The House of Vandekar (37 page)

He sounded so natural. Any other time she would have been touched that he was thinking about her.

‘Here,' he said, and got up. ‘I'll get them for you. Just one. That'll do the trick.'

She took the tablet from him and the glass of water. She palmed the sleeping pill and took a long drink. ‘Thank you, darling,' she said.

‘I'm going to read for a bit,' Brian announced. ‘You turn over, I won't keep the light on for long.'

Fern did as he suggested. The sleeping tablet was clenched in her hand. He wants me knocked out so he can go to her. She's waiting for him, down the corridor. When the light went out she began to breathe deeply and regularly. Nothing happened. So far as she knew he was asleep. The doors were bolted, the night lighting system switched on. Cupid and Psyche would be in darkness now … She dozed off without realizing it. When she woke with a start later, the bed was empty.

Two o'clock. It would be safe then. No one to see him slip outside and hurry down the long, ill-lit corridor. Not to the Pink Room. That was a risk they dared not take. If Nancy woke and wandered along to find her or if the nanny decided Diana needed to be roused if the child suddenly got worse, Diana could explain her own absence. Brian would find an empty bedroom and keep a watch for her at two o'clock. He hadn't slept. He'd listened to Fern's heavy breathing thinking the Mogadon must have knocked her out.

He had a feeling of fierce excitement as he made his way to the rendezvous. He tried a door, far away from the child's room. It was locked. For a moment he hesitated, swore and then moved on. Nearer than he liked, but this one was open. He stepped inside, shut the door and felt for the lightswitch. It was strange to him. There were so many rooms in that vast house. Twin beds stripped down, covered with white dust sheets. Red and green silk on the walls. It was cold and he shivered for a moment. He searched for the thermostat and turned it on. The heating hummed gently. It would soon be warm. She mustn't catch a cold. He looked at his watch. Ten to two. He switched the light off and opened the door a little way so he could look out, down the corridor towards her room. The element of risk combined with a rising sexual excitement. At last he saw the white-draped figure moving under the intermittent lights along the corridor towards him. She was so light, so quick, she seemed to float. He put his head out and called to her in a hoarse-sounding whisper.

‘Diana, in here, darling …'

He opened the door wider and she slipped inside. He closed it, turned the key, and took her in his arms. The negligee and nightdress were stripped off, drifting aside like thistledown. He carried her naked, lolling in his arms like a doll, and placed her on the bed. She gave a whimpering cry of ecstasy.

The child shut her door and hid in terror under the bedclothes. The watcher she'd seen had stood in the shadow and listened to the sounds of the man and woman locked in the bedroom making love. And then the figure had moved away, keeping out of the pools of light along the way, and no one saw where it went.

They had lost track of time. Wild words were spoken in the heat of that passionate encounter, more passionate, more consuming for him than anything he'd ever imagined. Promises, vows, commitments that Diana echoed without thinking or caring whether they would stand the light of the coming day. At last, reluctantly, she left him. He was the man. He was her salvation … She felt exhausted and exhilarated, without a trace of guilt. No guilt at all. For the second time in her life she was in love. She wrapped the negligee around her and slipped out. A quick glance assured her that all the world was asleep. She made her way back as quickly and silently as she had come, and very gently opened the door of the Pink Room.

The screams could be heard all down the long corridor and down the huge stairwell. They brought the menservants running up and the bedroom doors opening in alarm. Seven-thirty and the first early-morning trays were being brought up. A weeping parlourmaid was being comforted outside the door of the Pink Room. The dropped tray with smashed crockery and a river of spilt tea was lying in the middle of the room. The curtains were drawn back. Diana Vandekar lay back on her pillows. Her face was blue-grey and her jaw sagged. She had been dead for some hours. The body was already stiff.

Hugo had been called first. He barred the way to Alice. Lily, sallow and bleary-eyed, had followed after them.

