The Shell Seekers

  She had reached the point where, awash with self-pity, she was ready to recall every long-ago wrong she imagined had been inflicted upon her. Penelope, exhausted by the conversation, suddenly realized that she could take no more. She had already taken too much, and to have to listen to the adolescent blubs of a forty-three year old woman was more than she could bear.

  She said, “Nancy, I think we should finish this conversation.”

  “… I don’t know what I would have done without Granny Keeling. Having her there, just made my life possible.…”

  “Goodbye, Nancy.”

  “… because you never had any time for me … never gave me anything.…” Carefully replacing the receiver, Penelope hung up on her daughter. The angry, raised voice was, mercifully, silenced. At the open windows, filmy curtains stirred in the breeze. Her heart, as always after these distressing occasions, was going jiggety-jig. She reached for her pills, took two, washed them down with water, and lay back on the downy pillows, closing her eyes. She thought about simply giving in. She felt quite drained, and for a moment more than ready to succumb to exhaustion, even tears. But she would not be upset by Nancy. She would not weep.

  After a little, when her heart had settled down again, she put back the covers and got out of bed. She wore a cool and airy dressing-gown, and her long hair was loose. She went to the dressing-table and sat, eyeing, without much satisfaction, her own reflection. Then she reached for her hairbrush and began, with long, slow, and soothing strokes, to brush her hair.

  It was always Olivia. You always loved Olivia.

  That was true. From the moment she was born, and Penelope had first set eyes upon her, a tiny dark infant, with a nose too big for its plain little face, she had experienced this indescribable nearness to her. Because of Richard, Olivia was special. But that was all. She had never loved her more than Nancy and Noel. She had loved them all, her children. Loved each one the best, but for different reasons. Love, she had found, had a strange way of multiplying. Doubling, trebling itself, so that, as each child arrived, there was always more than enough to go round. And Nancy, the first-born, had had more than her share of love and attention. She thought of the small Nancy, so sturdy and engaging, staggering around the garden at Carn Cottage on her short fat legs. Chasing the hens, pushing the wheelbarrow Ernie had made for her, petted and spoiled by Doris, perpetually surrounded by loving arms and smiling faces. What had happened to that little girl? Was it really possible that Nancy had no recall whatsoever of those early days?

  Sadly, it appeared that this was so.

  You never gave me anything.

  That was not true. She knew that it was not true. She had given Nancy what she had given all her children. A home, security, comfort, interest, a place to bring their friends, a stout front door to keep them safe from the outside world. She thought of the big basement in Oakley Street, smelling of garlic and herbs, and warm from the big stove and the open fire. She remembered them all, chattering like sparrows and hungry as hunters, pouring in on dark winter evenings from school; to drop their satchels, tear off their coats, and settle down to consume vast quantities of sausages, pasta, fish cakes, hot buttered toast, plum cake, and cocoa. She remembered that marvellous room at Christmas time, with the sprucy smell of the tree and Christmas cards strung everywhere, like washing, on lines of red ribbon. She thought of the summers, the French windows open to the garden beyond, the shade of the trees, the scent of tobacco plants and the wallflowers. She thought of the children who had played, screaming aimlessly, in that garden. Nancy had been one of them.

  She had given Nancy all this, but she had not been able to give Nancy what she wanted (Nancy never said “wanted,” she said “needed”), because there had never been money enough to pay for the material possessions and lavish treats the girl craved. Party frocks, doll’s perambulators, a pony, boarding school, a coming-out dance, and a London Season. A large and pretentious wedding had been the peak of her ambitions, but she had achieved this heart’s desire only through the timely intervention of Dolly Keeling, who had arranged (and footed the bill for) the entire extravagant, embarrassing affair.

  She laid down her brush at last. She was still enraged with Nancy, but the simple task had calmed her. Once more orderly, she felt better, stronger, in charge of herself, able to make decisions. She coiled, twisted the tail of hair, reached for her tortoise-shell pins, and drove them neatly, and with some force, into place.

