The Shell Seekers (85 page)

From the back of the church, from the open doorway, came the sounds of a small disturbance, and hushed voices. Then footsteps made their way swiftly down the aisle, and Olivia turned to see Antonia and Danus slip into the empty pew behind them.

"You made it."

Antonia leaned forward. She was, apparently, recovered, with colour back in her cheeks. "I'm sorry we're so late," she whispered.

"Just in time."

"Olivia . . . this is Danus."

Olivia smiled. "I know," she said.

Overhead, far above, the tower clock struck three.

With the service almost over, and a short tribute spoken, Mr. Tillingham announced the hymn. Mrs. Tillingham played the first few bars, and the congregation, with hymn-books at the ready, rose to their feet.

For all the Saints who from their labours rest 

Who thee by faith before the world confessed 

Their name, O Jesu, be forever blest

Alleluia

The villagers of Temple Pudley were familiar with the tune, and their voices, raised, caused the old worm-eaten rafters to ring. It wasn't perhaps the most suitable hymn for a funeral, but Olivia had chosen it because it was the only one she knew that Mumma really liked. She mustn't forget any of the things that Mumma really liked; not just lovely music, and having people to stay, and growing flowers, and ringing up for long chats just when you most hoped she would. But other things—like laughter, and fortitude and tolerance, and love. Olivia knew she must not let these qualities go from her life, just because Mumma had gone. Because, if she did, then the nicer side of her complex personality would shrivel and die, and she would be left with nothing but her inborn intelligence, and her relentless, driving ambition. She had never contemplated the security of marriage, but she needed men —if not as lovers, then as friends. To receive love, she must remain a woman prepared to give it, otherwise she would end up as a bitter and lonely old lady, with a cutting tongue and probably not a friend in the world.

But the next few months would not be easy. As long as Mumma was alive, she knew that some small part of herself had remained a child, cherished and adored. Perhaps you never com-pletely grew up until your mother died. 

Thou was their Rock, their Fortress and their Might, 

Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight.

She sang. Loudly. Not because she had a particularly strong voice, but because, like that child whistling in the dark, it helped to boost her courage.

Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light, 

Alleluia

Nancy had succumbed to tears. All the way through the service she had kept them resolutely at bay, but all at once she was beyond caring, and let them flow. Her sobs were noisy, and doubtless embarrassing to others, but there was nothing she could do about them except, from time to time, noisily blow her nose. Soon she would have used up all the Kleenex she had stuffed, with some forethought, into her bag.

She wished, beyond all else, that she could have seen Mother again . . . or even just spoken to her . . . after that last, dreadful telephone conversation when Mother had called from Corn-wall, to wish them all a happy Easter. But Mother had behaved in the most extraordinary fashion, and some things, there was no doubt, were better said, aired and out in the open. But finally, Mother had hung up on Nancy, and before Nancy had either the time or the opportunity to put things straight between them, Mother had died.

Nancy did not blame herself. But lately, waking in the middle of the night, she had found herself strangely alone in the darkness, and weeping. She wept now, not minding if people saw, not caring if they listened to her grief. That grief was evident, and she was not ashamed. The tears flowed and she made no effort to stop them, and they flowed like water, damping down the hard, hot embers of her own unacknowledged guilt.

O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold Fight as the Saints who nobly fought of old And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold

Alleluia

Noel did not join in the singing, did not even go through the motions of holding an open hymnal. He stood, at the end of the pew, motionless, with one hand in his jacket pocket and the other resting on the wooden rail in front of him. His handsome face showed no expression, and it was impossible for any person to imagine what he was thinking.

Oh, blest communion! Fellowship Divine! We feebly struggle, they in glory shine
.

