The Shell Seekers

by Rosamunde Pilcher

  “Penelope.” Penelope stopped, looked upwards. Antonia’s head and shoulders were framed in a tangle of honeysuckle. “It’s after six o’clock. Would you mind if I telephoned Danus? I promised I would, just to let him know we’re safely back.”

  “Of course. Use the phone in my bedroom. And send my love.”

  “I will.”

  In the kitchen, she found a lustre jug and filled it with water, and into it placed the rhododendron flower. She carried this through to the living room, already lavishly decorated by Mrs. Plackett’s unprofessional but loving hands. She put the jug on her desk, picked up her mail, and settled herself in her armchair. The dull buff-coloured letters, most likely containing bills, were dropped to the floor. The others … she leafed them through. A thick white envelope looked interesting. She recognized Rose Pilkington’s spidery handwriting. She slit the envelope with her thumb. She heard a car turning in at the gate, to draw up and stop at the front door.

  She did not move from her chair. A stranger would ring the bell, a friend would simply walk indoors. This visitor did just that thing. Footsteps crossed the kitchen, the hall. The door of the living room opened and her son Noel walked into the room.

  She could scarcely have been more surprised. “Noel!”

  “Hello.” He wore a pair of fawn twill trousers, a sky-blue sweater, a red-spotted cotton handkerchief knotted at his neck. He was very tanned and looked quite amazingly handsome. Rose Pilkington’s letter was forgotten.

  “Where have you sprung from?”

  “Wales.” He shut the door behind him. She raised her face, expecting one of his perfunctory kisses, but he did not stoop to embrace her. Instead, with some grace, he arranged himself in front of the fireplace, his shoulders propped against the mantelpiece, his hands in his trouser pockets. Behind his head, the wall where once The Shell Seekers had hung looked bare and empty. “I was there for Easter weekend. Now I’m on my way back to London. Thought I’d drop in.”

  “Easter weekend? But it’s Wednesday.”

  “It was a long weekend.”

  “How very convenient for you. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Very much, thank you. And how was Cornwall?”

  “Magic. We got back about five o’clock. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

  “And where are your travelling companions?” His voice had an edge to it. She looked at him sharply, but his eyes veered away and he would not meet her gaze.

  “Danus is in Scotland. He went back yesterday, by train. And Antonia is upstairs, in my bedroom, ringing him up to let him know that we have arrived safely.”

  Noel raised his eyebrows. “From that bit of information, it’s hard to guess exactly what has happened. Returning to Scotland seems to indicate that relations became strained while you all lived it up at The Sands Hotel. And yet, at this moment, Antonia is talking to him on the telephone. You’ll have to explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. Danus had an appointment in Edinburgh which he had to keep. As simple as that.” Noel’s expression implied that he did not believe her. She decided to change the subject. “Do you want to stay for supper?”

  “No, I must get back to London.” But he did not shift himself.

  “A drink then … would you like a drink?”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  She thought, I will not let him bully me. She said, “But I would like one. I would like a whisky and soda. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to get it for me.”

  He hesitated, and then went through to the dining room. She heard cupboards being opened, the clink of glass. She stacked the letters that lay in her lap, and laid them neatly on the table beside her chair. When he returned, she saw that he had changed his mind about that drink, and carried two glasses. He gave her one, and returned to his former position.

  He said, “And The Shell Seekers?”

  So that was it. She smiled. “Was it Olivia who told you about The Shell Seekers, or was it Nancy?”

  “Nancy.”

  “Nancy was deeply hurt that I’d done such a thing. Personally offended. Is that how you feel? Is that what you’ve come to tell me?”

  “No. I just want to know what in God’s name induced you to do such a thing.”

  “My father gave it to me. In giving it to the Gallery, I feel that I’ve simply given it back to him.”

  “Have you any idea what that picture is worth?”

  “I know what it’s worth to me. As for a financial appraisal, it’s never been exhibited before and so it has never been valued.”

  “I rang my friend, Edwin Mundy, and told him what you’d done. He’d never seen the picture, of course, but he had a very clear idea of what it would fetch in a sale-room. Do you know the price he put on it…?”

  “No, and I don’t wish to be told.” Noel opened his mouth to tell her but found himself on the receiving end of a warning glance so formidable that he shut it again, and said nothing. “You are angry,” his mother told him. “Because, for some reason, both you and Nancy feel that I have given away something which, by rights, belongs to you. It doesn’t, Noel. It never did. As for the panels, you should be gratified that I took your advice. You urged me to sell them, and it was you who put me on to Boothby’s and Mr. Roy Brookner. Mr. Brookner found me a private buyer and I was offered a hundred thousand for them. I accepted this. The money is there, to be included in my estate when I die. Doesn’t that satisfy you, or do you want more?”

  “You should have discussed it with me. I am, after all, your son.”

  “We had discussed it. Over and over. And each time the discussion came to nothing, or ended in a row. I know what you want, Noel. You want money now. In your hand. To squander as you wish on some wild-goose idea that will in all probability come to nothing. You’ve got a perfectly good job but you want a better one. Commodity broking. And once you’ve got that out of your system, and probably lost every penny you possess in the process, then it’ll be something else … some other pot of gold at the end of a non-existent rainbow. Happiness is making the most of what you have, and riches is making the most of what you’ve got. You have so much going for you. Why can’t you see that? Why do you always want more?”

