It was February 14th, and all of London was buried under a thick blanket of powdery snow. The offices of Poppycock Enterprises, Ltd., had closed early the day before in anticipation of the holiday. It was 11 o’clock Saturday morning, and the inhabitants of the house adjacent to the cozy office were in various states of preparation for the day.
“Another egg, Maudie, if you please.” Professor Emilia De Busque took a swipe at her sideswept bangs, leaving behind a fetching smattering of flour. “One without glue this time, perhaps?”
Maude, already running headlong to the refrigerator, checked herself and veered towards the sink to give her hands a vigorous scrubbing before delivering the aforementioned egg. “Don’t worry, they’re almost done, and I promise I’ll get up all the glue I can.” Maude had been working feverishly for days on a delicate paper menagerie for Poppycock’s postman, Mr. Periwinkle. He did so love animals, but a fierce set of allergies, exacerbated by an even fiercer love of sherry, precluded his owning any actual living creatures. Settling back into her chair by the fire, Maude piped up, “When are those cookies ready and where are Molly and Alexx?”
“The cookies are for the party. Alexx is in the greenhouse and Molly….” Both Emily and Maude turned at the sound of a whimper from the doorway. Maude was up in a flash to help a still pajama’d Professor P’ohlig into a comfy chair, and Emily set down a cup of coffee in front of her with a mildly disapproving eye. Molly accepted the coffee gratefully, if with a slight wince, and looked up at Emily.
“I know I should never go out on the town with Mr. Periwinkle, he drinks me under the table every time. But it was the night before Valentine’s Day, and I did so need to drown my sorrows a bit.” Molly sounded so glum that both Emily and Maude scurried to give her soothing pats and hair ruffles. Everyone had noticed that their avuncular financial adviser, Mr. Denning, had not been about in some months. Generally Molly kept up a sunny disposition, but now and then she was to be seen at her desk, staring wistfully into space. Mr. Denning’s photograph had disappeared.
“Cheer up, chum, for it’s the night of the 3rd Annual Poppycock Single Writer’s Party! I’m not sure we can top last year, but we’ll certainly try.” At this, Molly smiled. Last year’s party had indeed been smashing fun, especially after a certain novelist (mentioned in ‘An Intruder at Poppycock’) had crashed the party and attempted to leave with Alan Cumming, even though aforementioned novelist is married and Alan Cumming is, well, otherwise inclined.
Molly took a strengthening gulp of coffee and said, “Right. Time for me to be a brave little soldier. What’s there to be done that I can do?”
“I’m nearly done with all the sweets, Annie’s delivering the catering later in the day, Alexx is working on the flower arrangements, Maudie on Mr. Periwinkle’s menagerie, so that leaves…..”
“Ooh, the place cards and the seating arrangements!” Molly shouted. She did so like making place cards and matchmaking. Entirely cheered, Molly dashed off down the hall to the office for her art supplies, nearly colliding with Alexx on the way, who had her arms full of flowers. Soon the house was bustling. Alexx was clipping and arranging, Emily was icing and baking, Molly was drawing and scheming, and Maude was folding and gluing. Soon two more Poppycock regulars had arrived – Mr. Periwinkle popped in with the post, and Annie whirled in with the party food. (Annie was an errant chef the girls had met pottering around London one gloomy fall afternoon.) Everyone was in a bit of a frothy mood, thanks to a bottle of pink champagne from Mr. Periwinkle (he was so pleased with his menagerie that he managed to slip Maude one or two tiny sips), and before they knew it, it was time to pretty themselves up for the party.
