The House of Vandekar (5 page)

She saw herself in the bright looking glass. A dishevelled, naked stranger stared back at her. Her mouth was sore, her chin and neck irritated by his rough skin. There were red blotches on her breasts, marks all over her.

She felt dirty, sweat-stained and defiled by his emission into her body.

She said out loud, in a voice full of anger, ‘Goddamn it, I need a bath!'

It was 4 a.m. and there was no hot water. She plunged into the bath and scrubbed herself in the icy water.

He'd want to do it again. And again and again. Two weeks' honeymoon – she remembered him apologizing that it was so short, but he had so many business commitments. God, if it had been a whole month, like most people took … She rubbed herself dry and got warm. The icy bath had pulled her together. She couldn't panic. She mustn't let him see how much she hated what he was pleased to call lovemaking. It wasn't his fault; she kept that in view. She just didn't like it. That wasn't so unusual. Lots of women put up with their husbands. Some were downright glad when their husbands had affairs and stopped bothering them. ‘Shut your eyes and think of England.' How she'd laughed at that.

Those stuffy, toothy women with their smelly dogs and horses. What attractive man would want to wake up and find one of
those
on the pillow? It all sounded so easy. All you had to be was beautiful, like her, smart and quick-witted, and a little daring, and the Hugo Vandekars fell into your lap like ripe apples off a tree. Fell into your lap was right. Ugh.

She left the towels on the floor and picked her way back through the darkness towards the bed. Her nightdress was on the ground where he had dropped it. She put it on. The pure silk georgette felt cold but at least she was covered. She felt protected again. He hadn't woken. She curled up to get warm, careful not to make contact with him.

You'll have to put up with it. I won't. You've got to. You've got to face the facts. He's your husband. You can't say no. Maybe, but I can think of an excuse. I can say no sometimes, for God's sake. What am I – a piece of meat?

She lay wide awake in the darkness, until light crept round the curtain edges.

Hugo found the bed empty when he woke. He sat up, calling for her. Poor sweetheart, he knew she'd found it difficult. He wanted to make it up to her, show her that from now on it would be easier. She came out of the bathroom, wrapped in frothy white georgette and lace, her hair hanging like a river down her back.

‘Alice,' he said and started to get up and come towards her. ‘What have you been doing? Are you all right?'

She kept her eyes on his face. She didn't want to look at him and see that whole bloody business was starting again.

‘Oh, darling,' she said. ‘Darling, I'm so sorry. I don't know how it happened, but I've got the curse!'

He accepted the lie. He loved her and he argued with himself that perhaps he had expected too much. She had always been rather a prude. Imagining how he would teach her the pleasures of making love had excited him. There had been no pleasure for her, and he felt guilty. That guilt bought her a little time.

She was too high-spirited, too febrile. She laughed and talked and wouldn't sit still. She wanted to go everywhere, see everything. And at night he let her fall asleep beside him and then gently took her in his arms. She must come to him in her own time. He must build up her confidence.

He took her to the house where his grandfather was born. It was privately owned but they were allowed to wander round. Hugo held her hand. She seemed quieter, more relaxed. ‘He was a clever old devil,' he said. ‘I can't remember much about him, he was so old when I was born. I didn't know my grandmother, but my father said they were devoted. When we have a son, I'd like to call him Adam, after the old chap. Would you mind, darling?'

‘I think it's a lovely name,' Alice said.

She thought the house was dark and cramped, the furnishings heavy and too ornate. But she wouldn't let him know. He loved it all and it was part of him. A son, he'd said. She didn't want to think about that. For three days she'd kept them both at running pace. He drank rather a lot in the evenings. Sometimes she thought he looked unhappy. That added to her anxiety. He didn't deserve to be miserable. She loved him. She wanted to make him happy. But the one thing that would do so filled her with a sick disgust.

They went to the Ryksmuseum, and she forced herself to tease him to raise both their spirits. ‘I don't know what all the fuss is about. I don't think Rembrandt's all that special. Now there, over there, darling … that's what I call a painting!'

