The House of Vandekar (24 page)

Alice never forgot the day Fern announced that she was getting married. It was the weekend when her new portrait was hung in the hall. Hugo had commissioned it for her birthday. Forty-five, she'd complained, and all their friends had chorused in disbelief. The very best age for a woman, one of her admirers insisted, when experience had crowned beauty with dignity and wisdom. Alice had been resisting his efforts to take her out to lunch and then back to his flat in the Albany for years. She just laughed, and said, ‘The only thing experience does is give you bags under the eyes, my dear Robert. I made damned sure they were painted out!' It was a famous portrait, the sensation of that year's Summer Academy. It was reproduced, written about, criticized and praised. The artist was already renowned for his portraits of beautiful women. He said in interviews that the personality of Lady Vandekar was more fascinating than her looks. She had inspired him, he declared. He regarded the portrait as his best work. Few, even among the most jaundiced critics, could disagree. Hugo had been knighted in the New Year's Honours List. It amused Alice to hear Lily calling her ‘My Lady'; Lily got more satisfaction out of it than she did herself. Once or twice it grated and she'd say, ‘Shut up saying that every other word, can't you? Don't be such a damned snob! What's wrong with “madam”?'

‘Nothing, except it's not proper,' was the answer, and Lily got her way.

She liked the portrait. ‘It does you justice,' she announced when it arrived at Ashton. She had infuriated the artist by trying to see the work before it was finished and making loud judgements upon it.

She didn't tell Alice that she'd travelled to London and queued for hours at Burlington House to see it in the exhibition. Alice would have laughed at her. Lily stood with Hugo and Fern and Richard as it was hoisted up into position. It was magnificent, she thought. You'd swear she might step down out of the frame any minute. That artist, puffed up little twerp of a man he might be in her opinion, but he knew how to paint her lady to the life.

‘It looks well, doesn't it?' Hugo said. He was very pleased. He was proud of the picture, proud of the public attention it had received.

‘It's marvellous,' Alice said. Hugo had wanted her festooned with some of the magnificent jewellery he'd given her. The artist had refused to paint her looking, as he put it, like a Christmas fairy. Simplicity, a single ornament, perhaps, but the marvellous shoulders and arms must speak for themselves. Nothing should distract from the colour of flesh against a dark background. He was right, and Hugo admitted it. It was a major work of art.

Fern had come down from college for the weekend. She didn't come home often enough, Hugo thought. He missed her, but it wasn't his way to say so or suggest she give up whatever she was doing to spend time with him. She had matured and gained in confidence. She could have been extremely attractive if she hadn't affected the ragged-artist look. Unkempt hair, no make-up, clothes thrown on, and if every colour clashed, so much the better. Was it a protest against Alice, always so impeccably groomed, and who couldn't hide her irritation, or was it an attempt to blend with her fellow students? He wasn't sure, but he suspected that annoying Alice was the main motive. He didn't say anything and Alice had long since given up.

‘It's very like you,' Fern said, choosing her words carefully and surveying the portrait with a practised eye. ‘There's nothing wrong with the perspective and the background works well.' She paused and lifted her shoulders slightly. ‘But it's so unoriginal, that's the trouble.'

‘Well, it's not a bloody daub like the rubbish you do!' Richard had exploded. ‘It's a lovely picture, and it's the image of Mum.'

He was so easy to goad – she could make him lose his temper and then slide out of range with the infuriating little shrug that was a permanent mannerism. She had a sharp, sly tongue, and Richard was no match for her.

‘I never said it wasn't like her,' she retorted. ‘I just said it was unoriginal, that's all. I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to bow down and worship but, as an artist, I don't like the style. I can't help it.'

‘Fern dear,' Alice decided to put an end to the contest, ‘we all know a portrait has to have two heads and an eye on its chin before you like it. I'm delighted, Hugo darling. Thank you.' She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘Now, why don't we have a drink before lunch?'

‘Why not?' Hugo agreed. It pained him to see the antagonism between brother and sister. They couldn't be in the room together without bickering about something. But then Alice showed such a preference for the boy; Hugo couldn't blame Fern for being jealous.

Fern said rather loudly, ‘Could we have champagne?'