  Half an hour later, when Antonia came in search of her, she was back in bed. Sitting up, with pillows plumped, possessions to hand, and her book in her lap.

  A tap at the door, and Antonia’s voice. “Penelope?”

  “Come in.” The door opened, and Antonia’s head appeared around the edge of it. “I just came to…” She entered the room, closing the door behind her. “You’re in bed!” Her expression was one of the gravest concern. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  Penelope closed the book. “No, not ill. Just a little tired. And I don’t feel like coming down for dinner. I’m sorry. Were you waiting for me?”

  “Not for long.” Antonia lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “We went down to the bar, but when you didn’t come, Danus sent me up to see if anything was the matter.”

  Antonia, she saw, was dressed for the evening. She wore a narrow black skirt over which she had belted the oversized cream satin shirt that they had, together, bought in Cheltenham. Her copper-gold hair hung, shining and clean, to her shoulders, and her face, clear-skinned as a sweet apple, innocent of artifice. Save of course those amazingly long, black eyelashes.

  “Don’t you want anything to eat? Would you like me to call room service and have a tray sent up for you?”

  “Perhaps. Later. But I can do that for myself.”

  “I expect,” said Antonia accusingly, “that you’ve been doing too much, walking too far, without Danus and me to make sure that you didn’t.”

  “I haven’t overdone anything. I just got cross.”

  “But what was there to get cross about?”

  “I rang Nancy to wish her a happy Easter and received a flood of abuse in return.”

  “How horrid of her. What on earth was it all about?”

  “Oh, everything. She seems to think I’m senile. That I neglected her as a child and am extravagant in my old age. That I’m secretive and irresponsible and I don’t know how to choose my friends. I think it’s all been festering for some time, but my bringing you and Danus with me to Porthkerris proved the last straw. It all boiled over and came out on top of me.” She smiled. “Oh well. Better out than in, as my darling Papa used to say.”

  Antonia, however, remained indignant. “How could she upset you so much?”

  “I didn’t let her upset me. I got cross instead. Much more healthy. And let’s face it, there is always a funny side to every situation. I hung up on her, and imagined her storming back to George in floods of unbecoming tears, unleashing onto him all the iniquities of her feckless mother. And George, taking refuge behind The Times, saying nothing. He’s always been the most uncommunicative of men. Why Nancy chose to marry him in the first place is beyond all comprehension. No wonder their children are so miserably unattractive. Rupert with his mannerless ways, and Melanie with her baleful glare, always chewing the end of her pigtails.”

  “I don’t think you’re being very kind.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m being malicious. But I’m glad it’s happened, because it’s helped me make up my mind. I’m going to give you a present.” Her huge leather handbag stood on the bedside table. She reached for it, rummaged deep into its capacious interior. Her fingers found what they were looking for. She withdrew the worn leather jewel case. “Here,” she said, and handed it to Antonia. “These are for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. I want you to have them. Take it. Open it.”

  Almost reluctantly, Antonia took the jewel case. Pressed the little catch and snapped it open. Penelope watched her face. Watched
her eyes widen in disbelief, her mouth drop open with amazement.

  “But … these aren’t for me.”

  “They are. I am giving them to you. I want you to have them. Aunt Ethel’s earrings. She left them to me when she died, and I brought them out to Ibiza that time I stayed with you all, and wore them to Cosmo and Olivia’s party. Do you remember?”

  “But of course I do. And you can’t give them to me. I’m sure they’re far too valuable.”

  “No more so than our friendship. No more so than the pleasure you have brought me.”

  “But they must be worth thousands.”

  “I think four thousand. I could never afford the insurance for them, so I had to keep them in the bank. I picked them up that day we went to Cheltenham. And I don’t suppose you’ll be able to afford the insurance either, so they’ll probably have to go back to the bank. Poor things, they don’t have much of a life, do they? But you can wear them now, this evening. Your ears are pierced, they won’t drop out. Put them on, and let’s see how they look.”

