The Shell Seekers Read Online Free PDF Page B

Daddy had been a darling, of course, while he lasted, but it was his mother, Dolly Keeling, who had consistently shored up • Nancy's confidence and taken her side.
     
    Dolly Keeling had never got on with her daughter-in-law, had no time for Olivia, and was always wary of Noel, but Nancy was her pet, spoiled and adored. It was Granny Keeling who had bought her the puff-sleeved, smocked dresses when Penelope would have sent her eldest child to the party in some antique inherited garment of threadbare lawn. It was Granny Keeling who told her she was pretty and took her on treats like tea in Harrods and visits to the pantomime.
     
    When Nancy became engaged to George, there were terrible rows. By now her father had departed, and her mother could not be made to understand why it was so important to Nancy that she should have a traditional white wedding with bridesmaids and the men in morning coats and a proper reception. Apparently it seemed to Penelope an idiotic way to waste money. Why not a simple family service with perhaps a lunch party afterwards, at the great scrubbed table in the basement kitchen at Oakley Street? Or a party in the garden? The garden was huge, masses of room for everybody, and the roses would be out. . . .
     
    Nancy wept, slammed doors, and said that nobody understood her, nobody ever had. She finally collapsed into a sulk that might have continued forever had not darling Granny Keeling intervened. All responsibility was removed from Penelope, who was delighted to be shed of it, and everything arranged by Granny. No bride could have asked for more. Holy Trinity, a white dress with a train, bridesmaids in pink, and a reception afterwards at Twenty-Three Knightsbridge with a Master of Ceremonies in a red coat and a number of enormous, top-heavy flower arrangements. And darling Daddy, prompted by his mother, had turned up looking divine in a morning coat, to stand by Nancy and give her away, and even Penelope's appearance, hatless.and majestic in layers of ancient brocade and velvet, could do nothing to mar the perfection of the day.
     
    Oh, for Granny Keeling now. Lying in the bath, a great grown woman of forty-three, Nancy wept for Granny Keeling. To have her there, for sympathy and comfort and admiration. Oh my darling, you are quite marvellous, you do so much for your family and your mother and they all take it quite for granted .
     
    She could still hear the loved voice, but it was in her own imagination, for Dolly Keeling was dead. Last year, at the age of eighty-seven, that gallant little lady with her rouged cheeks and her painted nails and her mauve cardigan suits had passed on in her sleep. This sad event took place in the small Kensington private hotel where she had elected, along with a number of other incredibly elderly people, to spend her twilight years, and she was duly wheeled away by the undertaker with whom the Hotel Management, with some foresight, had a standing arrangement.
     
    The next morning was as bad as Nancy had feared. The whisky had left her with a headache, it was colder than ever and pitch-dark when, at seven-thirty in the morning, she hoisted herself out of bed. She dressed, and was mortified to discover that the waistband of her best skirt would not meet and had to be fastened with a safety pin. She pulled on the lamb's-wool sweater which exactly matched the skirt, and averted her eyes from the rolls of fat that bulged over the armour of her formidable brassiere. She put on nylons, but as she usually wore thick woollen stockings, these felt dreadfully inadequate, so she decided to wear her long boots, and then could scarcely do up the zip-fastener.
     
    Downstairs, things did not improve. One of the dogs had been sick, the Aga was lukewarm, and there were only three eggs in the larder. She put the dogs out, cleaned up the sick, and filled the Aga with its own special, enormously expensive fuel, praying meanwhile it would not go out altogether, thus providing Mrs.