The House of Vandekar (9 page)

‘Yes,' Phoebe agreed. ‘We'd lunch together or go to exhibitions of dress shows, but you never talked to me, did you? Alice, I've known there was something wrong. But you wouldn't open up to me. You've got everything any woman could want, and still you're not happy.'

If I tell her the truth, Alice thought, she won't leave me. But she'll be unhappy for me. It'll ruin everything. She won't understand either. I can't do that.

Her mother said, ‘Is it Hugo? You don't love him, do you?'

At least she could be truthful about that. ‘I thought I did, but it hasn't worked out that way. We get on fine, you know that, but he's so occupied with business and we have people here all the time.'

‘I'm sorry,' her mother said. Tears came into her eyes. ‘But you've got Fern, darling … She's so sweet …'

‘Mother,' Alice interrupted, ‘I'm not maternal. I'm not like you. To me she's a fat pudding of a child who screams when I try to pick her up. Maybe I'd feel different about a boy, I don't know. Anyhow, she's all right. She's got Nanny, and Hugo dotes on her. She doesn't need me.'

‘Are you going to have another baby soon?'

‘With all this talk about war, it seems a bit silly,' Alice said hastily. ‘Mother, why don't you wait till the summer? Would you like me to come with you? Hugo wouldn't mind. Maybe if you were at home for a month or two and we saw a lot of people, you'd change your mind and come back with me.'

No, her mother thought. No, that's not the answer. She's running away from her problems, and she's too brave to do that. I mustn't help her. ‘Alice,' she said gently. ‘I'm going, and I'm going alone. I've booked my passage on the
Mary
and I'm sailing on 20 June. I so want you to be happy. You deserve to be. I wish you loved him; he surely loves you.'

‘I know,' Alice said. She turned away. ‘Maybe I'll never know what I've missed. Maybe I'm just spoiled.' She had managed to smile when she looked at Phoebe again.

‘I don't think so,' her mother said. ‘Love is the most important thing in any woman's life. And one day you'll find it.'

Alice gave a ball at Ashton on the night her mother sailed for the United States. She excused the extravagance by saying that if there was going to be a war, and it really did look like it, it was her swan song. Everyone was going to have the best evening to remember, something to keep them warm in the cold climate of war. The remark was a Fleet Street invention, but it took hold of the public imagination. People saw the party as a gesture of defiance to the looming enemy. Her mother was leaving, and Alice set about spending a fortune to cushion herself against the parting.

Lily saw Alice's red eyes in the mornings and recognized that the hectic schedule was a form of self-defence. Mrs Holmes Fry was a sweet and gentle person – Lily had grown fond of her too. Madam would miss her terribly when all the fuss about the ball had died down.

She dressed her on the night of the ball. Hartnell had made the dress. It was sea green, and pearl and crystal embroidery sparkled among the sweeping folds of the organza skirt. ‘Nothing on the bodice,' Alice had insisted, resisting the designer's penchant for over-decoration. ‘I'm not going to look like the fairy on the Christmas tree.' If anyone else had said that he would have refused to make the dress. But Alice got away with it. No tiara either. Tiaras were not for commoners. No jewellery except the big circle of diamonds.

She had never looked more beautiful, Hugo thought, as they stood receiving their guests after dinner. Her hair was swept up off her face, and hung down in the smooth pageboy style which was so fashionable. Plain diamond stud earrings and the family brooch competed with the gleam and glitter of her skirt as she moved, shaking hands, smiling, greeting people with a vivacity that danced and sparkled.

He couldn't contain his pride in her at that moment. He knew how much she dreaded parting with Phoebe, and he had never been jealous of their love for each other. And although he deplored it in principle, he had let her have her way and give the last great ball to take place in England before war was declared, as he knew it would be. Ashton was her creation. Sad that she should turn to a house for comfort, adorning it, showing it off in a blaze of publicity, rather than seek comfort from him or the child in the nursery. But that was not her way. A bang, not a whimper. Defiance and high spirits and extravagance were her weapons against human pain and human loss. He was proud of the magnificent house, lit up like a great white palace for miles around. But sad too. He would much rather have spent that evening quietly with her at home.

There was dancing to the music of Carrol Gibbons. Alice loved to dance; whenever Hugo looked for her she was on the floor, the man holding her laughing and enchanted. He suddenly remembered the night he met her in that same house. At a ball given at about the same time. He remembered how bored he had been until she came into what was then the library. He turned away from the scene in the splendid hall, from the gyrating couples and the cream-smooth music, and made his way back to the same room. It felt like a pilgrimage, but he didn't know why he made it. Perhaps I'm going to be killed in this war that's coming, he thought, and was surprised to find the idea didn't trouble him.