‘Yes,' he said, ‘I think most people would agree with you.'

Vermeer's picture of a girl reading a letter was so fresh and alive that Alice said. ‘You could reach in and touch her, it's so real. And there's such peace. Such a lovely serene feeling. I wish I was like that.'

He smiled at her. ‘I don't think it would suit you. Perhaps when you're a very old lady surrounded by children and grandchildren. You might sit still and pretend to be serene. But not for long, darling. Let's go back now, shall we? We've been sightseeing all day.'

They dined in the hotel. He ordered champagne to be served in their room. He gave her a glass when they came upstairs.

‘How are you feeling, my darling?'

‘Well, a little … you know.'

‘Drink that; it'll make you feel better.'

I can't pretend any longer, Alice thought. I know by the way he's looking at me. I knew all through dinner. If I drink, maybe it'll help …

He took her on his knee. He stroked her breast and slid his hand into her lap. ‘Hugo,' she started to say, but he kissed her and his hands went on moving over her body, sliding under her skirt, pulling at her underclothes to expose her. With a fierce effort she pulled away and jumped up.

She lost her head as he came towards her. She bumped into the table and the champagne glass fell on the floor and broke.

‘No!' she shouted. ‘No! Don't come near me! I've told you, I can't!'

He didn't see the fear in her eyes. He heard the angry cry with its note of revulsion and lost his temper.

‘You can,' he said ‘And by Christ you will!'

His fantasy became reality. He mastered her only because he was the stronger one. She tore at him with her nails – he didn't even notice. When it was over she wept and sobbed herself to sleep. The seduction he had planned degenerated into a furious rape, fought out by both of them. At one point she had screamed at him, ‘I hate you! I hate you!'

When she woke the next morning the bed was empty. She was sore and bruised. She hoped she had hurt him. Some of her nails were broken. She burst into tears. ‘Oh, my God, my God, what am I to do?' He'd behaved like an animal, holding her down on the bed, making her submit. For a few moments she gave way to hysteria, weeping and throwing herself against the pillows.

She couldn't stay, she couldn't face him. ‘Mother, Mother,' she cried as if she were a frightened child again calling in the dark. Slowly she grew calmer.

Exhausted emotionally, Alice stopped crying. The panic ceased. She couldn't run away. She couldn't walk out and go back to London. How many days since that wedding, she and Hugo playing the star parts before the world – go back and admit that it was a disaster? Be whispered about and scorned, because, of course, the truth would come out.

‘She can't bear sex, you see … Poor Hugo. I heard she wouldn't consummate the marriage …'

She could just imagine what they'd say. What a scandal, what a juicy divorce it would be, with the press leering at them both.

She got up. She said out loud, ‘No. No, I can't face that. I won't. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do, but I won't run away. And now, Alice Holmes Fry, you're going to bathe and go down to breakfast.'

Hugo had been walking. He left the Amstel early in the morning and set out to walk through the city. It was bright and clear; industrious Dutch housewives were already sweeping their doorsteps. They said good morning as he passed. The shops were opening; barges processed down the canal, followed by sweeps of scavenging seagulls. There was a bite of sea air in the breeze.

It was a glorious day in the making and he was more unhappy than he had ever been in his life.

He was so ashamed. Frustration and rejection had made him behave like a brute. Finding her sleeping beside him when he woke, he had been stricken with guilt. But he didn't touch her. There was no use apologizing or trying to explain. There was no going back after what had happened. He got up to walk the streets and try to think what to do.

And on that walk, alone among the busy morning crowds, Hugo recognized one inescapable fact. The girl he loved was frigid. Not inexperienced, not shy – God knows Alice wasn't shy – but frigid. Revolted by sexual love and unable to conceal it. The vibrant personality, the flirtatious, provocative manner hid a cold, inhibited core that saw human intercourse as a disgusting ordeal. She hadn't realized it before they married; he didn't doubt that. They were both taken unawares. He stopped at a little café. The sun danced on the surface of the canal, a wharf cat slunk past him, fat on discarded fish entrails. He drank some coffee and tried to imagine what would happen when he went back and they came face to face.

