The House of Vandekar (3 page)

Mother and daughter were so different, but they couldn't have been closer. Phoebe Holmes Fry was small and dark and inclined to plumpness. Alice, she thought proudly, was so like her father, with his bright blond hair and those amazing blue eyes. No wonder the women had run after him – it wasn't really his fault. Alice had his height and slender build, his magnetism, so that people clustered around her.

‘Why go to England, sweetheart? You've got some nice young men just dying to propose, but you won't let them.'

‘Mother,' Alice had said, ‘they're dull and I'm not in love with any of them. I want someone special. There's no one special here.'

At least not interested in me. Daddy's final curtain exit hasn't helped my chances, but I'm not going to say that. She mustn't be hurt. He hurt her enough for a whole lifetime, the bastard. If we go to England I'll meet the sort of man I want. I know I will.

They booked into the Ritz. ‘But sweetheart,' her mother had protested, ‘we really can't afford to stay there!'

‘We can't afford not to,' was Alice's answer. ‘We must do it in style, Mother, or not at all. We've got to rent a house, where we can entertain, and it's got to be in the right part of the city. We've budgeted. We've got a year. Don't worry – everything will be fine, I just know it.'

‘I don't know where you get all that confidence,' Phoebe said. ‘Certainly not from me. Maybe your dear father …'

Alice turned away and said, ‘Maybe.' She didn't want her expression to be seen.

They had personal introductions, and part of the expenditure was a fee to a lady of ancient lineage and very modest means who promoted and presented young ladies like Alice at Court. They met for tea in the Ritz two days after their arrival. Lady Margaret was slightly lofty in her attitude towards them. Phoebe felt intimidated, Alice irritated. She might be a duke's daughter, but she was getting paid.

When the plans were laid, the sandwiches and China tea and little cakes removed, she found a chance to remind her of it. A quartet was playing tunes from the latest musical successes in the West End.
Evergreen
, with an actress called Jessie Matthews. Alice wanted to see that.

‘I think we've discussed everything,' Lady Margaret said, and gathered gloves and handbag. She was a tall, rangy woman who had once been good-looking in a rawboned way. The Court presentation had been arranged through the American Ambassador. She would accompany Alice to Buckingham Palace to make her curtsey before King George and Queen Mary. The invitation to the ball at Ashton had been difficult, but the Rushwells were old family friends and Lady Margaret had vouched for Miss Holmes Fry.

‘How kind,' Phoebe said gently. ‘You've taken so much trouble.'

Lady Margaret bestowed a wintry smile. They would never know, these rich Americans or, worst of all, their social-climbing English counterparts, how humiliated and depressed she felt at selling her friendships and her family connections in this way.

‘Indeed you have,' Alice said, and her smile was very sweet. ‘If I make a really good match, we'll just have to double your fee.' Then she shook hands and took her mother back up to their rooms.

‘That wasn't at all tactful,' Phoebe said. ‘Didn't you see how red she went when you said that about the fee? You shouldn't have mentioned that, Alice. People like Lady Margaret don't like being reminded about money. I was most embarrassed!'

‘I'm sorry, Mother. Sorry you were embarrassed, I mean. I thought she needed reminding, that's all. Don't worry. She won't change her mind. You mustn't let people like that walk over you. They're not doing us any favours. Isn't it wonderful about the Ashton ball? They say it's the most beautiful house in the whole of England!' The irrepressible enthusiasm had burst through again.

Phoebe couldn't help smiling. Darling Alice did have a temper, that was the trouble. She'd telephone Lady Margaret later and be extra nice. ‘Who says?' she demanded. ‘You haven't met anyone yet.'

‘No, but it's in all the books on the grand country houses. I've seen a picture of it too. It's enormous. You see, I've been reading up on all these places and the families so I won't seem ignorant. They think all Americans are hicks. Not this one! Mother – telephone messages – we forgot! See if anyone has called already.'

‘Nobody knows we're here,' her mother said. ‘We've only been here for two days.'

