The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher Read Free Book Online Page A

was, and Olivia was late, and Nancy was waiting for her, fatter than ever, in her heather wool sweater and skirt and a fur hat roughly the same colour as her faded fair curls, which made her look as though she had grown another head of hair. There she sat, a single female in a sea of business men, with her handbag on her lap and a large gin and tonic on the small table in front of her, and she appeared so ridiculously out of place that Olivia knew a pang of guilt, and as a result sounded more effusive than she felt.
     
    "Oh, Nancy, I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, I got held up. Have you been waiting long?"
     
    They did not kiss. They never kissed.
     
    "It's all right."
     
    "You've had a drink, anyway . . . you don't want another, do you? I booked a table for a quarter to one, and we don't want to lose it."
     
    "Good afternoon, Miss Keeling."
     
    "Oh, hello, Gerard. No, not a drink, thank you, we're a bit pushed for time."
     
    "You have a table ordered?"
     
    "Yes. A quarter to one. I'm afraid I'm a bit late."
     
    "No matter—if you'd like to come through."
     
    He led the way, but Olivia waited for Nancy to heave herself to her feet, gather up her bag and her magazine, and pull her sweater down over her considerable rump before she followed him. The restaurant was warm and packed and loud with mascu-line conversation. They were led to Olivia's usual table, in a far corner of the room, where after the customary obsequious ceremony, they were finally seated on a curved banquette, the table pushed back over their knees and the massive menus produced.
     
    "A glass of sherry while you decide?"
     
    'Terrier for me, please, Gerard . . . and for my sister . . ." She turned to Nancy. "You'd like some wine?"
     
    "Yes, that would be very nice."
     
    Olivia, ignoring the wine list, ordered a half bottle of the house white.
     
    "Now, what do you want to eat?"
     
    Nancy did not really know. The menu was terrifyingly large and all in French. Olivia knew that she could sit there all day, debating over it, so she made a few suggestions, and in the end Nancy agreed to consomm6 and then escalope of veal with mushrooms. Olivia ordered an omelette and a green salad and, with this settled and the waiter gone, "What sort of journey did you have up this morning?" she asked.
     
    "Oh, very comfortable, really. I caught the nine-fifteen. It was a bit of a rush getting the children off to school, but I made it."
     
    "How are the children?"
     
    She tried to sound as though she were really interested, but Nancy knew that she was not and so did not, thankfully, expound on the subject.
     
    "All right."
     
    "And George?"
     
    "He's well, I think."
     
    "And the dogs?" Olivia persevered.
     
    "Fine . . ." Nancy started to say and then remembered. "One of them was sick this morning."
     
    Olivia screwed up her face. "Don't tell me. Not until we've eaten."
     
    The wine waiter appeared, with Olivia's Perrier and Nancy's half bottle. These were deftly opened and the wine poured. The man waited. Nancy remembered that she was meant to taste it, so she took a sip, pursed her lips professionally, and pronounced it delicious. The bottle was placed on the table and the wine waiter, expressionless, withdrew.
     
    Olivia poured her own Perrier. "Don't you ever drink wine?" Nancy asked her.
     
    "Not during business lunches."
     
    Nancy raised her eyebrows, appearing almost arch. "Is this a business lunch?"
     
    "Well, isn't it? Isn't that what we're here to do? Talk business about Mumma." The baby name as usual irritated Nancy. All three of Penelope's children called her by a different name. Noel addressed her as Ma. Nancy, for some years, had called her Mother, which she considered suitable to their ages and to Nancy's own station in life. Only Olivia—so hard-hearted and sophisticated in every other way—persisted with "Mumma." Nancy sometimes wondered if Olivia realized how ridiculous she sounded. "We'd better get on with it. I haven't got all