‘Of course,' he answered. ‘We can celebrate the picture.'

Fern gave them all a long and triumphant look. ‘We've got something else to celebrate. That's what I've come down to tell you. I'm getting married.'

Lily stood for a moment looking after them. Fern had led the way into the library, closing the door firmly in case Lily expected to be included among the family. Lily took a deep breath. In all her life she had only hated one person, and that was Fern Vandekar. To say that about the portrait, trying to hurt her mother … Jealous bitch. Thank God she was getting married. The sooner she was out of the house for good, the better. Lily had watched her over the years and suffered a superstitious fear that one day she would do her mother a real harm.

‘Congratulations, and good bloody riddance,' she muttered under her breath, and went upstairs.

‘But you've never mentioned anyone,' Alice protested. ‘We've never even met him!'

‘Well, you will,' Fern answered. ‘I've asked him down for lunch tomorrow. I thought it would be easier if I broke the news first.'

‘It would have been easier if you'd told us you were serious about this man, whoever he is, instead of just dropping a bombshell like this!'

Fern blushed bright red. She had expected opposition from Alice, and she was geared up to do battle. But it was Hugo who was really angry. He was white with rage. He had told the butler to go away, so there was no champagne, no chance for Fern to be defiant.

‘I won't allow it,' he said. ‘I won't have this fellow asked down to my home without even being consulted. As for marriage, he'll have to satisfy me before there's any question of it!'

‘Hugo,' Alice interposed. ‘Fern is twenty-one. She doesn't need our permission, she can do what she likes. For God's sake, let's have a drink and talk about it sensibly.' She gave a warning look at Richard, who had opened his mouth to say something.

It was natural for Hugo to react like this, but she hadn't expected it. He was jealous. As I would be if it was Richard, she thought. I wonder if he realizes why he's making such a scene. I wonder if Fern knew how much trouble she was storing up when she set out to be number one in his life. Mentally, Alice imitated her daughter's habit and shrugged the thought away. What did it matter? She wasn't angry, she was more concerned that the girl wasn't making a fool of herself with someone unsuitable. Someone who knew a rich prize when he saw one. She said to Richard, ‘Get Simpson, darling, and let's have the champagne. Now Fern, tell us about him.'

‘His name, for a start,' Hugo demanded.

Fern's eyes filled with tears. If only it had been her mother she could have coped. But not her father. His cold anger, his accusing look – it was all too much. Her nerve gave way and she burst into tears.

It was Alice who went and put an arm round her shoulder. ‘Now,' she said, ‘pull yourself together. Simpson will be in any minute. You've told the whole household you're getting married. What's he going to think if he sees you sitting here, crying your eyes out? Have this.'

Fern took the delicate handkerchief and blew her nose. She straightened, releasing herself from Alice's embrace. ‘This is why I didn't bring him down to meet you first,' she said. ‘I knew you'd be like this!'

‘Then you realized we wouldn't approve?' Hugo inquired. ‘Yes, come in Simpson. Thank you, no, just leave the tray, we'll help ourselves. Very well, Fern, let's hear about him. What sort of man is he, that you couldn't invite him down for a weekend like anyone else?'

‘Got two heads, has he?' Richard couldn't resist it.

‘Shut up,' Alice snapped. ‘It's not the moment to be funny.'

‘He's not like you and your dreary friends.' Fern rounded on him. ‘He's sensitive and intelligent, and he'll be a great artist one day.'

Richard opened his eyes wide. He looked so like Alice that she could have jumped up and hit him.

‘I'll open the bottle,' he said.

‘Because he's sensitive and intelligent he wouldn't feel comfortable with us, is that right?' Hugo remarked. ‘I don't see why not. Do you Alice?' His sarcasm was cruel.

‘He's not like us,' his daughter protested. Her eyes were brimming again. ‘He's got no money or anything, he's had to work to pay for college. He'd feel shy and uncomfortable even if you were prepared to be nice. Which you're not. None of you!'

‘Wait a minute!' Alice got up. ‘After all, he must know what to expect. He knows who you are, doesn't he?'

‘Oh, yes,' Fern said, ‘yes, he knows. He's read all about you, Daddy and Mummy. No one can help seeing your picture in the papers, can they? He's ready to come down and meet you all, but I said I'd rather tell you myself first.'

