The House of Vandekar (6 page)

She went to bed alone and slept long and deeply. She felt different. Everything familiar about herself was changed. She was living a lie and acting a part, and her body was not her own any more. It belonged to someone else. She didn't cry any more when Hugo was asleep. It was possible to endure him because now he made no attempt to arouse her and expected no response. The pattern of their life had already taken shape. She gave him what he wanted and in return he indulged every extravagant whim.

She rang for breakfast. There was a silver vase with a single white rose on the tray. That was Hugo's idea, no doubt. She felt suddenly irritated. She looked at the girl who had brought the tray. ‘Who ordered this? This silly vase with a flower in it?'

The girl blushed. ‘The housekeeper, madam. Mrs Vandekar always has a rose on her breakfast tray.'

‘Well, I'm Mrs Vandekar now,' Alice snapped, ‘and I don't! Take it away please.'

So long as they were living in this house it was going to be run her way. Anyone who didn't like it could go elsewhere. She was sorry she'd been rude to the maid. She recognized her as a parlourmaid and wondered why she had brought up breakfast. In the strict working practices of domestic life, that was not her job.

Alice decided she wouldn't waste time. She'd call her mother – it would be lovely to see her, but she'd have to lie and pretend that everything was wonderful. She wouldn't think about that. A few words would assure Phoebe that all was well – she was the most trusting soul in the world. Then she would call the house agents and start things moving.

After only one night in the Vandekar house, Alice found it getting on her nerves. That dull old woman's hallmark was everywhere, from the dreary decorations to the heavy furniture and pictures. Light and grace and elegance were what she wanted, a house she could mould into a home of her own. It had to be Hugo's money, but it would be her individual style.

She rang the bell again and the same girl appeared. ‘Would you run my bath, please?'

‘Certainly, madam. How do you like the water?'

‘Warm, not hot. And don't put in any bath salts or essences. What's your name?' The girl had a calm, direct manner that Alice liked. Servility annoyed her.

‘Parker.'

‘I mean your Christian name.'

‘Lily, madam.'

‘OK, I shall call you Lily. How long have you worked here?' Alice went on talking while an idea formed.

‘Eight months. I'm under parlourmaid, but the young girl Mrs Cooper engaged as chambermaid gave notice the day before you and Mr Hugo came back. That's why I brought your breakfast tray this morning.'

‘I'd like you to bring it every morning,' Alice said. ‘Do you know how to take care of clothes? Can you sew?'

‘I'm a good dressmaker – so was my mother.' What's she on about, Lily Parker wondered, but nothing showed in her face.

‘Then I'd like you to look after me,' Alice announced. ‘I'll tell Mrs Cooper that I'm taking you over. For as long as I'm staying here anyway.'

‘Very good, madam,' Lily said. She went in to test the bathwater. ‘I'm taking you over …' She hadn't been asked. What would have happened if I'd said no, she wondered. Sacked, most likely. ‘I think the water's just right,' she said.

‘Thank you, Lily.'

Lily went out, closing the door. She did everything with a quiet dignity that Alice liked. She had a direct way with her and looked you in the eye, without being impudent or familiar.

Lily didn't hurry back downstairs. What would Mrs Cooper think when she heard she was losing her. Not too pleased, she felt sure. But if she did the job well and made herself indispensable to Mrs Hugo, she might take a big step up the ladder. Next to the housekeeper and the nanny, no one had more prestige than the ladies' maid.

Lily Parker didn't know it, nor did Alice as she stepped into the bath which was exactly the right temperature, but their lives would interlock for over half a century.

‘You mustn't give up hope, Mrs Vandekar.'

‘Sir John, if what you say is true, what's going to change it?'

He shook his head. So many rich and famous people came to his consulting rooms; few had a more tragic or intractable problem than this beautiful young woman. And beyond the bald statement of the facts, there was no cure he could offer.

‘You could go to an analyst,' he said. ‘But the treatment can take years and there's no guarantee of its success. I've had a number of patients who found it actually made their symptoms worse. An intelligent person like yourself can do as much to help herself. You have an aversion to sex. Coming to terms with your feelings and accepting them may relax the tension for you. And perhaps you won't judge him quite so harshly after a time. That would help you too.'