  But Antonia still hesitated. “Penelope, if they’re worth so much, shouldn’t you keep them for Olivia or Nancy? Or your granddaughter. Perhaps Melanie should have them.”

  “Olivia will want you to have the earrings, I know. They will remind her of Ibiza and Cosmo and she will agree with me that it’s entirely appropriate that they should be yours. And Nancy has become so tediously greedy and materialistic that she doesn’t deserve anything. And as for Melanie, I doubt that she would ever learn to appreciate their beauty. Now, put them on.”

  Antonia, still looking doubtful, did so, removing them one by one from the worn velvet and slipping the fine golden wires into the lobes of her ears. She pushed back her hair.

  “How do they look?”

  “Perfect. Exactly what you needed to finish off that pretty outfit. Go to the mirror and see for yourself.”

  Antonia did so, slipping off the bed and crossing the room to stand in front of the dressing-table. Penelope watched her reflection in the mirror, and thought she had never seen any girl look quite so sensational.

  “They are totally right for you. You need to be tall to wear such lavish jewellery. And if ever you find yourself strapped for cash, you can always flog them or hock them to a pawnbroker. A nice little nest-egg for you to fall back on.”

  But Antonia remained silent, struck wordless by the magnificence of the gift. Then, after a little, she turned from the mirror and came back to Penelope’s bedside. She shook her head, and said, “I’m bewildered. I can’t think why you should be so kind to me.”

  “One day, when you’re as old as I am, I think you’ll find the answer to that.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll wear them this evening, but tomorrow morning you may have had second thoughts, and if you have, I’ll give them back.”

  “I shan’t have second thoughts. Now that I’ve seen you wear them, I am more certain than ever that they should belong to you. Now, let’s not talk about them any more. Sit down again and tell me about your day. Danus won’t mind. He can wait another ten minutes. And I want to hear everything. Don’t you love that south coast? So different from here, all woods and water. I spent a week there once, during the war. In a house with a garden that sloped down to a creek. There were wild daffodils everywhere, and kittiwakes sitting on the end of the jetty. I sometimes wonder what’s happened to that old house, and who lives there now.” But this was all beside the point. “Now. Where did you go? And who did you see? And was it fun?”

  “Yes, it was lovely. A lovely drive. And interesting too. We saw this huge market garden; with glasshouses and propagating sheds and a shop where people can come and buy plants and watering cans and things. They grow tomatoes and early potatoes and all sorts of exotic vegetables like mange-tout peas.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “Some people called Ashley. Everard Ashley was at Horticultural College with Danus. That’s why we went.”

  She stopped, as though this were all there was to be said. Penelope waited for more, but Antonia fell silent. Such reticence was unexpected. She glanced sharply at Antonia, but she had dropped her eyes and her hands fiddled with the empty jewel case, opening the lid and snapping it shut again. Penelope felt the stirrings of unease. Something was awry. Gently, she prompted. “Where did you have lunch?”

  “We had it with the Ashleys in the kitchen of their house.”

  Pleasant visions of an intimate pub lunch in some delectable inn faded and died.

  “Is Everard married?”

  “No. He lives with his parents. It’s his father’s farm. They run the place together.”

  “And Danus wants to do something on the same lines?”

  “He says so.”

  “Have you discussed it with him?”

  “Yes. Up to a point.”

  “Antonia. What is wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you had a quarrel?”

  “No.”

  “But something has happened.”

  “Nothing has happened. That’s what’s wrong. I get so far, and then I get no further. I think I know him. I think I’m close to him, and then he puts up this reserve. It’s like having a gate slammed shut in your face.”

  “You’re fond of him, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.” A tear seeped from beneath the lowered lashes, began to slide down Antonia’s cheek.

  “In love with him, I think.”

  A long silence. Antonia nodded.

