Diva's Big Five-Oh

Diva’s Big Five-Oh

“Of course Diva will want gifts!” Georgie Pillson exclaimed to his wife Lucia.  They sat in the garden-room at Mallards House, discussing the upcoming fiftieth birthday of their friend Godiva Plaistow.  “After all, getting and giving gifts is part of the fun,” he continued. “And a cake, with fancy icing.  And the season’s first ices, too,” he added.

“But are you certain that a surprise party is the best way to celebrate?” asked his wife.

“Yes,” said Georgie firmly.

“Very well then, what you are planning?” asked Lucia; her doubts as to the wisdom of a surprise party were not yet assuaged.

“I shall tell everyone in our circle of friends to come to tea on Diva’s birthday, and that we’re surprising her with a cake, and that they can bring a gift if they want to,” said Georgie.

“What sort of gifts do you think would suit her?” asked Lucia. “The others may need some guidance in that area.”

“I doubt that; they all know Diva loves nougat chocolate and anything that she can wear,” responded Georgie. “That should make it simple enough.”

“But how will you keep it a secret?  Elizabeth Mapp-Flint will love to spoil the surprise,” said Lucia, knowing from experience the criminal depths to which her rival would stoop.

“That’s what I’m worried about.  We need some kind of leverage to make her keep her mouth shut about it,” said Georgie severely.  “Won’t you think about it, Lucia?  I’m sure that together we can come up with something.”  Georgie actually meant that he hoped Lucia would come up with something, as he had racked his brain without any resultant plots to control Elizabeth; Georgie was far too good-natured for tactical knavishness.

“Never fear, Georgie; something will turn up,” his wife reassured him, to his relief.  He smiled gratefully; Lucia was so much better than he, when this sort of plotting needed to be done.

“And a proper gift from the Mapp-Flints,” continued Georgie. “As close-fisted as Elizabeth is, she’ll probably just buy two packs of cards to play Bridge with and think that’s good enough.  I suppose I should buy Diva an extra gift to make up for that.”

Lucia considered this plan for but a moment.  “No, caro,” she said. “Let Elizabeth show everyone just how great a pinch-penny she has grown to be in these past few years.  It will reflect upon Elizabeth herself, not upon your party.”

“There has been some comment on how little she hosts tea-and-Bridge lately, and I can’t recall the last time she had anyone to dinner,” said Georgie, stroking his auburn Van Dyke beard.  “Anyway, I’ll think it all out, and we can talk about it some more at luncheon tomorrow.”

“Excellent, Georgie.”  Lucia stood up, “And now I must leave or I shall be late for the meeting of the Board of Directors of my hospital.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Marketing hour was long finished when Diva Plaistow stood on the High Street in front of the news-agent’s shop.   She absently looked at the headlines, “King and Queen Visit Canada, United States” and “United States Refuses Refugees,” but her attention was not on the news, and in her mind she was divided:  should she buy special invitations and ask her friends to tea for her fiftieth birthday?  Should she ask them for tea-and-Bridge, and then casually “drop” the fact of her birthday?  Should she ignore her birthday altogether, like Elizabeth Mapp-Flint?  No, Diva did not want it ignored:  she kept thinking of it as “my Big Five-Oh” and she wanted a celebration.  And Elizabeth’s coyness about her age was most unbecoming.  Also, Elizabeth was too cheap to host tea-and-Bridge more than once a month anymore, and that lack of hospitality had begun to cause comment among Tilling society.   

Diva thought, I don’t want to be cheap.  Can’t afford dinner for everyone like Lucia’s “Jubilee.”  Besides, I can’t fit everyone into my dining room.  But I can have a sumptuous cream tea.  Put a notice on the door saying that my Ye Olde Tea-House is “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY.”  Might be good advertising, too.  My Tea-House available for private parties.

Unable to decide, Diva turned away from the news-agent’s, cast a despairing glance at the stationer’s shop next door, and returned to Ye Olde Tea-House, her business, which she had opened in two ground-floor rooms of her house, Wasters.  With the cook and her maid, Janet, to help, Diva found the business was fun, and she loved chatting with her customers or eavesdropping on their conversations.   She had recently started sharing-out customers’ tips with Janet and Cook; it seemed only fair, and if Diva had faults, unfairness was not one of them.   Pity the takings aren’t as good as I hoped, she thought, too much breakage.

An early customer that day was Diva’s friend Georgie Pillson, affectionately known as “Mr Georgie” by the ladies of Tilling.  Georgie’s kindly disposition and sunny outlook made him a popular guest at any table, be it for tea, luncheon or dinner; and while the “Padre,” as Reverend Kenneth Bartlett was called, was the best Bridge player, Georgie was the second best, and thus in demand at the Bridge table. 

“Just me today, Diva; Lucia’s at another meeting,” Mr Georgie said.  She showed him to her best table, in the bay window overlooking the High Street. 

After she delivered Georgie’s tea, Diva sat with him for a few minutes.  Now would be a good time to drop a few more hints about her upcoming birthday.  “I was just remembering Lucia’s dinner party for her fiftieth birthday,” she began. 

“Yes, it was quite nice.  She was still living at Grebe then,” said Georgie neutrally.  “And we hadn’t married yet.  I’d just grown my beard.”

“Made me wonder when Elizabeth’s fiftieth was; likes to keep her age secret,” Diva continued swimming upstream against Georgie’s non-committal current.  

“Hmmm,” said Georgie vaguely. “I would never ask a lady her age.”  He was actually rather anxious about the subject and was hoping Diva would not ask his age, which was forty-five, and had been forty-five for at least a decade. 

“But I’m quite sure Elizabeth must be fifty now,” Diva made another attempt to swim onward. 

“Possibly,” said Georgie, and then, “Have you seen the new hats in Miss Greele’s window?  They’re quite lovely.”  He suddenly changed the subject to the window display in the dressmaker’s shop. 

Georgie’s current was too strong; Diva gave up and floated along with it.  “Oh, yes, lovely,” she echoed.  “May be able to change my old blue hat ‘round to make it look like the green one in the window.  But blue.” 