Mrs. Plackett, near the back of the church, raised her voice in joyful praise. Her hymnal was held high, her considerable chest outflung. It was a lovely service. Music, flowers, and now a rousing hymn . . . just what Mrs. Keeling would have enjoyed. And a good turn-out too. All the village had come. The Saw-combes, and Mr. and Mrs. Hodgkins from the Sudeley Arms. Mr. Kitson, the Bank Manager from Pudley, and Tom Hadley, who ran the newsagents, and a dozen or so others. And the family were holding up well, all except for that Mrs. Chamberlain, sobbing away for all the world to hear. Mrs. Plackett did not believe in letting emotion show. Keep yourself to yourself had always been her motto. Which was one of the reasons she and Mrs. Keeling had always been such friends. A true friend, Mrs. Keeling had been. She was going to leave a real hole in Mrs. Plackett's life. Now she glanced around the crowded church, made a few mental calculations. How many of them would be coming back to the house for tea? Forty? Forty-five, perhaps. With a bit of luck, Mr. Plackett would have remembered to put the kettles on to boil.

Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine. 

Alleluia
.

She hoped there would be enough fruit-cake.

15

MR. ENDERBY

By a quarter past five the funeral tea was over, the rearguard of the stragglers had said goodbye and taken themselves home. Olivia, seeing them off, watched the last car turn the corner by the gate and then, in some relief, turned and went back into the house. The kitchen hummed with activity. Mr. Plackett and Danus, who had spent the last half-hour directing traffic and endeavouring to untangle a number of ineptly parked cars, had now moved indoors and were helping Mrs. Plackett and Antonia collect and wash up all the tea-things. Mrs. Plackett was at the sink, elbow-deep in suds. Mr. Plackett, obliging as ever, stood at her side and dried the silver teapot. The dishwasher whirred, Danus came through the door with another trayful of cups and saucers, and Antonia was getting the vacuum cleaner out of its cupboard.

Olivia felt unnecessary and at a loss. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked Mrs. Plackett.

"Not a thing." Mrs. Plackett did not turn from the sink; her reddened hands set saucers in the rack with the speed and accuracy of a conveyor belt. "Many hands make light work, I always say."

"It was a fantastic tea. And not a crumb of your fruit-cake left."

But Mrs. Plackett had neither the time nor the inclination to chat. "Why don't you go into the sitting room and take the weight off your feet? Mrs. Chamberlain and your brother and the other gentleman are there now. Another ten minutes and the dining room will be straight, and ready for your little meeting."

It was an excellent suggestion, and Olivia did not argue with it. She was very tired and her back ached from standing. Going through the hall, she thought about nipping up the stairs, soaking in a boiling bath, and then getting into bed, with cool sheets, soft pillows, and an absorbing book. Later, she promised herself. The day was not yet over. Later.

In the sitting room, already cleared of all traces of the tea-party, she found Noel, Nancy, and Mr. Enderby, all disposed in comfortable fashion, and making polite small talk. Nancy and Mr. Enderby sat in the armchairs on either side of the hearth, but Noel had taken up his usual position, with his back to the fire, his shoulders propped against the mantelshelf. As Olivia appeared, Mr. Enderby rose to his feet. He was a man in his early forties, but with his bald head, rimless spectacles, and sober clothes, he appeared much older. Despite this, his manner was easy and relaxed, and during the course of the afternoon Olivia had observed him making himself known to the other guests, replenishing teacups and handing around sandwiches and cake. As well, he had spent some time talking to Danus, which was nice, because Nancy and Noel had chosen to ignore him. The holiday in Cornwall at Mumma's expense and the wild extravagance of The Sands Hotel were obviously still rankling.

"I am sorry, Mr. Enderby, I'm afraid we're running a little late." She sank thankfully into the corner of the sofa, and Mr. Enderby once more sat down.

"No matter. I am in no hurry."

From the dining room came sounds of the vacuum cleaner being wielded. "They've just got to clean up the crumbs and then we can start. How about you, Noel? Have you got some pressing date in London?"

"Not this evening."

"And Nancy? You're not pushed for time?"