But Alice was right. There were two messages, and one of them made Alice clap her hands and laugh with excitement. ‘Cocktails with Lady Furness? Mother, isn't she …'

Phoebe held up a hand. ‘Yes, she is, but you're not going to say it.' The mistress of the Prince of Wales. A fellow American who'd known Phoebe when they were girls. ‘That's very sweet of her,' she said.

‘I didn't expect to hear from her so soon. She'll be very helpful to you, sweetheart. She knows everyone.'

‘I can't wait to see her,' Alice said. ‘Even if I'm not allowed to say why.' She bent down and hugged her mother. ‘Clever you to think of writing to her. I make all the noise but you do something really smart and never say a word. It's going to be wonderful; I'll be a great success. I'll make you proud of me.'

Hugo Vandekar was bored. He was staying in a boring house party in a chilly Victorian pile 15 miles from Ashton. The food was indifferent and the girls uninteresting. He wished he'd refused the invitation. He much preferred business to society. It was his mother who urged him to meet new young girls. At thirty-one and head of the family since his father died, she felt it was time he got married. She had confided to friends that she was in mortal fear of some smart divorcée snapping him up. Morals were so slack these days.

Hugo was very eligible. He made no claim to aristocratic birth – his grandfather had come over from Amsterdam and built a shipping empire, which had extended to include coal mines and industrial property. Hugo's father was equally shrewd. His forte was the stock market. He had made an incredible fortune after the Wall Street crash in 1929, picking up stock for nothing and waiting patiently till the American market recovered, and had started a private banking house in the city. He had died three years ago, but Hugo had been involved in the family business since he left Oxford. He was ready to take control. He had a younger brother, Phillip, who worked with him.

After a few duty dances, Hugo slipped away from his house party and sat drinking champagne in a small library near the main hall. The band was resting between numbers and there was a chattering noise, like a mad bird colony, emanating from three hundred people with nothing of importance to say.

‘Are you lonely or just bored?'

He looked up quickly. She was blonde and very beautiful, but it was the boldness about her that surprised him. She stood with one hand touching her hip and stared down with amusement.

‘I'm certainly not lonely,' he countered. American – he recognized the Boston vowel sounds.

‘Then you must be bored. Or drunk. Are you drunk?'

He couldn't help it. ‘Good heavens,' he said, ‘of course I'm not drunk. What a thing to say!'

‘Well, my partner is,' Alice responded. ‘And that really
is
boring. You haven't seen him, I suppose? Freddie Cavendish – tall and dark with a moustache?'

He knew Freddie Cavendish by reputation. He was usually drunk at parties. ‘I'm afraid not.'

She laughed. ‘Oh well. I guess I'll have to go look somewhere else.' She disappeared back into the babble beyond. He got up and followed her.

She hadn't found Cavendish, but he noticed she was instantly surrounded by a hedge of young men. Someone said, ‘Hello, Hugo – how are you? Didn't know you were here …'

‘Very well,' he answered, not taking his eyes off the blonde girl. ‘Do you know who that is … that girl over there in the blue dress?'

‘Oh, you mean Alice Holmes Fry. Super, isn't she? A real stunner. Always getting quotes in the papers, you know.'

‘I don't read the gossip columns,' Hugo said. He was disappointed. She hadn't seemed the type to court publicity. Every American girl said how thrilled she was to be in London and how divine it all was.

‘Naughty little thing,' his companion went on. ‘Says anything that comes into her head.'

‘So I noticed,' Hugo answered.

‘Are you interested? Do you want to meet her?'

‘I've already done so. Excuse me.'

Alice saw him coming towards her, but pretended not to notice till he was right beside her. Then she turned and smiled. ‘Why, hello.'

‘I'm Hugo Vandekar,' he said.

‘I'm Alice Holmes Fry.' She held out her hand. She gripped quite firmly, rather like a man shaking hands.

Hugo Vandekar. Millions and millions. And good-looking too. ‘I didn't find Freddie,' she said. ‘Maybe he's gone home.'

‘More likely he's asleep somewhere. Come and dance with me.' He slipped a hand under her arm to ward off anyone with the same idea. ‘OK,' she said. ‘Let's go.'