They could get a divorce. It would take time and he would have to provide evidence. The real reason couldn't be told. He wouldn't do that to Alice, or to his own family. No scandal. Nobody benefited in the end. He pushed the cup away, called for the bill. He'd been wandering for over two hours. He had to go back. Perhaps she would be willing to talk to him. Perhaps even now something could be worked out, because he loved her, and at times, despite everything, he believed that Alice had loved him.

Inside the hotel foyer he hesitated. He was surprised by his own cowardice. He went into the dining room to delay the moment and found Alice sitting there.

‘Good morning,' she said, ‘I've just ordered breakfast.'

He approached her slowly. ‘Alice … I've been out walking …'

‘I thought you must have,' she said. ‘Aren't you going to have breakfast? All that air must have given you an appetite.'

He sat down. ‘What can I say to you? What are we going to do?'

She paused for a moment, opened her bag and lit a cigarette. He had never seen her smoke before evening. She inhaled, puffed out the smoke and then said, ‘I'm not going to do anything. We're married. That's the end of it. I'll try and adjust, if that suits you.'

‘What does that mean?' he asked her. She was so cold and artificial he began to feel angry. ‘I hate you,' she'd said. There was no passion left in her now, not even the humanity of hatred. She had withdrawn completely.

‘Adjust to married life,' she said. ‘I don't like it, but unless you want a divorce and all the messy details coming out, we should be able to reach some kind of agreement.'

‘I see,' he said. ‘A business deal, is that what you mean?'

‘You needn't make it sound like that. We've made a mistake. Either we admit it and suffer the consequences or we try to work something out. I'm willing, if you are.' She stubbed out the cigarette with such force it broke in half.

He said in a low voice, ‘Alice, you're my wife and I love you. I'm sorry about last night, but that won't alter the real problem.'

Alice interrupted him. ‘I don't want to talk about that. Never, please. Why don't we just go on as if nothing had happened? We'd planned to go to the Hague today – why don't we go?'

‘And when we come back,' he countered. ‘What do we do – ask for separate rooms? I won't do that. I won't pretend in public and have you say no to me when we're alone.'

She looked at him. The beautiful eyes were redrimmed under the heavy make-up. For a moment he saw her misery and it matched his own.

‘I won't say no to you,' she said. ‘But that's all I can promise.'

Two days later, as they were dressing for dinner, Alice said, ‘Amsterdam is fun, but I would like to spend a few days in Paris.'

‘We'll go tomorrow,' Hugo said. ‘I'll ask them to telegraph to the Crillon for a suite.'

She turned and smiled at him. ‘Thank you, darling. You're an angel.'

He chartered a plane and they landed at Orly the next afternoon. They went shopping in the morning and he bought her a sable coat from Revillion and a diamond bracelet from Cartier. They dined and danced at Maxim's. And Alice kept her promise. She let him make love as often as he wanted, and it seemed that this only increased his desire.

The more she eluded him, the more sexually infatuated with her he became, the more he indulged her and lavished attentions upon her. They never discussed what was happening. They paraded in public, at the races, the opera, held hands and smiled, and refused to admit that their marriage was a disaster.

They went on to the South of France because Alice suggested it. They gambled at the Casino in Cannes, where Hugo won and Alice lost. ‘You're always so lucky with money, darling,' she said.

The press was waiting when they landed at Croydon. The morning papers carried photographs. ‘Mr and Mrs Hugo Vandekar, the millionaire banker and his beautiful wife, returned from their honeymoon yesterday.' Alice read the papers in bed the next morning. Hugo's mother Beatrice had retired to the hideous Victorian family home in Sussex, leaving them the house in St James's Square while they looked for somewhere of their own.

Hugo had left very early before she woke. And last night he had said he would sleep in his dressing room. ‘I have a lot of work to catch up on, sweetheart, so I'll be up very early and I don't want to wake you.'

Alice had laughed and said brightly, ‘Seven o'clock sounds like the middle of the night to me! You go off to your stuffy old bank, darling, and I'll just miss you till you come home.'