‘What's his name?' Alice asked. ‘How old is he?'

Fern wished she wouldn't ask the reasonable questions – she hated her for being calm and trying to mediate. Her father's chilling anger made her feel angry in turn. She'd imagined he would support her. She really had.

‘He's twenty-four,' she said, ‘and his name is Brian Kiernan.'

‘Irish? He's not a Catholic, for God's sake?' Hugo gave a snort of disgust.

‘So what if he is?' Alice interposed. ‘Nobody in their right mind takes that stuff seriously. When did you decide to get engaged?'

‘A few days ago. We're not engaged. I'm not going to have a ring. Brian doesn't believe in that sort of thing. We'll just get married, and that's how we want it.'

‘Is anyone going to drink this or not?' Richard asked. ‘It's just sitting here getting warm.'

Alice held out her hand. She made a face at him as he gave her a glass. Don't get your own back, it said. Not now. Otherwise your father will turn on you. He pulled a face in return. All right, I won't. But it was tempting. Alice lifted the glass and said brightly, ‘Now, we're going to drink a toast. To you, Fern, and your young man, and let's all hold our horses till we've met him, shall we?' She looked at Hugo. ‘Please?'

He didn't say anything. He merely nodded, and didn't raise his glass.

Fern turned away from him. She bit her lip. ‘Thank you, Mummy,' she said.

‘If we don't want this marriage,' Alice said later, ‘we mustn't fight it. That's the one thing that will make Fern go ahead. You say I'm tactless and direct, but, my God, Hugo, you ought to know better.'

Fern had gone for a walk and Richard had loped off with one of Hugo's labradors to find a bit of rough shooting. The atmosphere was so tense, Alice didn't blame him.

‘You don't care,' Hugo challenged her. ‘You've never loved Fern, and you don't really give a damn if she makes a mess of her life or not. If it was Richard you wouldn't be so calm about it!'

‘Richard wouldn't behave like this,' she countered. ‘There's no need to pick on him because you're upset about Fern. And you're wrong – I do care. Not the same way as you do, but I don't want her to get caught by some fortune hunter, and that's what this sounds like to me. Hugo, the best way of driving her closer to this man is for us to be hostile to him. When he comes tomorrow I'm going to be charming, and if you've got any sense you'll be friendly and see what sort of person he is. That will take the drama out of it.'

‘I can't believe she's kept it secret from us,' he said. He was showing more hurt than anger now.

Alice said kindly, ‘She's very young. He's not what we'd expect her to marry. Don't be too disappointed. Wait until tomorrow, and keep cool.'

That evening she took Richard aside. ‘Listen darling; one word of warning. No funny cracks tomorrow, promise me?'

‘She's gone off her head,' Richard protested. ‘She picks up some weirdo at this college and wants to marry him. I won't say anything, Mum, I'll be perfectly nice to him, but Dad's right. He'll have to stop it!'

‘Dad's always right so far as you're concerned, isn't he?' Alice remarked. Hugo couldn't put a foot wrong in his son's eyes. It was sad and touching to see his admiration and loyalty. And to know that it was unappreciated. She smiled at him. ‘Yes, he is right, Richard, but his approach is wrong. I've tried to tell him, and I just hope he'll listen. Anyway, you do your bit tomorrow, won't you?'

‘Don't worry.' He gave her a quick squeeze round the waist. ‘It'll be all right.'

‘Don't be overawed,' Fern had told him. ‘Just be yourself and don't take any nonsense from her. You'll love my father, he's so different …'

He wouldn't admit that he was nervous. Who the hell were these Vandekars anyway, just bloody rich bankers and social climbers. He wasn't going to be put down by them. Or let them bully Fern any longer. He was going to take care of her, and if her family thought he was after her money, they had another think coming …

He could see how anxious Fern was when she met him at the station. The Sunday trains were few and far between, so he had come early. She rushed into his arms, and he kissed her passionately, holding her so tightly she was lifted off the ground. Brian Kiernan didn't believe in hiding emotions. He didn't believe in deceit of any kind. ‘How are you, Ferny? How did they take it? Was it bloody awful for you?'