"I look forward to seeing it," said Georgie politely, recalling that it had been said that Diva "could trim a hat with a toothbrush and a banana in such a way that it looked quite Parisian till you firmly analysed its component parts."  Diva's interpretation of Miss Greele's hat should be interesting.

 Noticing Evie Bartlett, the Padre’s wife, walking past, Georgie tapped the window to get her attention.  She paused and waved, then turned and came into Ye Olde Tea-House.  “Do have some tea with me,” invited Georgie, “unless you’re busy with the choir or the Girl Guides.  Lucia’s busy with another Board of Directors meeting.” 

“I’m not busy now, but I will be later,” said Evie, “delighted to join you both.  Any news?” 

As the answer to Evie’s querie was sadly negative as far as Diva was concerned, Diva merely said, “Not both of us.  Must help Janet serve; getting busy,” and she rose from her chair.

 

“Will you bring an eighteen-penny tea for the Mrs Bartlett, please?” Georgie asked as Evie sat down. 

“Coming right up,” said Diva with a smile.  At least Mr Georgie always tips well, she thought. Always asks for his tea, never orders me about, like Elizabeth when she’s here.  Though Elizabeth never comes unless someone else I paying.  Too chintzy. 

Across the room, two shop boys were eating their way through a plate-full of toast and a pot-full of jam (Ye Olde Tea-House’s least expensive tea), when one of them hit a cup and saucer with his elbow, knocking off the table; it crashed to the floor.  Janet picked up the pieces and mopped up the spill with a cloth.  More breakage, Diva thought with a sigh. 

As she placed Evie’s tea on the table, Diva said, “Wish the Church Jumble Sale came sooner; always has odd china that I can buy cheap.” 

“I’ll keep in mind that you need china.  If any is donated, I’ll let you buy it, if you want it.  That way we won’t have to store it in the rectory for months, awaiting the sale,” said Evie obligingly.  Evie knew she was on thin ice and would have to tread carefully:  people who donated often came to the Church Jumble Sale in order to make sure their donations were among the jumble.  Evie had grown adept at explaining that a donated item had been “snapped up the instant that the sale opened.”  A little white lie that made the donor feel good, as well as protecting the buyer.  “Just don't tell anyone I’m doing this for you, or they’ll all want the same consideration,” admonished Evie. 

“Glad to do that,” said Diva, “And spoons and knives and forks.  And trays—we always seem to be running short of clean trays.  So hard to keep up with the breakage.”  

Evie nodded sympathetically, “As long as it’s not wildly valuable, of course.”  Diva agreed and moved away to take another customer’s order. 

“Now, where were we?” said Evie, in a low voice, to Georgie. 

“Diva’s birthday.  I want to have a surprise tea party for her.  She’s going to be fifty, you know,” Georgie whispered. 

“She’s been dropping hints all week.  Kenneth and I were discussing it at breakfast yesterday,” said Evie.  “I think a party’s a good idea.  Kenneth was concerned that Diva may want to hide her age, like Elizabeth does, but I told him she wouldn’t be dropping so many hints if that were so.” 

“Too true,” agreed Georgie. 

A thought suddenly struck the Vicar’s wife.  “But, Mr Georgie, what if she decides to give herself a party?” asked Evie. 

“I hadn’t thought of that!” said Georgie. “It would be like her to do so.”  He considered for a moment.  “If she does, we must all say we have prior engagements, then I’ll figure out a way to get her to come to Mallards House for the surprise party.” 

“It will be wonderful,” Evie said, squeaking a little, which meant she was excited by the idea. 

“But remember, tell no one, except the Padre,” cautioned Georgie. 

“Yes, I’ll remember,” confirmed Evie.  Raising her voice to its regular pitch, “And thank you for my tea,” she said politely. 

“My pleasure,” responded Georgie genially.  “Have you seen the new hats in Miss Greele’s window?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Georgie’s shopping the following day appeared almost furtive, with so many murmured conversations that Georgie thought, It’s almost like we’re in a hospital ward, not on the High Street; I feel quite like a spy! 

Susan Wyse accepted Georgie’s whispered invitation on behalf of herself and her husband Algernon, for Mr Wyse’s sister the Contessa Amelia di Faraglione, who was making another of her “flying” visits to Tilling, and for Isabel Poppit, Susan’s daughter, who had grown tired of living in an unplumbed shack on the dunes and recently returned to Mallards Cottage, although she still spent most of her days wandering the dunes and swimming in the sea.  Isabel’s concerned mother was trying to ease her back into Tilling society, as far as was possible. 

Georgie tried to have a similar muttered conversation with the Reverend Kenneth Bartlett, but whispering in his usual vernacular combination of Elizabethan English and Scottish dialect proved too much for the Padre, who was forced to lapse into modern English and acknowledge the invitation, then added that he and “wee wifey will be present, with presents, ye ken.”   The Padre laughed at his own joke, then tapped the side of his nose and looked around as if to make sure they were not observed before ambling off toward Church Square. 

Quaint Irene Coles did not bother to remove her pipe from her mouth as she looked up from her palette to accept Georgie’s invitation; she promptly returned her attention to the rather odd picture she was painting, which looked abstract as well as cubist, and bore no resemblance at all in shape or colour to the Landgate which stood before her.  Georgie considered making a comment on post-expressionism, but he feared Irene would consider it an insult and so held his tongue.

Georgie’s market basket bumped into Elizabeth Mapp-Flint as she came out of the the draper’s shop. “Just ordering cotton for my tatting, Mr Georgie; what wonderful colours they have this season!”  Georgie politely agreed, knowing that Elizabeth had actually been ordering material for her new summer frock:  it was that time of year. Georgie ignored her understandable prevarication; after all, Georgie himself liked to sport a new suit for Tilling summer teas and would be distressed if someone else copied his sartorial display. 

He relayed his invitation.  To his surprise, Elizabeth said, “Lucia told me all about it yesterday.  Of course, my Benjy-boy and I will be delighted to attend.  Lucia did stress that it is to be a surprise party, so I’ve spoken of it to no one except Benjy, and I’ve told him not to mention it to anyone else.”  