Alice got up. ‘If you're suggesting that I forgive my father, please don't bother. Thank you for seeing me.'

‘Goodbye, Mrs Vandekar. Don't hesitate to come again if you feel it would help.' They shook hands. He noticed the firm, unfeminine grip. ‘Goodbye, Sir John.'

And the set of that determined jaw. Not much there of the gentle, compliant mother she'd described so affectionately. Ironically, more like the father she hated. And that hatred had distorted her sexual development. He felt very sorry for her. Sorrier still for the husband. It was just possible that pregnancy might help, but he doubted it.

Outside the consulting room Alice paused by the receptionist. ‘I'd like to pay the bill now, if that's possible.'

‘Yes, of course.' A number of Sir John's patients didn't want his account going to their homes. She made out a bill and Alice wrote a cheque.

‘Thank you, Mrs Vandekar. Shall I make another appointment?'

‘No thank you.'

She watched Alice go out. Who would have thought it? All that money, all that publicity. What was the problem, she wondered. Not drink surely. She didn't look the type. There was a vogue for cocaine sniffing among a certain group. She wasn't one of those either. And she looked too self-contained to suffer from what was commonly known as nerves. Oh well – she allowed herself a twinge of complacency – money and good looks didn't always equal happiness. She went into the waiting room and asked the next patient to come through.

Alice had come in a taxi. When she walked out into Wimpole Street it was drizzling. She hadn't brought an umbrella and there were no taxis. She walked quickly, pulling up her collar. She felt slightly sick now that the ordeal was over. His explanation made sense in a way, and no sense at all in another. Why had she been afflicted? Other women had broken homes behind them, disreputable parents, scandals. Why weren't they affected? Perhaps many of them were. She didn't know. She didn't want to think about it any more. I'm glad I went, she said to herself. I'd have felt a coward if I hadn't. But now I wish I hadn't. I wish I could forget everything he said and I said. It's made me feel like hell, sick and shaking all over. I can't tell Hugo, I can't tell anyone. Oh, there's a taxi … ‘Taxi!'

I don't want to go home, not yet. Where can I go to calm down …? ‘Gunters, please,' she said. It was the first place she could think of. She could sit down and have tea. It was quite early – there wouldn't be anybody there.

But Alice had just sat down at a table when two women she knew came into the elegant tearoom and, seeing her, hurried over. She couldn't escape, so she steeled herself to smile and agreed to join them. And then, in the middle of the flow of lighthearted gossip about clothes and parties and mutual friends, she heard one say, ‘You know Johnny Rushwell's decided to sell Ashton? Isn't it a shame? But he told my mother they just couldn't afford to keep it up.'

‘Ashton?' Alice repeated. She couldn't believe what was being said. ‘You mean it's for sale?'

‘Yes, darling. I told you. There's not much money in the family and it's so expensive to run. By the way, have you found a house yet?'

‘No,' Alice said. ‘Not yet. Nothing that we really like.' She wasn't really listening any more. She felt unbearable excitement, where a little time ago she had been sickened and depressed. She forgot about the consultation with Sir John Edge. She couldn't believe that the wonderful house that had fired her imagination that night was actually coming up for sale. ‘Darlings,' she said, ‘I must run. Can I have the bill, please?'

The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through. And there was a taxi drawing up at the most famous tearooms in London with a man and a girl getting out. Alice gave them a brilliant smile and took it over. Ashton. It was fate. When Hugo came home she rushed to meet him with the news. Guess what – the wonderful historic house where they'd first met – it was for sale! Wouldn't it be marvellous to own it and live there? Oh Hugo, isn't it exciting! Her enthusiasm swept his objections aside. And besides, he hadn't seen her look so animated and happy for a long time. Of course it was too far from London, but they could surely get a smaller place, even a flat … Oh, couldn't they call up the Rushwells and at least make sure it was true, and then maybe they could go down and see it? He hadn't the heart to say anything but ‘Yes, darling, telephone if you want to,' and she rushed away to ring immediately.

Scenting a prompt solution to their financial problems, Lord and Lady Rushwell invited Alice and Hugo down for that weekend.