Nancy's nanny was dispatched to keep the child in her own room and the door closed. Hugo persuaded the hysterical maid to go downstairs. The doctor was telephoned. Hugo locked the door and kept the key. He saw Alice standing in the corridor with Lily close by. She didn't say a word. No question, nothing. She just stood and looked at the scene in silence. Hugo took her into their bedroom, closing the door firmly on Lily. Alice was as white as her own nightgown.

‘Hugo …' she began.

‘It seems the good Lord has solved our problems for us,' he interrupted. ‘She's dead. All that kerfuffle was Simpson finding her. I've sent for Gradder. Sit down. You look faint.'

‘I'm not,' Alice said. ‘Dead in bed. How terrible. What a terrible thing.'

He said, ‘What's terrible about it? You've never been a hypocrite before – don't be one now. It's a godsend, a way out for all of us.'

Alice looked at her hands. They twisted in and out, turning her wedding ring over and over. ‘It must have been a heart attack,' she said. ‘There'll be an inquest …' She might have been talking to herself. ‘How am I going to tell Richard?' Then she looked up at him. ‘They'll find it was a heart attack, or something like that, won't they? Natural causes?'

‘My dear Alice,' Hugo answered, and it seemed that he was mocking her, ‘what else could they find?'

It's like a stage play again, Alice thought. Act III, Scene iii. The final scene of the last act. The library. Only it isn't, it's my little sitting room, and they're all crowded in here – my poor darling son, my daughter Fern, and my son-in-law looking as if the world had blown up in his face. And my husband Hugo. Cold and in command, giving them the details.

‘There's been a family tragedy. As you all know, Diana has been found dead.' He might be addressing the House … Quite unmoved, my husband … He had a heart once, human feelings. I've killed them, that's the truth. The family must keep its dignity and its calm.

There was a sharp cry of protest from Brian, which was choked back. A strange satisfied look on Fern's face. Richard, vacant-eyed and silent.

‘Dr Gradder has examined her. He can't be sure without a post mortem, but at first sight he thinks it was an overdose. She did take sleeping pills, isn't that right, Richard?' The disdainful look at his son. Richard nodded, not raising his eyes. ‘We must hope it was an accident and not some dreadful act of folly. There'll have to be an inquest. Most unfortunate. I'm afraid we'll all have to put up with a lot of publicity …'

When is he going to stop, Alice wondered. When is he going to get off the centre of the stage and stop pouring out these cynical platitudes? Nobody believes him. We all know the truth. She's dead and some of us are glad. Not Kiernan – he's shattered and beyond pretending. My son – I don't know … he was so strange when I told him. He seemed stunned. But not surprised. He went backwards into himself and turned away. He didn't want comfort; he didn't want anything except to be alone. I expected to find him dead drunk when I went back later, but he was just sitting there, and he was perfectly sober …

‘… No press interviews,' Hugo was saying. ‘Whatever you do, don't be tricked into making any comment whatever. Fern, I think it would be a good idea if you and Brian took the twins back to London immediately and let us cope with the rest.' He turned away as if that was the end of it.

Alice stood up. Hugo looked startled and then angry; she ignored him. She made her voice strong.

‘I've something to say to all of you,' she said. ‘We've got a scandal as well as a tragedy on our hands. Diana's dead and nothing can alter that. Personally,' and she stared directly at her son-in-law, ‘I'm not sorry. I don't have to explain why because you all know. We're adults, and we'll get through any unpleasantness that may be coming. If we don't, then that's too damned bad. But there's one person nobody's mentioned, and that's Nancy. Nancy is not going to know anything about this except what I tell her. I want that clearly understood. Especially by you, Fern. One word, one hint that hurts that child at any time, and whoever does it will have me to answer to.

‘I'm going to see that she's protected. Whatever the verdict on this turns out to be, Nancy's not going to find out until she's old enough for me to tell her.

‘And one more thing –' She looked round at them in turn. There was a high colour in her face and a fighting set to her jaw. Every one of them recognized it. ‘When this is over, life at Ashton will go on as if nothing had ever happened. It won't be whispered about – it will never be mentioned again. No, Hugo,
I'm
going to talk to the staff. I want them to know where they stand too.'

She walked out and left them all staring after her.