"Not really. But I have to collect the children, and I prom-ised that I wouldn't be late." Nancy, having blubbed her way through most of the service, was now recovered and looked quite cheerful again. Perhaps because she had removed her hat. George was already gone, having taken his leave in the churchyard, sent on his way by Nancy with loud admonitions to drive carefully and to give her regards to the Archdeacon, both of which he had promised to do. "And I'd like to be back before dark. I hate driving, by myself, in the dark."

The sound of the vacuum cleaner ceased. The next moment, the door opened and Mrs. Plackett's head, still wearing her funeral hat, came around the edge of it.

"That's it then, Miss Keeling."

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Plackett."

"If it's all right by you, Mr. Plackett and me are on our way home."

"Of course. And I can't thank you enough."

"It's been a pleasure. See you tomorrow."

She went. Nancy frowned. "Tomorrow's Sunday. Why is she coming tomorrow?"

"She's going to help me clear out Mumma's room." Olivia stood up. "Shall we go?"

She led the way into the dining room. All was orderly, and a green baize cloth had been draped over the table.

Noel raised his eyebrows. "Looks like a board meeting." Nobody remarked on this observation. They sat down, Mr. En-derby taking his place at the head of the table, with Noel and Olivia on either side of him. Nancy sat by Noel. Mr. Enderby opened his brief-case and took out various papers, which he laid before him. It was all very formal, and he was in charge. They waited for him to begin.

He cleared his throat. "To begin with, I am very grateful that you all agreed to stay on after your mother's funeral. I hope it hasn't inconvenienced any of you. A formal will-reading is, of course, not strictly necessary, but it did seem to me a fortuitous opportunity, while you are all together under one roof, to let you know how your mother wished to dispose of her estate and, if necessary, to explain any points that you might not fully understand. Now . . ." From the papers before him, Mr. Enderby took up a long envelope and drew out the heavy, folded document. Unfolding it, he spread it on the table. Olivia saw Noel avert his eyes, inspect his fingernails, as though anxious not to be seen glancing out of the corner of his eye, like a schoolboy cheating in examinations.

Mr. Enderby adjusted his spectables. "This is the last will and testament of Penelope Sophia Keeling nee Stern, dated the eighth of July, 1980." He glanced up. "If you don't mind, I shan't read verbatum, but will simply outline your mother's wishes as we come to them." They all nodded agreement to this. He continued. "To begin with, there are two bequests outwith the family. To Mrs. Florence Plackett, 43 Hodges Road, Pudley, Gloucestershire, the sum of two thousand pounds. And to Mrs. Doris Penberth, 7 Wharf Lane, Porthkerris, Cornwall, five thousand pounds."

"How splendid," said Nancy, for once approving of her mother's generosity. "Mrs. Plackett's been such a treasure. What Mother would have done without her, I really can't imagine."

"And Doris, too," Olivia said, "Doris was Mumma's dearest friend. They went through the war together; they became very close."

"I believe," said Mr. Enderby, "that I have met Mrs. Plackett, but I don't think Mrs. Penberth was with us today."

"No. She couldn't come. She telephoned to explain. Her husband was unwell and she didn't feel that she could leave him. But she was dreadfully upset."

"In that case, I shall write to both these ladies and let them know of the bequests." He made a note. "Now. With that disposed of, we come to family matters." Noel leaned back in his chair, felt in his breast pocket, and took out his silver pen. He began to play with this, loosening the cap with his thumb, and then snapping it shut again. "To begin with, there are specific items of furniture which she wanted each of you to have. For Nancy, the Regency sofa table in the bedroom. I believe your mother used it as a dressing-table. For Olivia, the desk in the sitting room, once the property of Mrs. Keeling's father, the late Lawrence Stern. And for Noel, the dining room table and set of eight dining room chairs. Which, I imagine, we are sitting on now."

Nancy turned to her brother. "Where will you put them in that rabbit-warren of a flat? There's not room to swing a cat in it."