The Feast by Margaret Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page B

‘Any woman can get any man she wants, for once anyway , if she’s willing to lower herself enough.’
    ‘That’s quite right,’ sighed Nancibel.
    Something a little regretful about her sigh prompted her mother to add sharply:
    ‘I said for once, not for keeps. And it never comes to good.’
    ‘That’s right. I know. Well, this fellow did a vanishing act. But the sister was sore about it and all the family took her part, which is why Miss Ellis quarrelled with all her relations, and why she has to work when her family is wealthy. That’s what she says.’
    Nancibel crossed to the mirror by the door to take a last glance at herself before she went out.
    ‘I shan’t be late,’ she said. ‘We’re just going along the parade for a bit to listen to the band.’
    Mrs. Thomas came with her to the door and watched her go down the lane.
    If only she could meet Somebody, thought the mother. Some nice fellow that would appreciate her and look after her. Not too young. Somebody superior. So sweet and so pretty, my sweet Nancibel. And clever with it.
    Nobody’s good enough, and she’s well rid of that soppy Brian if she only knew it. But there’s nobody good enough round here.
    For Mrs. Thomas came from the Home Counties, and despised the rustic population of Porthmerryn.
    At the first little terrace at the top of the hill there was a cottage with a notice on the door:
    LEDDRA. CHIMNEY SWEEP.
    Here Nancibel stopped to pick up her old school friend, Alice Leddra. They went down the steep hill, through the narrow streets, to the Marine Parade, where a band was playing and half the population of Porthmerryn was strolling up and down. Alice was full of a new boy whom she had picked up at the Drill Hall dance on Wednesday . He had said that he was staying at the Marine Parade Hotel, and she hoped that she might meet him again.
    Nancibel was sceptical.
    ‘Stopping at the Marine Parade? Then whatever was he doing at the Drill Hall? They’ve dances every night at the M.P., and a much better band.’
    ‘Oh, he doesn’t like the M.P. dances. He says the people there make him sick. Nothing but business men and their bong zammies.’
    ‘Bong how much?’
    ‘Bong zammies. You know … French for tarts. He’s ever so good looking, Nance. And can he dance! But you see he doesn’t feel at home anywhere because of his childhood.’
    ‘What was the matter with his childhood?’
    ‘Well, really, it’s quite a romance. You see he was born in a slum…. You know … in Limehouse. An awful place. And all his family was on the dole. But he got out of it and got himself educated and made a lot of artistic friends, and now he’s a writer.’
    ‘Good gracious! When did he tell you all this? At the Drill Hall?’
    ‘Yes. You see he said he felt he could talk to me. He felt I was sort of different.’
    ‘Alice, I know you never left home because you were in the net factory. But even in Porthmerryn there were the G.I.’s. What’s kept you so green?’
    ‘He’s not what you think,’ said Alice a little crossly. ‘He’s not the type boy you’d have met when you were in the A.T.S.’
    ‘I never met any type boy that didn’t want to talk about himself, and they all told me I was different. But I will say I never met one that made enough money writing to stop at the M.P. Let’s hope he sends some of it back to his poor family in Limehouse.’
    They had moved to the sea wall and were leaning on the parapet, listening to selections from Il Trovatore played by the band. Dusk was falling and the lights of the harbour were beginning to shine in the water. The sea was very calm. An occasional wave fell with an indolent flop on the shingle. Across the bay Pencarrick Lighthouse sent a long beam through the air, sweeping from the horizon to the mysterious, dim mass of houses on the hill.
    ‘There he is!’ cried Alice suddenly.
    She pointed out an astonishingly beautiful young man who was wandering moodily all by himself on the