t believe who was chatting her up.’

  ‘Who?’ Flappy asked.

  ‘Hedda and Charles’s son, George.’

  Now she’d got Flappy’s interest. ‘Hedda and Charles’s son is in Badley Compton?’ asked Flappy in surprise. She vaguely knew they had children, but they hadn’t mentioned that any of them were coming to the party.

  ‘Yes. He’s very handsome with his father’s eyes,’ said Mabel. ‘Charles has such beautiful eyes, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ve noticed,’ said Flappy coolly. ‘Tell me, did they exchange numbers? Did they have coffee together?’

  ‘No, they chatted about the cakes. He asked her if she was from Badley Compton and then he left with his takeaway coffee. I think he fancied her though. It was all in the body language and in his lingering longer than he needed to.’ Mabel enjoyed giving Flappy the details and was delighted that she was devouring them.

  ‘Did he indeed,’ Flappy murmured thoughtfully. She narrowed her eyes and made space in her busy mind for an idea. Sure enough, in one popped and it was, it must be acknowledged, an exceedingly good one.

  Mabel watched her with interest. She knew Flappy well enough to know what the focused and alert expression on her face meant. ‘What are you plotting?’ she asked.

  Flappy took her phone out of her handbag. ‘I’m going to get Persephone invited to the party tonight.’

  Mabel looked horrified. ‘You’re not going to ask Hedda, are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not going to ask Hedda,’ said Flappy. ‘I’m much too subtle for that.’

  ‘How are you going to do it?’

  ‘Listen and learn, Mabel,’ she said with a smile. ‘Persephone needs a boyfriend and George is just the sort of man she deserves. His great-uncle was a marquess, after all.’ A moment later Persephone answered the phone. ‘Persephone,’ said Flappy. ‘I need you to do me a teeny favour. Go to the florist on Branwell Street and buy a generous bouquet of flowers for Hedda. Whites and greens only, please. It must be elegant and tasteful and very big. Cynthia knows what I like and I have an account there, so you won’t need to pay. I’d like you to write a note to go with them, saying, “Darling Hedda, wishing you luck for tonight, with love Flappy.” Then I want you to drive to Compton Court and deliver them. It’s important that you don’t give them to Johnson. Do you understand? I need you to hand them personally to Hedda. You must insist. Then, you’re to ask her if you can help in any way. I want you to offer your services. I doubt very much she’ll need them, but it’s nice to offer, isn’t it?’

  When she hung up, Mabel frowned. ‘How can you guarantee that Hedda will invite her to her party?’

  Flappy gave her knowing smile. If Flappy was good at one thing, it was understanding people. ‘She will,’ she replied with certainty. ‘Because that’s the sort of person Hedda is. Besides, she’s invited most of the town already and she will want a pretty girl to entertain her son. I guarantee you, my dear Mabel, that Persephone will be coming to the party tonight and she’ll have the perfect dress to wear.’ Flappy folded her hands in her lap and smiled at her reflection, feeling very pleased with herself.

  * * *

  An hour later Persephone stood in front of the big door of Compton Court and rang the bell. In her arms she cradled an enormous bouquet of arum lilies and white roses, just as Flappy had requested. It was a beautiful bouquet and must have cost a fortune. It wasn’t long before the door opened and Johnson stood before her, a quizzical look on his face. He was about to instruct her to take her delivery to the tradesman’s entrance at the back of the house where the various people hired for the party were busy unpacking their goods, but he recognized Mrs Scott-Booth’s car and realized suddenly that the girl with the flowers was the PA he had spoken to on the phone on various occasions. ‘You must be Persephone,’ he said.

  Persephone smiled. ‘And you must be Johnson,’ she replied.

  ‘I am indeed. Shall I take those for you?’ He reached out for the flowers.

  ‘Mrs Scott-Booth has specifically requested that I deliver them personally to Mrs Harvey-Smith.’

  Johnson raised his eyebrows. This was very unusual. ‘Did she now?’ he said, reflecting on the redoubtable Mrs Scott-Booth.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’d better do as she asks,’ said Persephone. ‘She doesn’t take well to being disobeyed.’

  Johnson raised his fluffy white eyebrows and nodded, a knowing and sympathetic look on his face. ‘Then you’d better come in. Mrs Harvey-Smith is in the marquee. I’m sure she won’t mind giving you a moment of her time.’

  Persephone followed Johnson through the house to the lawn at the back where a beautiful Indian style marquee in reds and blues and golds had been erected on the grass. It was the most splendid marquee Persephone had ever seen. She wondered what Flappy would think of it, because, as far as she knew, Flappy had never put up a marquee of such splendour and would, no doubt, feel a little put out. In and out of this marquee came a stream of busy people, carrying chairs and tables, vases and flowers, lighting equipment and goodness knows what else, like bees in a hive they were, and in the middle of the marquee, talking to an efficient and important-looking wo
man, was the queen bee herself, Hedda Harvey-Smith, casual in a pair of jeans and polo shirt.