Georgie told her how happy he was that the Mapp-Flints would be attending and, with a tip of his hat, he proceeded toward home to send out written invitations, mainly because he feared Irene, caught up in her painting, would forget.  He thought, there are twelve of us, enough for three tables for Bridge, if Irene doesn’t forget and wander off to paint nudes in the Church Square graveyard, or some such thing.  Georgie paused in his invitation writing; he tried to imagine what such a painting would look like—blowsy nudes, male and female, frolicking amid the tombstones—and found his imagined “picky” gave him a fit of giggles.  He thought, I wonder what everyone would think if I painted such a thing for our summer exhibition? Perhaps I can tell Irene my idea and she can paint Benjy and Elizabeth frolicking--What a horrible sight!  It was some minutes before he could resume writing properly, because of his laughter. 

Lucia Pillson, Mayor of Tilling, was not at Mallards House when her husband returned from marketing.  Lucia’s Mayoral duties kept her at Town Hall; that is to say, she stayed at Town Hall as much as she could, despite there being no work to do.  “In order to be available to my constituency,” she said.  After sending his pretty maid Foljambe out to post his invitations, Georgie sat in his private oak-panelled drawing room on the first floor and worked at a rather large gros-point wall-hanging depicting Henry VIII surrounded by all six of his wives and all three of his (legitimate) children.  Georgie thought, Oh, bother!  This will be far too heavy and hot to work on when summer gets here.  I shall have to bundle it away until winter.  Double tarsome! 

He laid his needlework aside.  I wonder, he thought, exactly what Lucia said to Elizabeth.  Elizabeth seemed unusually. . . compliant.  I shall have to ask Lucia when she returns home.  I wonder. . . some kind of blackmail?  However did Lucia manage it? 

He didn’t have long to wait for Lucia’s return from Town Hall, and as soon as his wife had settled herself at the piano in the garden-room, Georgie came downstairs and asked, “What did you say to Elizabeth?  She told me you’d spoken to her about Diva’s surprise party and that she intended to keep it secret.” 

Lucia smiled without removing her attention from the “tiny morsel of Stravinsky,” with which she was renewing her acquaintance.  “Oh, I just mentioned a few things to her, as Mayoress, and she fell right into line.  Nothing important, really.”  

Irritated, Georgie mimicked Lucia in his mind, ‘Nothing important, really.’ She can be so irritating when she acts lofty.  But I shan’t pry; I know that eventually she’ll tell me; or when I have a secret she wants to know, we’ll barter information.  Just like when she was learning to ride her bicycle and she twice knocked over the tar-pot.  Georgie reflected silently, I know I shall have the chance to winkle it out of her eventually.  I can wait.  I wonder, did she use the office of Mayoress as leverage?

  

~~~~~~~~~~~

After Ye Olde Tea-House closed for the evening and once again became Wasters, Diva’s home, she sat at her bay window overlooking the street and fretted for a while, then made her decision.   She reasoned, I can’t provide dinner, like Lucia.  I don’t want to pretend I’m not having my Big Five-Oh, like Elizabeth.  But I can provide a Sumptuous Cream Tea for my friends, with Bridge afterward.  Post a notice that the Tea-House is closed for a private party.  And with that, Diva began planning the menu. 

The next morning Diva entered the stationer’s shop and purchased a large piece of poster-board for her sign and new notepaper, lavender in colour and embossed with a floral design, which came with matching envelopes.  She returned to Wasters and wrote out her invitations.  Another decision had to be made:  should she include “No Gifts, Please”?  But I do want some gifts, said Diva, honestly, to herself, I just won’t mention anything about gifts at all. She carefully addressed envelopes to:

Mr & Mrs George Pillson, Mallards House, West Street, Tilling

Major and Mrs Benj. Mapp-Flint, Grebe, Military Road, Tilling

Mr & Mrs Algernon Wyse, Starling Cottage, Porpoise Street, Tilling

Contessa Amelia di Faraglione, Care of Mr & Mrs Algernon Wyse, Starling Cottage, Porpoise Street, Tilling

Reverend & Mrs Kenneth Bartlett, The Old Rectory, Church Square, Tilling

Miss Isabel Poppit, Mallards Cottage, Church Square, Tilling

Miss Irene Coles, Taromina, West Street, Tilling

The message read:

Please join me

For Cream Tea,

with Bridge to follow,

In Celebration of my

50th Birthday

On Wednesday,

June 7,

At 4 o’clock

R.S.V.P.

Diva affixed the stamps, walked down to the post box and mailed the invitations.  Then she went back to Wasters to make her sign:

Closed For

Private Party

Will Re-open

Tomorrow

~~~~~~~~~~

On the following day, the morning post brought only advertising fliers and a catalogue of restaurant china (ruinously priced) that Diva had requested from a supplier in Brighton.  Perhaps a supplier in London would have lower prices, Diva hoped. 

It was the afternoon post that brought the anticipated replies to Diva’s invitation. 

First, Mrs Wyse answered for herself, her daughter Isabel, her husband, and her husband’s sister the Contessa, saying that they were already engaged for the afternoon.  “We are all so very sorry to miss your Birthday Celebration, but hope to make it up to you with a belated birthday dinner very soon,” Susan wrote.  “I have encouraged Mr Wyse to hope that you will forgive our deplorable absence on the day of your Nativity.”  Diva sighed.  That was one entire Bridge table empty.

 

Next, Evie Bartlett also answered negative for herself and her husband; “I have a long-standing engagement involving the Girl Guides, and Kenneth has a christening.  We are so sorry that we cannot be with you on your birthday, but you have our very best wishes.”  Yet another Bridge table unfilled. 

A note from Irene Coles, scribbled in pencil on the back of a bill for turpentine and cotton-waste from an artist’s supply house in Soho, London, said she was going up to Town for a one-day exhibition and wouldn’t be able to come for tea.  “But do come in and let me paint your portrait as a present to you,” Irene wrote.  Fat chance! thought Diva, knowing Irene’s penchant for painting rather crude nudes which embarrassed everyone except, perhaps, Mr Wyse who always praised the “energy and vitality that Miss Coles superbly manages to convey in her works of art.” 