She was a very good dancer, but then so was he. They danced for most of the evening and he took her in to supper. She talked and laughed with infectious gaiety. Hugo was rather serious and proud of it. She made him feel that everything was fun. ‘And this house,' she went on over supper, ‘isn't it just gorgeous? I've been to a lot of parties since I came over – Belvoir and Clivedon for instance, but this is the most beautiful place I've ever seen. Don't you think so?'

‘I've never thought about it,' he admitted. She was beautiful. He'd never seen eyes of that piercing blue before. Or that gold-coloured hair which was pinned and braided in defiance of the fashion for a neat bob. He wondered suddenly what she would look like naked, with that hair falling round her like a curtain. ‘Have you been on the terrace?'

‘No.'

‘Then I'll take you out. It should be lit up and that is quite dramatic.'

‘Oh, just look at that,' Alice said. She had forgotten him for a moment. They stood on a broad terrace. Other shadowy figures moved or stood entwined in the lee of the house. The moon was out – it glinted on a huge silver sheet of water in the distance, while a statue of nude lovers embraced in a single spotlight. It didn't seem erotic to her. It hadn't seemed so to Hugo either when he'd seen it a dozen times before with other women. Now he wanted to touch this girl so much he had to move away in case he lost control and took hold of her.

Alice said, ‘Someone was saying the Rushwells were pretty hard up. They might have to sell it one day.'

‘It's true of a lot of people. They never think of replacing what they spend. There's always a day of reckoning if you're careless.'

She thought, that's rather a cold thing to say, but decided not to say it. ‘I feel sorry for them,' she said. ‘It would break my heart to lose this if I owned it. Shall we go back to the party?'

‘Of course. Before we do, will you have dinner with me in London?'

He hadn't tried to kiss or maul her – that was a relief. He was more of a gentleman than some of the men she'd met.

And she liked him. She really did. ‘I'd love to. I'm staying at the Ritz with my mother until we find a house. Give me a call there.'

Two months later he asked her to marry him and she accepted. The newspapers loved her for the quote that became famous.

‘Only a very special man would do for me. Specially handsome, specially clever and specially rich!'

Mrs John Vandekar was furious and Hugo roared with laughter.

It was her wedding day. 18 April 1935. She woke quite early. The last day she would wake in a rented house in someone else's bed. The day that was going to make her the happiest girl in the world. She got up and pulled the curtains back. The sun shone. ‘Happy the bride the sun shines on,' she said out loud, and laughed. It was so exciting; she had no nerves about the occasion, only feelings of elation. She'd promised her mother to make her proud, and she'd kept the promise. It would be the wedding of the year. St Margaret's, Westminster. A reception at Londonderry House, lent by the marchioness as a favour to the Vandekars. And the greatest coup of all, the future king of England would attend. She opened the door to the dressing room. Her wedding dress was draped over the dummy, a long sheath of white satin, demure and yet provocative because it fitted like a skin. Hartnell had made it. They hadn't sent a bill. That would come when she was Mrs Hugo Vandekar. A plain tulle veil and a wreath of silk lilies of the valley. No borrowed tiaras, no diamond necklaces. Just the circle of perfect stones which Hugo's mother had given her. Unwillingly, Alice suspected. But Alice was marrying the eldest son and it was a family tradition.

It was only eight o'clock. What a long time to wait – how could everyone be sleeping when she was awake and pulsing with energy and excitement? And hungry too. She rang the bell for her breakfast tray.

Phoebe came in later. Unlike Alice, she hadn't slept well. She was so happy for her darling girl, but a little sad for herself. It would be lonely without Alice. But Hugo was such a fine man, responsible and sensible, and
so
much in love it was quite touching to see him and Alice together. He'd take care of Alice – she needn't worry about her daughter in his hands. And Alice, bless her, would continue to brighten his life. She was extraordinary, Phoebe thought, seeing the empty breakfast tray and the clear, bright face without a trace of nervous tension. She struck sparks off people, like an electric charge. Hugo had said to her once, ‘You know, Alice makes me feel as if the sun was shining. She has this marvellous gift for enjoying life and making people enjoy it too. I can't thank you enough for her.' And he'd bent and kissed Phoebe's cheek. For a remote man, sparing with his affections, this was a great compliment. She had blushed with pleasure.