  “But you think that he is not in love with you?”

  The tears were falling fast now. Antonia put up a hand and wiped them away. “I don’t know. He couldn’t be. We’ve been together so much over these last few weeks … surely by now, he has to know, one way or another … there comes a sort of point of no return, and I think we’ve passed it.”

  Penelope said, “It’s my fault. Here…” She reached out to the bedside table and handed Antonia a wad of tissues. Antonia lustily blew her nose. When she had done this, she asked, “Why should it be your fault?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking only of myself. I wanted company, selfish old woman that I am. And so I asked you and Danus to come here with me. Perhaps, too, I was interfering a little. Matchmaking. It’s always fatal. I thought I was being so clever. But perhaps it was all the most dreadful mistake.”

  Antonia looked despairing. “What is it about him, Penelope?”

  “He’s reserved.”

  “It’s more than reserve.”

  “Pride, perhaps.”

  “Too proud to love?”

  “Not that, exactly. But I think he has no money. He knows what he wants, but hasn’t the cash to lay his hands on it. Any sort of a business needs massive capital these days. And so he has no prospects. Perhaps he feels he’s in no position to become involved.”

  “Involvement wouldn’t necessarily mean the responsibility of marriage.”

  “I think with a man like Danus, it probably would.”

  “I could just be with him. We would work something out together. We work well together. In every sort of way.”

  “Have you told him this?”

  “I can’t. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

  “Then I think you must try again. For both your sakes. Tell him how you feel. Lay your cards on the table. You’re good friends, if nothing else. Surely you can be truthful with him?”

  “You mean, tell him that I love him, and that I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and that I don’t care if he hasn’t a penny to his name, and I don’t even care if he doesn’t want to marry me?”

  “Put like that, I admit it does sound a little crude. But … yes. I suppose that is what I mean.”

  “And if he tells me to go on my way?”

  “You’ll be hurt and bruised, but at least you’ll know where you stand. And for some reason, I don’t think he will tell you to go on your way. I think he’ll be honest with you, and you’ll find that the explanation for his
attitude is something quite apart and separate from his relationship with you.”

  “How could it be?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. I would like to know why he neither drinks nor drives a car. It’s none of my business, but I should like to be told. He’s holding something back, of that I’m certain. But knowing him, I cannot believe it’s anything shameful.”

  “I wouldn’t really mind if it was.” Antonia’s tears had ceased. She blew her nose once more and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bawl like that.”

  “Sometimes it’s better. Better out than in.”

  “It’s just that he’s the first man I’ve ever been really attracted to or close to. If there had been strings of others, I suppose I’d be better at coping. But I can’t help the way I feel, and I don’t think I can bear the thought of losing him. When I saw him first, at Podmore’s Thatch, I knew he was special, knew he was going to be somebody very important in my life. And somehow, when we were there, it was all right. It was easy and natural, and we could talk together, and work together, and plant things, and there wasn’t any tension. But here, it’s different. It’s turned into an unreal situation, something I don’t seem to have any control over.…”

  “Oh, my darling, it is my fault. I am sorry. I thought it would be romantic for you and special. Now you mustn’t cry again. You’ll ruin your pretty face and spoil the entire evening.…”

  “I wish I wasn’t me.…” Antonia blurted. “I wish I was Olivia. Olivia would never get into a mess like this.”

  “You’re not Olivia. You’re yourself. You’re beautiful and you’re young. You have everything before you. Never wish to be another person, not even Olivia.”

  “She’s so strong. So wise.”

  “And you will be too. You’ll wash your face and comb your hair, and go downstairs and tell Danus that I’m having a quiet evening by myself, and then you’ll have a drink with him, and go in to dinner, and over dinner you’ll tell him everything that you’ve told me. You’re not a child. You’re neither of you children. This situation cannot continue, and I won’t allow you to make yourself miserable. Danus is a kind man. Whatever happens, whatever he says, he would never deliberately hurt you.”