Last was a note from Lucia Pillson, apologising that she and her husband could not attend, as he had a previous engagement in Hastings (Getting his hair dyed again, thought Diva bitterly) and she, as Mayor of Tilling, had to attend a prize-giving at the local primary school.  “But our hearts will be with you, dear Diva, on the day of your Jubilee.” 

“Rats!” said Diva aloud.  She wadded up every note and every envelope, and she threw them all on the fire.  It will be just another day, she thought sadly.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Diva’s birthday, Janet brought in Diva’s breakfast, with which was a bundle, tidily wrapped in bright paper and tied with a bright pink ribbon.  Cook followed behind Janet.  “Happy Birthday, Ma’am!” they chorused.  Janet beamed and Cook blushed as Diva opened her package, which contained some yardage of beautiful lavender silk brocade.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” cried Diva, rubbing the fabric gently.  “And I thank you so very much for remembering my birthday.”

“We know you can use it to make something wonderful to wear, Ma’am, it being real silk,” ventured Cook. 

Janet added, “Something that will make all the other Tilling ladies gnash their teeth in envy, Ma’am.”  Janet was thinking of Mrs Mapp-Flint and her widely voracious smile, and the suit decorated with chintz rosebuds that Janet so briefly owned. 

“I’m so very, very grateful to you both for this,” said Diva, still stroking the silk.  “And for all your help with the Tea-House; I couldn’t do without you.  After those horrible, poisoned sardine tartlets, I’m so grateful for both of you helping me restore the good name of Ye Olde Tea-House.” 

Now Janet blushed and the Cook dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.  “Thank you, Ma’am,” said Janet.  “Now we’d better get the day’s baking done!”  And Diva’s employees bustled off to the kitchen. 

In spite of the kindness of her staff, Diva was too demoralised by her failed invitations to venture out shopping, lest she meet one of her friends, all of whom were too busy to help her celebrate her Big Five-Oh.  After a solitary breakfast, she spent her solitary morning imagining how she could use her new silk fabric, and then Diva ate her solitary luncheon.  She and Janet did the usual cleaning and checking to make sure they were ready to open Ye Olde Tea-House for the afternoon.  All very routine, thought Diva sadly.  No Sumptuous Cream Tea, no Bridge. . . .  She barely stopped herself from thinking, No friends, although that desolate idea loitered piteously in the back of her mind.

 

A quarter of an hour before the Tea-House was to open, Georgie Pillson knocked on the door of Wasters.  Diva flew to open it.  Mr Georgie raised his hat and asked Diva if she would accompany him to Mallards House for tea in honor of her birthday. 

“Just the two of us, Diva, as Lucia’s at another one of her Mayoral Functions.”  Mr Georgie’s eyes twinkled, “Wicked of us, really, to meet alone!” he teased. 

Anything is better than nothing, Diva reasoned.  “Let me grab my hat,” she said. 

“I can wait while you change your frock,” said Mr Georgie, as a gentle hint. 

Diva dashed up to her bedroom, quickly changed her dress and dabbed at her face with a powder-puff.  She came back downstairs and called into the kitchen, “Just going out for an hour or so, Janet.  Will be back soon.”  As Diva and Mr Georgie walked down the street, she could not help but say, “I invited you and Lucia to Cream Tea with Bridge, but she said you had an appointment in Hastings.” 

“Oh, I put that off,” said Mr Georgie airily as he tipped his boater to the curate’s spinster sister, who always made Georgie think of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, as they passed.  “It’s rather early for strawberries, but in honor of your birthday, we can search the garden and, if we find a ripe one, that first strawberry of the season shall be yours to enjoy.” 

Diva actually giggled.  Suddenly she did not feel so alone and desolate.  “Thank you, Mr Georgie!  It is my Big Five-Oh, you know.  Fifty years old.”  

“Quite a special birthday it is,” responded Mr Georgie diplomatically, silently praying that she would not ask when he had celebrated his fiftieth.  Georgie actually had no cause for anxiety:  Diva’s grandfather may have been a butcher, but she had been taught proper manners and, even though she had a friendly interest in Mr Georgie’s age, she would never be so rude as to inquire. 

When they arrived at Mallards House, Mr Georgie held the door to the garden-room open for her.  The room was rather dark for the middle of an early summer afternoon, as the draperies had been drawn across the windows that looked down West Street.  Diva stepped in and waited for Mr Georgie to put on the lights.  

The lights duly came on and eleven voices cried out, “Surprise!” and “Happy Birthday, Diva!” 

“Oh, my,” said Diva, looking around the room at all her friends.  “Oh, my,” she repeated, at a loss for words, but a wide smile spread across her face.  “Thank you!  Thank you, everyone!” 

The men, and Irene, shook Diva’s hand, and the women kissed her cheek when they congratulated her.  Then Mr Georgie sang out, “Time for presents!  Time to open your gifts!”  He motioned to one of the card tables, piled with brightly-wrapped packages. 

The Padre stepped forward first, picked up a small, narrow package and handed it to Diva.  It contained a knife, a fork, and a spoon, none of which matched the other; “we picked them up at jumble sales, ye ken,” said the Padre.  He proudly added, “I picked many o’ them m’sel’.”   Evie nodded and added, “There are eighteen more knives, twenty-two more forks, and twenty-four more spoons at Wasters for you to use at Ye Olde Tea-House.” 

“I can never have too many spoons!” said Diva warmly. 

 

Evie then handed Diva a black velvet pouch containing an ornate silver brooch, depicting a butterfly decorated with bright, faceted crystals.

“Quite like the beautiful butterflies I saw this morning, enjoying the blooms of my roses,” said Elizabeth, peering at the brooch. 

“I bought it at an estate sale; I hope you don’t mind,” said Evie anxiously.  Diva assured Evie that she did not mind at all. 

Georgie examined the brooch.  “It appears that it has never been worn—see how stiff and secure the catch is, and how there are no scratches on it?” he said, greatly lessening the anxiety of the Vicar’s wife. “What a beautiful piece!” 