Previous plans were cancelled on both sides, and as they drove up to the house in daylight Hugo had to admit that Alice was right in one respect. It was breathtaking in its beauty. The pale stone glowed almost white in the sunshine, the tall windows diamond bright. Its symmetry was completed by two sweeping wings, and the majestic portico at the centre of the main block rose three storeys high. The gravel drive was not well kept – he noticed potholes here and there – and there was a sinister crack along one pediment near the roof. It would need money, a lot of money. But nothing could quell Alice's enthusiasm. ‘Think of the wonderful parties we could give,' she whispered as they toured the rooms with their host. There was a good shoot and hunting with the Leicestershire … and of course it needed completely redecorating, but if he left that to her she'd perform miracles …

They could indeed have lavish house parties; they could impress his friends in the United States and make useful business connections. He believed in the American economy and was arguing in favour of moving many of the family's interests out of Europe. He distrusted the political trends in Germany and despised France, which seemed unstable and corrupt.

A house like Ashton could certainly pay for itself in terms of prestige and making powerful friends. And he knew that Alice was determined to have it. She didn't try to hide her feelings. She praised everything, and Lady Rushwell blessed her for it. Bad enough to leave the grand old house she'd come to as a bride. How much more painful to hear it criticized in an attempt to negotiate the price. They were given one of the nicest bedrooms, with a glorious view over the parterre and the lake.

Hugo took Alice in his arms. ‘Yes, darling,' she said, ‘of course,' answering the silent question. He made love to her, and afterwards she sat up and switched on the light. She had tried so hard. She had thought of everything the wise old specialist had told her, but there had been no miracle. ‘You know, I think if we lived here, we could be very happy.'

Hugo didn't answer. He felt deflated and depressed. She'd tried; she'd come as close to shamming as it was possible, but he wasn't deceived. He couldn't touch her, no matter what he did. He held and used an empty body, from which she had escaped until it was over. Now she talked of being happy, as if this house could ever change her. If she tried to bribe him into buying it, he would never forgive her.

‘Why happier here than anywhere else?' he asked.

Alice looked at him. ‘Because we could make it a home, build it up together into what we wanted. We need something like this, darling, to bind us a bit closer. I think it would help.'

He said, ‘We'll talk about it tomorrow. Good night.'

In the morning, after breakfast and morning service in the chilly little Norman church, they asked the Rushwells to excuse them while they went for a walk. It was mid-September and the glorious reds and golds of autumn splashed the landscape with fiery colour. They didn't walk far. They stopped arm in arm by the lake. Two hundred years before a Rushwell ancestor had dredged and excavated and diverted a river on his estate to provide this marvellous water view from his house. Hugo thought suddenly, I could teach a boy to sail here.

‘Well?' Alice tugged at his arm. ‘I can't stand another minute of it – the suspense is killing me. What do you say?'

He looked down at her. Still so young, so filled with eagerness and energy and yet with the sad wisdom of a much older woman.

‘We need something like this to bind us closer.' There was no bribe, no false promise in that, just an honest belief. ‘Please,' she said, ‘Please say yes, Hugo. Oh, I'm just mad to live here!'

‘If you really want it and you think we could be happy here, then I'll buy it.'

‘Oh darling!' She hugged him, and suddenly her eyes overflowed with tears. ‘You're so good to me. And I'm so sorry –'

He held her for a moment. ‘You're never to say that again,' he said quietly. ‘Now find a handkerchief and stop being a silly girl. Let's go back and tell the Rushwells. They're probably dying of suspense too!'

Alice moved in to supervise the redecoration of the house. Everything needed modernizing. She installed herself in a suite of four rooms and directed the builders, electricians, plumbers and painters to do exactly what she and Hugo wanted. And she brought Lily Parker with her.

Lily had been looking after her since that first morning. The housekeeper's protests had been brushed aside. Lily was going to be her personal maid and that was the end of it. There were plenty of parlourmaids – she could engage someone else. And Alice averted a fuss with her mother-in-law by writing a sweet letter explaining why she had upset her domestic arrangements. Attack, as Alice knew, was the best means of defence. Hugo was very busy; life was a hectic mixture of social engagements and the absorbing project of Ashton. He let her do whatever she wanted. In the evenings they would sit together and pore over the plans, discuss the layout of the rooms, even the colour schemes.