  “You talk as though I think only of myself. I don’t. I’m thinking of my sisters as well, and your grandchildren. One hundred thousand sounds a lot, but there’ll be taxes to pay, and if you continue to squander it on any lame dog that comes your way and takes your fancy—”

  “Noel, don’t talk to me as though I were senile. I am perfectly in charge of my senses; I shall choose my own friends and make my own decisions. Going to Porthkerris, staying at The Sands, taking Danus and Antonia to keep me company was the first time in my life, the very first time, that I have experienced the joys of extravagance and generosity. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to weigh the worth of every penny. For the first time, I was able to give with no worry about the cost. It was an experience that I shall never forget, and made all the more heartwarming by the grace and gratitude with which it was received.”

  “Is that what you want? Endless gratitude?”

  “No, but I think you should try to understand. If I’m wary of you and your needs and your schemes, it’s because I’ve lived through it all before with your father, and I’m not about to start again.”

  “You can scarcely blame me for my father.”

  “I don’t. You were just a little boy when he walked out on us all. But in you he left a lot of himself behind. Good things. His looks, his charm, and his undoubted abilities. But other characteristics as well, which are not so commendable—grand ideas; lavish tastes; and no respect for other people’s property. I am sorry. I hate to say such things. But it seems the time has come for you and me to be quite open with each other.”

  He said, “I had no idea you disliked me so much.”

  “Noel, you are my son. Can’t you see that if I didn’t love you beyond all else, I would never trouble to say these things?”

&
nbsp; “You have an odd way of showing love. Giving all you possess to strangers … nothing to your children.”

  “You talk like Nancy. Nancy told me that I never gave her anything. What is wrong with you both? You and Nancy and Olivia were my life. For years you were everything I lived for. And yet now, hearing you say such things, I am filled with despair. I feel that somewhere and somehow I have totally and utterly failed you.”

  “I think,” said Noel slowly, “that you have.”

  After that, there seemed to be nothing more to say. He finished his drink, turned and set the glass on the mantelpiece. He was, it was obvious, about to take his leave, and the thought of his going with the bitterness of their quarrel still between them was more than Penelope could bear. “Stay for supper with us, Noel. We won’t be late. You’ll be back in London by eleven.”

  “No. I must go.” He moved away.

  She pulled herself out of her chair and followed him through the kitchen and out of the door. Without looking at her, or meeting her eyes, he got into his car, slammed the door shut, fastened his seat-belt, switched on the ignition.

  “Noel.” He faced his mother, his handsome features unsmiling, antagonistic, without love. She said, “I am sorry.” He nodded briefly, acknowledging her apology. She tried a smile. “Come back again soon.” But the car was already moving, and her words drowned in the roar of its supercharged engine.

  When he had gone, she went back indoors. She stood at the kitchen table and thought about supper, and could not think what she meant to do. With an enormous effort she gathered her wits; she made her way to the larder, fetched potatoes, carried the basket to the sink. She turned on the cold tap and watched it run. She thought of tears but was beyond weeping.

  She stood there, incapable, for some minutes. Then the kitchen telephone rang sharply once and jerked her back to reality. She opened a drawer, took out her small, sharp knife. When Antonia came running down the stairs to find her, she was peacefully peeling potatoes.

  “I’m sorry, we talked for ages. Danus says he’ll pay you for the call. It must have cost pounds.” Antonia sat on the table and swung her legs. She was smiling and looked sleek and satisfied as a little cat. “He sent you his dearest love, and says he’s writing you a long letter. Not a bread-and-butter letter, a toast-and-marmalade one. And he’s seeing the doctor tomorrow morning, and he’s going to ring us the moment he knows what the verdict is. He sounded terrific, not worried in the very least. And he says the sun’s shining, even in Edinburgh. I’m sure that’s a good sign, aren’t you? A hopeful one. If it had been raining, it wouldn’t be nearly so cheerful for him. Did I hear voices? Did you have a caller?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. It was Noel, on his way back to London from a weekend in Wales. A very long weekend, he assured me.” It was all right, her voice was fine, just right, casual and quite steady. “I asked him to stay for supper, but he wanted to get back. So he had a drink and took himself off.”

  “I’m sorry I missed him. But there was so much to say to Danus. I couldn’t stop chattering. Would you like me to do those potatoes? Or shall I go and find a cabbage or something? Or lay the table? Isn’t it lovely to be home? I know it’s not my home but it feels like it, and it’s somehow so perfect to be back again. You feel like that too, don’t you? You’re not regretting anything?”

  “No,” Penelope told her. “I regret nothing.”

  * * *

  The next morning at nine o’clock, she made two telephone calls to London, and two appointments. One of them was with Lalla Friedmann.

  * * *

  Danus’ appointment was at ten o’clock and they had worked out the previous evening that it would be at least half past eleven before he could get himself to a telephone, to let them know the doctor’s verdict. But the call came just before eleven and it was Penelope who answered it because Antonia was down in the orchard, hanging out a line of washing in the breezy wind.