He passed the brooch on to the Wyses; Susan held it at arm’s length, “So gorgeous! Such colour!  Oh, I do wish I had been at that estate sale with you!” 

 

“And the artistry!”  Mr Wyse exclaimed, bowing to Diva after accepting the brooch from his wife and peering at it through his monocle.  “Susan, we must begin taking in catalogues from the auction houses, if these are the kinds of goods we can expect.”  Mr Wyse bowed to the auction houses.  He turned aside to Evie, “I must see if I can procure something similar for my wife,” he murmured. 

“Well, it is sterling; I just couldn’t resist. . .” Evie whispered back, and Mr Wyse nodded his approval.  Evie was elated that her gift, which she feared would be too little, was so highly praised by Mr Georgie and so highly appraised by Mr Wyse. 

From the Wyses came the gift of a pewter tea-tray.  “Serviceable and decorative,” said Mr Wyse, “and of real pewter, which should patinate nicely.  And there are nine more awaiting you when you return home.”

“Oh, these trays are just what I needed!  Just yesterday I told Janet we need more trays,” said Diva.  “And these won’t break if I drop them!” 

“Algernon chose the tea-trays himself,” said Susan proudly.  “And another gift to you from all of us,” she indicated the Contessa and Isabel, “is that you are to go to the dressmaker in the High Street and order whatever frock you want and have it put down to my account.  Something new for summer. Dear Amelia’s idea.” 

“How generous of you!” Diva gasped, “So very generous—and such fun it will be!”  Susan and Diva smiled happily at each other. 

“Not at all.  You only get to turn fifty once,” Contessa Amelia offered.  “Or most of us do,” she added under her breath, looking at Elizabeth Mapp-Flint. 

Diva smiled at Isabel, who blushed and looked at her shoes; she had become unaccustomed to being among so many people at one time, and any attention embarrassed her.  Isabel edged closer to her aunt-by-marriage, with whom, for some unaccountable reason, she felt safe.  The Contessa was laughing rather too loudly but with genuine delight.  Amelia thought, the woman is a real clothes horse, but she’s the only one in town who’ll tell me what’s really going on, all the scandals and tiffs—so amusing—worth the price of a dress.  “This is little party is making Mrs Plaistow so very happy,” the Contessa observed in undertone to Isabel, who nodded. 

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Major Benjy abruptly stepped forward with a large, flat, light-weight parcel, which Irene had brought with her.  When opened it proved to contain feathers of every imaginable color and from every imaginable bird.  “To decorate your hats and such,” Major Benjy said, blushing a little. “I’m told that some of the plumes are dyed and some are natural.  Irene was good enough to wrap them for me.”

“Beautiful!  Oh, thank you so much, Major!  So thoughtful of you!” was the heart-felt exclamation from an astonished Diva.  

Murmurs of “here, here” and echoes of “so thoughtful” went around the room as all the guests, except for Irene and Major Benjy’s wife, expressed their astounded approval.  Elizabeth Mapp-Flint, who knew nothing of Benjy’s feathers, was staring daggers at her husband.

“Ooh, your fat will be in the fire as soon as you leave here, Benjy-Boy,” whispered Irene, more happily than was appropriate. 

Major Benjy huffed militarily and stood at attention.   He had weathered the disapproval of his wife before, and he knew he would do so again.  But for once he had the approbation of all their friends:  he would offer his wife no apologies for his gift, although he may have to provide an explanation.  The box of feathers had been one of the few things he had inherited from his old golfing and drinking partner Captain Puffin, late of His Majesty’s Navy; Major Benjy had re-discovered the box three days ago, while in am almost frenzied search for a hidden flask in a disused wardrobe.  He had considered asking Elizabeth to wrap the gift for him but had been afraid that she would confiscate the feathers—or at least the choicest feathers—for her own use, and Major Benjy did not want the value of his gift depreciated by his wife’s interference with it.  Benjy had a sudden inspiration:  I’ll tell her I didn’t want to burden her with any of Puffin’s old belongings out of consideration for her dislike of him, he thought. 

Elizabeth, in an effort to keep herself from sweetly saying something completely foul to her husband in front of their friends, quickly and somewhat violently thrust at Diva another box, which proved to hold twelve packs of playing cards and a medium-sized box of nougat chocolates. 

“Happy Birthday, Diva dear,” said Elizabeth, cooing sweetly and smiling so widely that her wisdom teeth would have been visible, if she had still possessed them.  Diva thanked her kindly, but Elizabeth, and everyone else, realized that Benjy’s unexpected and wholly appropriate gift had upstaged hers. 

Major Benjy looked at his angry wife and stated formally, “The Mapp-Flints are happy to honor the jubilee of my Girlie’s dear friend.”  His wife could do nothing but agree, although fuming inside. 

Ach!  Poor wee man! thought the Padre.  We’ll have to play a lot of gawf for the rest o’ the week to keep him awa’ from the fury of Mistress Mapp-Flint.  The Padre determined he would preach on Sunday about wives honoring and obeying their husbands. 

And Mr Wyse, for the rest of the afternoon, frequently placed himself between Major and Mrs Mapp-Flint.  This laudatory action served a good purpose by shielding everyone from the possibility of embarrassing public recriminations, but had a negative collateral effect in that Mr Wyse blocked Elizabeth from seeing how much of Lucia’s excellent whisky Benjy consumed.  

Brave of him, thought the guests and the guest of honor of Major Benjy.  All feared that “the Major’s facing the jaws of a man-eating tiger in the jungles of India was poor preparation for facing the smile of a man-eating Elizabeth Mapp-Flint in the confines of Grebe,” as Lucia later remarked to Georgie. 

To break the palpable tension, Irene handed Diva her gift, twenty-four Bridge score pads and a box of forty-eight pencils, and a painting of several fat, nearly-naked ladies on a crowded beach; the size of the canvas was, by Irene’s standards, small enough to be discreet.  “Oh, Irene!  I know just the place for it,” cried Diva, knowing that she would have to hang it, but wanting to hang it someplace that was not commonly seen by the public or by her friends.  Irene managed to grin and puff at her pipe simultaneously.  The discomfiture of Diva, and of Benjy and Elizabeth, was a delight to the discordian nature of Quaint Irene’s character. 