  Johnson and Persephone made their way across the floor. Hedda broke off her conversation. When she saw Persephone and the flowers, she smiled. ‘Are they for me?’ she asked, delight lighting up her face, even though there was already a magnificent display of flowers on each table.

  ‘I’m Persephone, Mrs—’ she began.

  ‘Flappy’s PA!’ Hedda exclaimed. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. What a darling you are to bring me flowers. How kind and sweet of Flappy.’ She read the note. ‘Typical,’ she said, shaking her head with affection. ‘Will you thank her very much. I’m touched that she should think of it.’

  ‘Mrs Scott-Booth asked me to ask you whether you needed any help.’ Persephone laughed. ‘But I can see that you already have everything under control. The marquee is amazing. I’ve never seen such a beautiful marquee in my life.’

  ‘I’m so happy you like it. Nothing to do with me, though, and everything to do with Jill here. Jill, this is Persephone.’ The two women shook hands.

  Johnson took the flowers from Persephone. ‘I’ll go and put these in a vase,’ he said and set off in the direction of the house.

  Then Hedda’s gaze strayed over Persephone’s shoulder and a look of adoration came over her face. ‘George!’ she gushed.

  Persephone turned to see the young man she’d been talking to in the café that morning. He looked pleasantly surprised to see her. ‘Persephone?’ he exclaimed, his smile broadening.

  Hedda was confused. ‘You two know each other?’

  ‘We met at Mary’s this morning,’ he told her. ‘Did you enjoy your sprinkly cake?’

  Persephone laughed. ‘I did,’ she replied.

  ‘Phew! I thought you were here to berate me for choosing the wrong one.’

  Hedda narrowed her eyes and looked from Persephone to her son and back again. ‘Actually, Persephone,’ she began, ‘I really could do with your help. George is going to put out the place cards. Perhaps you could give him a hand. And, while you’re doing it, perhaps you might like to write one for yourself. I’d love you to come tonight, if you’re free. You can sit next to George.’

  Persephone had not expected this. She felt like Cinderella being invited to the ball. ‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘If you’re sure I won’t muck up your placement.’

  Hedda touched her arm and smiled. ‘My dear, you’ll be the only person of George’s age. I think it’s more a case of us needing you.’

  ‘Come on, Persephone,’ said George. ‘Let’s put you to work.’

  * * *

  Persephone was waiting outside the hairdresser’s in Flappy’s car when Flappy’s appointment came to an end at half past one. Flappy came out of the building with her fingers splayed, the crimson paint not quite dry on her nails. Persephone opened the door for her and helped her with the seat belt. It would not do to smudge her polish. Smudged polish was very common. As Persephone set off for Darnley, she told Flappy about Hedda’s invitation.

  ‘How nice of her,’ said Flappy, feigning ignorance. ‘What’s this son of hers like? Is he handsome?’

  ‘I think he is,’ Persephone replied. ‘But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ said Flappy. She could tell that Persephone was taken with him. After all, Flappy had an acute understanding of people. ‘Isn’t it lucky you have a lovely new dress to wear,’ she added.

  Persephone was truly grateful for that. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Scott-Booth, for buying it for me. It’s like you knew I’d be invited to the party.’

  Flappy gave a secretive little smile. ‘Let’s just say, Persephone, that I had a sixth sense you might be needing a dress.’

  Persephone shook her head in wonder. ‘You must be psychic,’ she mused.

  ‘Not psychic,’ Flappy corrected. ‘Just intuitive. It must be all the meditation I’m doing.’

  Chapter 14

  Flappy stood in front of the long mirror in her bedroom and admired her reflection. It could not be denied, blue really was her colour. She smiled with satisfaction, and a little sadness too, because as she got older she felt more keenly the passing of time. She saw it too, in the lines deepening on her face and in the texture of her skin which was no longer youthful. This loss of bloom was not an easy thing for a beautiful woman to accept – the thought that one day people would refer to her beauty in the past tense, when all her life she’d been told how very lovely she was. She did not want to be told she used to be lovely, once. Ugly people fared better, she decided, turning to admire herself from the side, for they had nothing to lose and everything to gain, as old age evened the playing field. Well, the playing field was far from even and Flappy still looked good. Exceedingly good. At least, she reassured herself, she had a lively and interesting personality, because time could not rob her of that. As long as she had all her marbles, she’d continue to dazzle with her witty repartee and intelligent conversation. She’d still be an asset at any dining table.

