Her compulsive attention to surface appearance was evident this week in the solemnities that marked Reagan's passing. Each moment was scripted. Her hand was present everywhere That same compulsive attention to appearance was evident this week in the coast-to-coast solemnities that marked Reagan's passing. Each moment was scripted, from the placement of his riding boots in the stirrups of the riderless black horse that accompanied his procession through Washington, to tonight's burial at sunset back in California.
Nancy's face was often hidden behind large brown spectacles but her hand was present everywhere, fluttering in a wave from the window of the limousine as it passed through the crowds lining the route, administering pats to the coffin as it arrived at the US Capitol. As the frail figure in black watched the spectacle unfold, it was hard to shake the impression that she was ticking things off on an imaginary checklist, and was immensely proud of how it was all turning out.
When it came to Nancy and Ronnie - as she always called him - it was always thus. Now 82, and with her own health problems, Mrs Reagan has devoted her life to her husband. The past 10 years were undoubtedly painful, with his descent into Alzheimer's. But they were also transcendent, effecting her transformation in the public mind from self-involved socialite to self-abnegating spouse.
In the 1980s she was near the bottom of the heap in popularity among US first ladies - coming 36th out of 37 in a 1993 opinion poll. She was derided for soliciting $200,000 from donors for a new set of state china, for meddling with the White House staff and for aligning her schedule to astrological forecasts. In the months before Reagan's death, and this week especially, she was recast as a heroine. A nursemaid - albeit with a whole retinue of staff to cover for the thrice-weekly lunch dates - to a husband who had long ceased to recognise her, and a campaigner on Alzheimer's disease.
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