Diva felt that the best response she had to the tension in the garden-room was to open more presents, so she turned her attention to Mr Georgie’s gifts.  Two boxes, both rather heavy.  One contained two dozen plain napkins of high-quality linen, and the other, six linen tablecloths, the corners of which had been embroidered with Queen Anne and the Archbishop of Canterbury having tea.  

“Just like the signboard Irene painted for my Tea-House!” exclaimed Diva.  “Thank you so much!  These are wonderful!” 

And wrapped in paper was a petit-point hot-water bottle cover of floral design, “I found while I was working on your tablecloths that I love working with the Jacobean florals,” Georgie said, “they offer such latitude in design.” 

“Oh, Mr Georgie!  You must have been working on these for ever so long!” exclaimed Diva.  Georgie smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. 

From Lucia:  a sturdy teapot, cup and saucer, and plate.  “I noticed how easily people break things at your Tea-House,” said Lucia, “and I merely want to off-set some of that breakage.  When you return to your Tea-House, you will find nineteen teapots, twenty-nine cups and saucers, and twenty-nine plates awaiting you.”  She then handed Diva a small, long box which contained a hatpin made of a large amethyst, which was in a white gold setting of art-deco geometric design and attached to a strong steel shaft.  Lucia had chosen it to coordinate with the purple skirt-and-jacket which Diva had decorated by tacking on pink chintz rosebuds. 

Recognising that the gem and the gold were real and not mere crystal and pinchbeck, Diva gasped out her thanks to Lucia for her magnificent gift, and Georgie slipped out of the room as the hatpin was passed around to be admired by all.

Then Diva thanked everyone again; suddenly a few tears rolled down her smiling face and she sniffed.  “You are such wonderful, wonderful friends,” she said.  “I though none of you cared about my birthday, and, oh! how wrong I was!”

“Of course we care,” responded Evie soothingly, handing Diva a handkerchief.  The men shuffled uncomfortably, while murmurs of “yes, we do” and “of course we do, Diva dear” came from the women.  Even the Contessa murmured something vaguely comforting and peered into her cocktail glass, wondering when Mr Pillson would return so she could get another Sidecar.

All were relieved when the parlour-maid brought in trays of food and Grosvenor, the tea cart.   Foljambe followed with another cart which held two trays of Sèvres tasses à glaces of muscadine ice, red-currant flavoured and scented with elder flowers.

Then Georgie re-entered the garden-room carrying a two-tiered chocolate cake decorated with strawberries.  Georgie began singing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow—” and the others took up the song. 

Diva’s smile was enough to illuminate the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late that evening when Diva returned home, driven by Lucia’s chauffeur Cadman, who had to make two trips into Wasters in order to carry in all the gifts from the Rolls Royce.

After Cadman left, Diva went downstairs to the kitchen, where Janet had unpacked and washed all the new tea things, and set them out, ready for tomorrow’s custom.  Diva added the boxes of linens and all her other “Tea-House gifts” to the table.  She went back up to the ground floor and placed the new pencils and score pads and decks of cards in the cupboard in the back room where the two card tables were.  

Her jewelry, her painting, her hot-water bottle cover, and her box of feathers and her box of nougat she carried up to her bedroom.  She laid them out on the dressing table, and then she looked at herself in the mirror.  She thought, Godiva Plaistow, you may be fifty years old, you may be a widow, but you have so many wonderful friends and kind acquaintances!  What a wonderful day! 

She started looking through her fashion magazines for dress styles and began planning how to primp her old hats with her new feathers.  Major Benjy, after a few glasses of whisky, had told everyone the source of the feathers, and the revellers began calling them “Puffin’s Plumes,” either in sentimental memory of Captain Puffin or as a joke, depending upon who was speaking. 

Later that night, as Diva lay in bed, her mind still busied itself in planning her new dress and how she would use Janet’s and Cook’s silk.  Sleepily she murmured, “What a wonderful birthday, what wonderful friends.”  Then: “What a lot of thank you notes I shall have to write tomorrow.”  And with that, Diva slipped into a happy slumber.

THE END

Note: Photographs taken from Google Images; unfortunately, I failed to note which pages I took the photos from, except where noted.

Puffin’s Plumes:  A Digression

On the morning following the celebration of Diva Plaistow’s fiftieth birthday, all that Elizabeth Mapp-Flint could do was chide her husband, Major Benjy, for not giving to her the feathers he had given as a gift to Diva; the esteem that the gift of “Puffin’s Plumes” was afforded by their friends neutered anything else she may have wanted to say. 

Elizabeth responded to this perceived slight by ordering her cook to make food out of what was considered, in most households, to be offal.  The cook, who had long been frustrated by Mrs Mapp-Flint’s refusal to buy “proper foodstuffs” and who desperately wanted to produce quality meals, gave notice, citing “Mrs Mapp-Flint’s refusal to provide the necessaries for good cooking.” 

Elizabeth, of course, blamed Benjy for the domestic crisis caused by the cook quitting.

Major Benjy huffed and said he did not see it that way at all.  And then, still bolstered by the universal approval that his gift to Diva had garnered from Tilling society, he manfully pointed out that he, at least, had nothing to do with the ordering of provisions and, if he did, the cook would have no reason to give notice.

Elizabeth sobbed and held a handkerchief to her eyes to hide the fact that she was not crying. 

This ploy did not work, as Major Benjy picked up his golf clubs, put on his hat, and left Grebe for the less virulent surroundings of the golf club.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Evie Bartlett, the vicar’s wife, and Diva have made a secret agreement regarding the disposal of “tea things” and any hairpins, hair-clips, or brooches donated to the Church for its annual jumble sale:  at Evie’s discretion, Diva gets first refusal.  Both ladies are happy with this arrangement, as it allows Diva to obtain replacements for breakage, and Evie can keep a guest room at the Vicarage for guests instead of using it to store donated jumble items, which fill many of the other rooms.  How long this arrangement will last, before Elizabeth Mapp-Flint discovers and stops it, is unknown.