‘You don't have to drive like a maniac,' Fern snapped. ‘We've got the children in the back, you might remember that!'

Brian didn't answer her. He had packed in silence, bundled the twins and their nurse into the car and driven away from Ashton at top speed.

Fern glanced at him. He was very white-faced. Shocked, no doubt, she thought bitterly. Not the expected aftermath of a night making love.

He didn't know she knew. When he had crept back into her bed, she had pretended to be asleep. He was too exhausted, too sated, to make sure. She had lain awake and listened to him snoring.

There would be no more prowling round the house at night for him now. No more lies about being with his vulgar Irish cronies in the pub when he was screwing that insatiable bitch … Diana was dead.

Fern looked out of the window; she didn't see the country roads flashing past. The image of Diana, gently scoring his neck with her long painted nails, mocked and tormented her. She's dead, but I'll never be able to forget it. I thought I would when it was over, but I'm not sure now. Perhaps she'll always be between us. Even if he forgets her, I'm the one who'll be haunted by what happened. When he touches me, I'll think of him doing the same to her. And because she
is
dead, I'll never be sure he wouldn't have left me for her in the end.

When they reached their London house Brian heaved the cases out, carried the children's up to the nursery and then shut himself in the drawing room. Fern was upstairs, organizing. He could hear her voice admonishing someone about something. He got up and poured himself a large neat whisky. Diana. He couldn't believe it.

He could see her, feel her close to him. Imagination taunted him with the strong individual scent she wore. Gardenias. The room was full of that sweet pervasive smell. ‘I don't believe it,' he said. His eyes filled with tears.

‘Good night, darling … I love you …' the light voice murmured in his ear.

The door opened and then closed loudly. He looked up and Fern was standing there. ‘Do you have to drink at this hour? It's not eleven o'clock yet.'

He said slowly, ‘I'm a bit shaken. I'm surprised you're not.'

‘About her? Why should I be? I never liked her – she was just a scrubber, that's all. Richard's better off without her. We're all better off.'

‘You're glad,' he said. ‘I can see you are.'

She turned aside. There was an odd smile on her lips for a moment. ‘I'm not sorry,' she said.

‘I don't believe she killed herself.'

He saw her hesitate, then she looked round at him. ‘What do you mean? She took an overdose. Gradder said so. You're drunk, Brian –'

‘Not yet,' he answered. ‘You don't believe it either. None of you. I saw it the night before, the way you all treated her. That rotten pisshead of a brother of yours wouldn't even speak to her. Sentence was passed on her, wasn't it? The Vandekars wanted her out.'

Fern said quietly, ‘I'd be careful if I were you. You don't know what you're saying. How much whisky have you had?'

‘Not enough,' he answered. ‘Oh, it'll be covered up. The tame family doctor will see to that. But I know the truth and so do you.'

‘I'm not going to listen to you,' Fern said. He thought how like her father she sounded. ‘You're talking gibberish.'

‘There'll be an inquest,' he remarked. He swallowed the whisky down. ‘That'll be interesting.'

For a moment she stared at him. He saw a dark hatred in her eyes. ‘Then that's your opportunity. Why don't you give evidence. If you've got anything relevant to say?'

Then she left him, slamming the door shut. He refilled his glass. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that wouldn't involve telling the truth about their last night together. Wrecking the marriage, disgracing his children for the future. Nothing. He would be part of the lie for as long as he lived.

As Hugo predicted, there was a lot of publicity. The less squeamish newspapers dredged up the Hubbard divorce. A reporter flew out to Cape Town and tried to get an interview with the dead girl's parents.

The verdict was suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed. A massive dose of barbiturates had been found at the post mortem. The coroner heard evidence that Diana Vandekar had been in excellent health, but she was morbidly worried about her daughter who had a mild infection, and had changed bedrooms to be close to her. Otherwise there was nothing to account for swallowing a fatal dose of sleeping pills. The residue had been found in the empty glass, in the dregs of the milk. The young footman Robert had given evidence at the inquest. He had brought the milk at her request.