* * *
The evening started off so wrongly that the girls didn’t regain their footing until it was nearly over. Five minutes before the first guests were due to arrive, Mr. Periwinkle came across a bundle of mail that he had neglected to deliver to Poppycock last week. With shaking hands, they tore open envelope after envelope, realizing to their horror that nearly every female guest they had invited was otherwise engaged for the evening. Out of the twelve invitations that had been sent, all six of the males guests were expected, and only ONE FEMALE. But there was no time at all to panic, for there was the doorbell. One after another Mr. Periwinkle ushered them in – he loved serving as butler on dinner party evenings – and there they were all lined up in the foyer under a delicate bower of lilies of the valley – Julian Barnes, Salman Rushdie, Iain Banks, Stephen Fry, Jasper Fforde, and Tom Stoppard. Everyone stood about awkwardly with cocktails for a bit, chafing in their dressy clothes and wondering when the usual renowned ladies would begin to flood the room. Well, all except for Stephen Fry, who knew he was really there as entertainment. He’d just begun to loosen everyone up a bit when the doorbell rang again. Mr. Periwinkle went to get the door, and had the decency to hide his blush when he came back in to announce – “Diana Athill”. Lovely woman, really, but she’s ninety if she’s a day. Faces fell, and the ladies of Poppycock had an emergency meeting in the kitchen, where a plan was hastily formulated. Maude was put in charge of entertaining Sir Salman with as-yet-unrevealed details of her soon-to-be-published memoir. Molly made chummy sarcastic comments about the perils of dating with Iain and Tom, both recently divorced. Alexx and Jasper commiserated over the difficulties which double consonants could sometimes present, and Emily was relied upon for the toughest job of the evening, making soothing small talk with the recently bereaved Mr. Barnes. That left Stephen to preside noisily over the whole table, as Ms. Athill fell asleep over the soup course and was moved to a cozier place by the fire, where Mr. Periwinkle spent the evening making ridiculous sketches of her.
All things considered, it really did turn out to be a lovely party. The guests were reluctant to leave, apart from Ms. Athill, who was bundled into a cab at exactly 9:30. Everyone agreed that Valentine’s parties were much nicer when one didn’t have to be on the lookout for a Valentine (although, the girls were beginning to nibble their fingernails a bit over Sir Salman’s extravagant attentions to Maude).
The clock had just struck 1 and the girls were collapsed around the hearth, sharing the evening’s funniest bits and picking over the last remnants of dessert. That’s when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked mildly alarmed until the door opened itself and the postman strolled in.
“But Periwinkle, I thought we sent you home ages ago!” Alexx said.
“Oh, er, you did,” Mr. Periwinkle said awkwardly, “But I had four deliveries that I thought should have been made before you put Valentine’s Day to bed for another year. Here’s a letter for ….Professor P’ohlig, one for…..Professor De Busque, …Maude, here’s one for you, and….er….Alexx. Goodnight, all, and many happy returns of the day!”
And with that, Periwinkle was out the door in a flash. The girls turned over their letters. Alexx grabbed the nearest letter openers and sliced hers open first. She began to read, and then clapped both hands over her mouth with a squeak. Emily grabbed the letter as it fell.
“Why Alexx, Mr. Periwinkle’s in love with you!” Three sets of eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Well, we could use a little excitement around here,” Emily proclaimed and opened her own letter. A pinkish glow began at the tip of her upturned nose and spread attractively to her cheeks. “It’s from….it’s from Mr. Barnes. He said he had a lovely evening and would like to invite me to dinner next week at his country house.”
Three sets of eyes now turned to the size of smallish dessert plates. “Oh, Emily, that’s marvelous,” Molly said in a somewhat shaky voice, opening her letter with somewhat shaky hands, for she had recognized on the envelope a distinctively avuncular brown ink. Three sets of eyes widened to dinner plates until a tiny smile appeared on Molly’s face. “He says…he says that he’s sorry he hasn’t seen us lately, and that he hopes that we had a nice Valentine’s Day, and that…that he was going to send me flowers, but he didn’t know which ones I liked best.”
“Oh, this is all just smashing! Maude, who’s yours from!” Alexx leapt up from her seat and soon all four girls were in a comfortable huddle before the fire. Maude made a very careful and deliberate display of opening her envelope, and then said in a very sensible voice,
“Sir Salman says that a baby elephant will be brought to the house for me tomorrow, if that’s quite alright.”
There was an instant of quiet before the room burst into wild chaos. One last bottle of champagne was located, silly music was played, and, yes, there was even some jumping on the sofas. By the time the Poppycock house finally quieted down, dawn was creeping slowly and pinkly over the horizon, and as four tousled heads touched their downy pillows at last, there were no happier girls in London.