The hairpins and clips Diva uses with “Puffin’s Plumes,” as she calls the feathers Major Benjy gave her, to make cockades and fascinators.  Her designs have, for the most part, met with great success.

~~~~~~~~~~

Diva made a hair ornament of irridescent green, bronze and maroon feathers for the Contessa Amelia di Faraglione in gratitude for the new dress the Contessa, Susan Wyse and Isabel Poppit had given Diva for her fiftieth birthday.  Diva daringly utilized the brass cogs from the innards of an old broken clock to accent the feathers.  Might as well put the breakage to use, Diva thought, after the boisterous shop boys, who were regular customers at Ye Olde Tea-House, accidentally knocked the clock to the floor.

The Contessa, who is quite fond of feathers and fringe and beadwork, was remarkably pleased with the innovative design and wore her unusual fascinator with pride.  Indeed, she took the fascinator to her dress designer in Rome so that he could match the colour of the dress material to the plumage. 

In turn, the designer, who much admired the works of Salvador Dali and Pablo Picasso, declared this fascinator a work of art; he offered to buy it from the Contessa and was refused.  Diva was immensely gratified when told of the designer’s admiration, but she refused to move to Italy in order to make hats for his design house.

~~~~~~~~~~

After the stunning success of the fascinators Diva made for herself and for the Contessa, Mr Wyse provided the diamond pin—“a family heirloom from Whitchurch”—and Diva made this cockade for Susan Wyse in gratitude for the new dress that Susan, the Contessa and Isabel Poppit had given Diva for her fiftieth birthday.

“Just the colour of Blue Birdie,” said Diva, as she refused Mr Wyse’s generous offer to reimburse her for the cost of replacement materials and for her “invaluable artistic design.”

“Yes, but please do not mention it to Susan; she’s still dreadfully heart-broken about her loss,” replied Mr Wyse. 

“Of course,” said Diva, “Would hate to upset dear Susan.”  Mr Wyse bowed to Diva in acknowledgement.

Diva was grateful to Mr Wyse for entrusting her with a family heirloom, which Susan later took to referring to as the “Whitchurch Diamond brooch”.

Later, during the War, Diva added a background of a dark blue ostrich feather so that Mrs Wyse could continue to wear the spectacular heirloom diamond with her dress of blue lace, purchased through the Marchè Noir.  When not wearing a hat or headband, Susan took to pinning the diamond cockade, upside down, at her neckline, which made it appear to be a striking part of the dress design.

~~~~~~~~~~

With Mr Georgie’s design assistance, Diva created this hitum hat for Isabel Poppit in gratitude for the new dress Isabel, the Contessa and Susan Wyse gave Diva for her 50th birthday.   Isabel was happy with the understated design and quiet use of feathers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Without Mr Georgie’s assistance, Diva made this safari hat for herself.   It was, alas, not very successful; the plumes, netting and scarf were later incorporated into different hats.

“Well, perhaps titum,” said Lucia doubtfully to Georgie after the safari hat’s first public appearance. 

Georgie instantly responded, “It looks more like scrub scrubbed-up.  Diva’s over-reached herself.”

“Georgino!  Naughty!” exclaimed Lucia disapprovingly, but she could not keep a straight face and laughed aloud at Georgie’s bon mot.

~~~~~~~~~~

Diva wore this piece laying flat upon the crown of her head. Elizabeth Mapp-Flint pointed out that it gave the unfortunate effect of a conjurer’s turban, so Diva made it smaller and clipped it upright to her hair with better effect.  The large brooch would not remain affixed to the plumes and, with the smaller size, was too large.  The clip was replaced with a more understated, enameled hair-clip depicting two pink rosebuds.

The new hair-clip was found by Mr Georgie in a shop in Le Touquet whilst he was in search of bibelots.  Lucia pointed out how well it would work with Diva’s fascinator, so Georgie had Lucia donate it discreetly to the Church Jumble Sale and arrange for Evie Bartlett to show to Diva before any other purchasers saw it.  Diva, knowing a good thing when she saw it, snapped it up.  Both Lucia and Georgie were quietly gratified when the re-designed, re-clipped hair decoration made its appearance at tea, worn with Diva’s purple suit with chintz roses.  Yet another stunning millinery success that caused more negative repercussions within the Mapp-Flint household.

~~~~~~~~~~

To everyone’s tremendous surprise, Quaint Irene actually does wear this hair decoration, albeit in the oddest places upon her person, and sometimes it is worn for reasons known only to Irene herself.  Made from macaw, peacock, and guinea fowl feathers, Irene also wears this piece on the rare occasions when she has to wear a dress.  The yellow daisy was Irene’s contribution to the piece; Irene off-handedly requested “something I can wear with purple and this colour of yellow.”  Despite the unusual colour combination, this is another successful piece that is coveted by some of the ladies of Tilling, who were too traditional to allow the parrot feathers to be used in their own hats, fascinators and cockades.

~~~~~~~~~~

After weeks of Elizabeth Mapp-Flint sweetly nagging her old friend, Diva made this decoratative piece.  However, a disagreement over some pears at Twistevant’s caused Diva to keep this cockade for herself.  She affixes it to the side of the black hitum headband she wears with the black “Mrs Titus Trout” dress (when not wearing the lavender silk brocade jacket).  Elizabeth Mapp-Flint has tried various stratagems to get Diva to give her this cockade, “It would go so well with my Crimson Lake, dear.”  Of course, Diva does know how well it would go with Elizabeth’s Crimson Lake, but she ferociously refuses to give it to Elizabeth and is now afraid Elizabeth will break into Wasters and steal it, rather like a certain recipe Elizabeth desired and obtained by such underhanded means at another domicile. 

~~~~~~~~~~

This beautiful cockade was commissioned by Susan Wyse to go with her new summer hitum dress.  Diva uses an old curling iron, which had belonged to her grandmother and is cautiously warmed in order to avoid singeing the feathers, to make the curls.