  “Podmore’s Thatch.”

  “It’s Danus.”

  “Danus! Oh dear, Antonia’s out in the garden. What news? Tell me at once. What news have you for us?”

  “I haven’t any news.”

  Penelope’s heart dropped with disappointment. “Didn’t you see the doctor?”

  “Yes, I did, and then I went up to the hospital for my EEG, but … and you’re never going to believe this … the computer there is on the blink and they couldn’t give me the results.”

  “I don’t believe it. How utterly exasperating! How long have you got to wait?”

  “I don’t know. They couldn’t say.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Do you remember me telling you about my friend Roddy McCrae? I had a drink with him last night in The Tilted Wig, and he’s off tomorrow morning for a week’s fishing in Sutherland. He asked me to go with him, to stay in the croft, and I’ve decided to accept his invitation, and just light out. If I have to wait two days to hear the results of the brain-scan, I might as well wait a week. And at least I won’t be kicking my heels at home, biting the ends off my fingernails and driving my mother insane.”

  “So when will you return to Edinburgh?”

  “Thursday, probably.”

  “Is there no way that your mother can get in touch with you at the croft, and let you have some news?”

  “No. I told you, it’s at the back of beyond. And, to be truthful, I’ve lived so long with this thing, I can wait another seven days.”

  “In that case, perhaps it’s better to go. And, in the meantime, we’ll keep our fingers crossed. We won’t stop thinking about you for a single moment. You promise to call us the moment you get back?”

  “Of course. Is Antonia around…?”

  “I’ll fetch her. Hold on.”

  She left the receiver hanging by its cable and went out through the conservatory. Antonia was ambling back across the grass with the empty washing basket under her arm. She wore a pink shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a navy-blue cotton skirt, blowing in the wind.

  “Antonia. Quick, it’s Danus…”

  “Already?” The colour flowed from her cheeks. “Oh, what did he say? What’s happened?”

  “No news yet because the computer’s broken down … but let him tell you for himself. He’s waiting on the telephone. Here … I’ll take the basket.”

  Antonia thrust it at her and fled indoors. Penelope carried the basket to the garden seat which stood outside the sitting room window. Really, life was too cruel. If it wasn’t one thing, then it was another. But better, perhaps, under the circumstances, that Danus should take himself off with his friend. The company of an old colleague was sometimes the answer on such occasions. She imagined the two young men in that world of endless moors and towering hills, bitter-cold northern seas, and deep, brown, fast-flowing rivers. They would fish together. Yes, it was a good decision that Danus had made. Fishing was said to be immensely therapeutic.

  A movement caught the corner of her eye. She looked, and watched Antonia emerge from the conservatory and come across the grass towards her. The girl looked despondent, dragging her feet like a child. She thumped herself down beside Penelope and said, “Damn.”

  “I know. It’s very frustrating. For all of us.”

  “Beastly bloody old computer. Why can’t they make these things work? And why does it have to happen to Danus?”

  “I must say, it is the cruelest of luck. But there’s nothing to be done, so we must just make the best of it.”

  “It’s all very well for him; he’s going off fishing for a week.”

  Penelope had to smile. “You sound,” she told Antonia, “like a neglected wife.”

  “Do I really?” Antonia became remorseful. “I don’t mean to. It’s just that another week to Wait seems endless.”

  “I know. But it’s much better that he shouldn’t just sit around and wait for the telephone to ring. Nothing in this world is more demoralizing. He’s much better to be happily occupied. I’m sure you d
on’t grudge him that. And the week will pass. You and I will occupy ourselves happily. I’m going to London on Monday. Would you like to come with me?”

  “To London? Why?”

  “Just to see some old friends. I haven’t been for long enough. If you’d like to come with me, we could take the car. But if you’d rather stay here, perhaps you’d drive me to Cheltenham and I’ll catch the train.”

  Antonia thought about this suggestion. Then she said, “No. I think I’ll stay. I might have to go back to London soon enough, and it’s a waste to miss a single day in the country. And Mrs. Plackett isn’t coming on Monday because of Darren’s birthday, so I’ll do the housework and cook a delicious dinner for you to come home to. Besides”—she smiled, looking more like her old self again—“there’s always the faintest possibility that Danus might find himself within ten miles of a telephone and decide to ring me up. It would be a tragedy if I wasn’t here.”

  * * *

  And so Penelope went to London alone. As they had planned, Antonia drove her to Cheltenham and she caught the 9:15. In London, she visited the Royal Academy and lunched with Lalla Friedmann. Afterwards, she took a taxi and drove to the Gray’s Inn Road, and the offices of Enderby, Looseby & Thring, Solicitors. She gave her name to the girl who sat behind the reception desk and was led up two flights of narrow stairs to Mr. Enderby’s private office. The girl knocked and opened the door.

  “Mrs. Keeling to see you, Mr. Enderby.”

  She stood back. As Penelope went through the door, Mr. Enderby rose to his feet and came from behind his desk to greet her.

  * * *