  Kenneth wandered into her bedroom in black tie, which Flappy had insisted he wear even though the invitation had stated simply ‘glamorous’. If Flappy was going to wear a floor-length gown, Kenneth had to be dressed to match. She smiled at him fondly. He might look like a toad but he made a fine-looking toad in black tie. Kenneth admired his wife. ‘You look stunning, darling,’ he said and Flappy shrugged off the compliment as if it embarrassed her, which it didn’t. Compliments never did.

  ‘Oh, darling, you’re too sweet,’ she said. ‘One has to work hard at my age to be halfway decent. But thank you. You look handsome too.’

  Kenneth fiddled with his waistband. ‘The trousers are a little tight around the belly,’ he said with a chortle. ‘But I think I’ll get through the evening without bursting out of them.’

  Flappy didn’t like the thought of Kenneth bursting out of his trousers. ‘Have you practised sitting down?’ she asked. It would be awful if he sat down and popped the button.

  Kenneth plonked himself down on her bed with a wince.

  ‘Suck it in, Kenneth,’ said Flappy. ‘We girls have to suck in our stomachs all the time.’ Which wasn’t true, because Flappy’s stomach was perfectly flat.

  Kenneth sucked his in, but this did nothing to ease the discomfort and only turned his face the colour of claret. Then Flappy had an idea. ‘Whip them off, darling,’ she ordered. ‘I’m going to sew a piece of elastic into them, then you don’t have to use the button at all.’ She went to her sewing basket, which she rarely opened because there was usually someone around to do any sewing for her, and pulled out a needle, a reel of cotton and a packet of black elastic. Five minutes later Kenneth was pulling the trousers back over his hips and settling them onto his waist with satisfaction. ‘Much better,’ he exclaimed, sitting on the edge of her bed once more and bouncing a little to show how much better they really were.

  ‘Don’t forget to do up the flies,’ she warned. ‘We don’t want anything falling out, do we?’

  ‘Old birds don’t fall out of their nests,’ said Kenneth with a grin.

  ‘That’s disgusting, Kenneth. I don’t want to think about old birds at all!’

  But Kenneth chuckled in his good-natured way and went to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Flappy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a gem. A real gem. A diamond. The best gem there is.’

  Flappy smiled back, the knot of guilt tightening just beneath her ribs. It was unforgivable really, to betray Kenneth in this way, she thought, considering what a nice, sweet man he was. If he’d been horrid, he’d deserve it. But he did not deserve to be a cuckold. However, there was nothing she could do about it, since neither she nor Charles was going to end the affair. She would simply have to accept that this was the way things were and not worry about the future, or indeed, what she’d got up to in the past. She had to live in the moment. If Flappy was good at one thing, it was living in the moment when living in th
e moment was required.

  The two of them set off in Kenneth’s Jaguar. Flappy looked out of the window and felt a sudden wave of melancholy. The early autumn light was tender, bathing the rolling fields of stubble in a soft amber glow. The sky was a duck egg blue, the first star twinkling like the light of a distant ship shining through mist. A full moon was beginning to rise even as the sun sunk slowly behind the trees. The seasons were at their loveliest when one gave way to the other. It was the change that was so enchanting. Flappy felt that change now, as they drove down the winding lanes towards Compton Court. There was a dampness in the air that hadn’t been there before, a sweet smell of nature on the turn. The slow dying of summer.

  The lights of Compton Court were ablaze. Flares lit up the drive and fairy lights glittered in the trees. Flappy was too stunned by the beauty of it to be jealous. Besides, she was going to have a wonderful evening; jealousy had no place in the evening that Flappy had envisaged for herself.

  Guests were directed by the Compton Court gardeners to park in a field not far from the house. As Kenneth drove into his given slot, Flappy’s eyes swept keenly over the familiar faces of those making their way up a path, which cut through the long grasses to the house. Luckily, Flappy was not wearing high heels. She spotted Sally leaning heavily on her husband’s arm as she tottered unsteadily on vertiginous stilettos. When Flappy got out of the car, she put her delicate silk shoes onto the grass and, lifting the front of her dress slightly, giving a glimpse of her slender ankles, she walked easily and elegantly towards the party. Once at the house, whose façade, it had to be acknowledged, was one of the most beautiful Flappy had ever seen, she and Kenneth were directed along a pathway of flares to the back of the house where the marquee stood in all its Indian magnificence. Flappy was spellbound. She had never seen a marquee like it. Really, it was the sort of wonder one might find in the gardens of the Maharaja’s Palace in Udaipur – not that she’d ever been there. Hedda and Charles were at the entrance, with their four children, one of whom Flappy assumed must be George.