~~~~~~~~~~

Diva made the cockade for Evie Bartlett’s new summer hat.  Understated and chic, the hat itself was purchased from the display in Miss Greele’s window.  This is a very successful marriage of cockade to hat, and the mousy wife of the Vicar gets noticed when she wears it.  Mr Woolgar stopped Mrs Bartlett on the street and asked where he could purchase a similar hat for his wife, and the wives of several professional men and tradesmen have made the same inquiry.  Mousey Evie has not yet decided whether she likes the attention, having gotten used to being often unnoticed.   The Padre likes both the hat and the attention it engenders for his “wee wifey,” and the Bartletts are saving in order to purchase material, “brown with a pinkish design,” for a dress to match.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr Georgie Pillson asked Diva to create a fascinator “with red in it” to go with Lucia’s new hitum dress, and the first fascinator Diva produced was this:

The unfortunate shape reminded both Georgie and Diva of a lobster, which in turn reminded them of Lucia’s recipe for Lobster à la Riseholme and Elizabeth’s theft of that recipe; hence, it was not considered tactful to give it to Lucia. 

Miss Greele, the dressmaker, had offered to take on consignment any featherwork pieces that Mrs Plaistow made.  Diva had not decided if she wanted to share “Puffin’s Plumage” with the world at large.  This piece was tentatively, and successfully, consigned by Diva to Miss Greele’s dress shop for sale; Dr Dobbie’s wife wore it to church the following Sunday.  The “lobster” sold almost immediately and at a price that shocked Diva when Miss Greele paid out her share.

After “the feather lobster” was rejected as inappropriate for Lucia, Georgie decided to take a more active part in designing with Diva.  All were pleased with the product of their collaborative effort:

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr Georgie also commissioned two small cockades for his hatband, which caused Mr Wyse to follow suit.  In a fit of generosity, Diva then made one for Major Benjy; this cockade was understated in style and colour, in deference to Major Benjy’s known distain for “frippery.”  Major Benjy was quite pleased, although he dare not say so in the presence of Mrs Mapp-Flint, who had yet to receive, or commission, any featherwork from her old friend.  The Major put the cockade in his Prince-of-Wales top hat, which he rarely wore, and thus it was protected from Elizabeth’s immediate discovery.  Realizing that she did not want the Padre to feel left out, Diva made him a cockade as well.  If I was Elizabeth, Diva thought, I’d put the feathers down as part of my church tithe.  Diva, however, is a more generous soul than Elizabeth, and her gift to the Padre was genuine.

  

“Everyone copied me!” an irritated Georgie exclaimed.

Lucia replied, “Caro!  You are an innovator!  You lead in fashion, and the other men simply follow you!”

“I never thought of it like that,” said Georgie, who was mollified by his wife’s explanation.  He thought for a moment.  “Perhaps,” he said slowly.  “Perhaps I could wear my feathers in my boutonnier instead.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Golly!” said Diva to her maid, Janet.  “I didn’t realize I would be able to make money from "Puffin’s Plumes"!  Everyone insists upon paying me for my creations, which is nice of them.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you, Ma’am,” said Janet.

Diva sat and thought.  Elizabeth Mapp-Flint was the only person for whom she had not made any sort of feather decoration.  Earlier that day, during marketing, Elizabeth had inquired about “your new business, dear Diva!  My Benjy gave you so many lovely feathers!”

“Yes, and I’m enjoying them.  I like fashioning new things with them,” responded Diva stubbornly, as she had some notion of where Elizabeth was leading the conversation.

“I’m just so sorry that my Benjy-boy didn’t think to save any for me,” Elizabeth said sweetly, after putting on her wistful look.

Diva made a sound that was just short of a snort.  “Perhaps when you have your fiftieth birthday, he will!”  Diva knew Elizabeth’s fiftieth was long past, but she wanted to “rub it in.”  Elizabeth’s smile widened, a sure sign she had thought of something nasty to say.  So before Elizabeth could say anything Diva continued, “Or I could make you a fascinator and give it to you when you invite us all to your fiftieth birthday party.”

“Alas, Diva, I fear I shan’t be able to afford such a party.  If Lucia had warned me about those wildcat shares of hers, I never would have invested so heavily in them.”

With Elizabeth’s nagging about “My Benjy’s feathers” and her reiteration of her blame of Lucia for her financial losses, Diva was becoming rather angry.  “Lucia did warn all of us to get out, and we did.  But you had to be contrary, and look what it got you!  You have no one to blame but yourself!”

Elizabeth started to turn on her heel and march off, but she stopped and said, “I guess I shall have to find some other way to dress up my gown of Crimson Lake.”  She finished turning and began marching.

“I guess you will!” Diva called loudly after Elizabeth.  Humph! Diva fumed.  Everyone else paid me for “Puffin’s Plumes”; even Susan Wyse, the Contessa, and Isabel wanted to pay, though I wouldn’t let them.  Even Major Benjy gave me half a shilling.  But Elizabeth expects me to make her something without her having to pay for it.  So like her!

Also, as Diva pointed out to Irene, “one box of feathers won’t last forever, and I want to save some for the future.”  Thus, for the moment, “Puffin’s Plumes,” also known as “My Benjy’s feathers,” remain a source of lively contention between Diva and Elizabeth. 

The End

Note:  All images were downloaded from Google Images and I am uncertain of any copyrights for the photos.  A Google Image search on “feather fascinator” or “feather hat” will bring up a multitude of lovely creations, many of which are for sale and are quite reasonably priced.  We have to thank the British for their preservation of the habit of ladies wearing hats—a habit which is too rare in the United States.

Thanks to Deryck Solomon, whose short story “The Ruthless Blackmailer” inspired this piece.  If you are unfamiliar with Tilling’s Inspector Morrison, please visit

http://inspectormorrison.blogspot.com/2011/01/ruthless-blackmailer.html

Mr Solomon has made wonderful illustrations for his stories, and “The Ruthless Blackmailer” includes a delightful drawing of Diva wearing a small hat with extravagant feathers. 

Text copyright 2011 Kathleen Bradford