But it was changed, of course. The Rushwells' shabby book-lined room was now an elegant boudoir, with grey silk walls and the fine plasterwork ceiling picked out in Wedgwood blue. Alice's room, with her stamp imprinted on it, her desk and her chairs and her photographs of Hugo and herself on their wedding day, of Phoebe, of Fern in her christening robe …

‘Hugo? Darling, I've been looking everywhere for you.'

He was standing by the window looking out on the incredible floodlit garden, the famous Cupid and Psyche snow-white against the night sky. He turned, and there she was. Celia Forbes, his mistress for the past two years, dark-haired, sleek, thin as a rake. She had a beautiful smile, and she was wearing the diamond necklace he had given her. A handsome elegant woman of wit and sophistication, with a strong sexual appetite. Alice knew the Forbes but had no suspicions about Hugo's liaison with Celia. The Forbes's were not among their close circle of friends and that was just as well.

‘What are you doing in here all alone?' she asked. ‘Come and have a dance. Aren't you enjoying yourself? It's a marvellous party.'

She came up and slipped her arm through his. She was in her early thirties, married for the second time. She had never said she loved Hugo or expected him to say he loved her. It wasn't a business relationship; more a passionate friendship. He gave her jewellery and paid for a Lagonda car as a birthday present. She was a wise and discreet companion in whom he confided with absolute confidence. Except about his personal relations with Alice. She had never even tried to pry. She was bored to tears with Forbes, as she called him, and assumed that Hugo's spritely American wife had begun to pall on him too. She liked having a lover and she needed the attentions of a man.

‘I must say, Alice has excelled herself. Everything's been thought out, down to the last detail. So clever to get Carrol, too. I adore his music, don't you? How about that dance?'

‘Would you mind if we didn't?' he said. ‘But we could have a quiet glass of champagne.'

‘Why not?' she agreed. ‘I'll wait here. What a pretty room this is. I've never been in here before.'

‘It's Alice's room,' he said. ‘I'll get our drinks. I won't be long.'

She sat down, arms locked behind her head, studying the decor. Very pretty. A little overdone perhaps. All that silk on the walls and the strong blue. She didn't like Alice. Forbes thought she was marvellous, but then he would. What a fool not to keep a husband like Hugo amused. She wasn't interested in stealing him, admittedly because she knew she couldn't, but one day someone would come along who was more ambitious … She lit a cigarette.

There was going to be a war. She could feel it. There was a restlessness; almost a feeling of frustration because it was inevitable and yet it went on threatening, never happening. Forbes was looking forward to it. Talking about rejoining his old regiment. He'd been terribly attractive as a Lifeguards captain. That uniform did wonders. Pity he was a non-stayer. Now almost a non-starter, she thought and smiled at her witticism. But he wasn't a bad stick. Quite sweet really, and very undemanding. He didn't ask about the jewellery, except once, when he saw Hugo's necklace. ‘Oh, come into money, have we?' ‘No, darling, just something I decided to invest in.' He'd never mentioned it again.

‘Sorry I was so long.' Hugo came back with two glasses. ‘I couldn't find a waiter and there was a frightful crush round both bars. Here we are.' He sat beside her.

She touched her glass against his and toasted him. ‘Here's to our next lunch in London,' she said. ‘I've missed you.'

‘I've been very busy,' Hugo said. ‘But next week we could see each other. I've missed our afternoons together.'

‘So have I,' Celia Forbes said. She put down her glass of champagne and bending forward, kissed him on the mouth. And that was what Alice saw when she opened the door. Celia had her eyes closed; it was Hugo who glanced up and saw his wife standing in the doorway, staring at them. For how many seconds, he didn't know, but the door slammed and Celia jerked away.

‘My God, what was that?'

Hugo stood up. He wiped his mouth and there was lipstick staining his handkerchief like blood. ‘I'm afraid that was Alice,' he said.

‘Oh my God,' Celia repeated, and she laughed. ‘That's awkward. Is she likely to make a fuss – surely just a little kiss … you can explain it away can't you? Say I was tight, I don't mind. I don't want to make trouble for you, darling.'

‘It can't be helped,' he said. ‘We shouldn't have sat in here. It's the one room she'd probably come to if she wanted a rest for a bit. Oh, goddamn it. Come on, we'd better get back to the dance. I'll see if I can find Alice.'

‘Of course. I'll get myself a partner and get on to the floor. I do hope she won't make a song and dance about this. Sorry, darling.'

‘Don't be,' he said. ‘It was just as much my fault.'

He couldn't see Alice. He searched for her on the dance floor, and through the dining room where the buffet was laid out, and on through the tented supper room erected on one side of the house. She was nowhere. He hesitated. If he went upstairs, that nosy personal maid would see him. He was never quite sure about Lily. Alice relied on her too much. He decided to wait until the party was over. See what she said. She might ignore it. Under their peculiar circumstances, many wives would. Fidelity on his part had not been part of the bargain made in Amsterdam. He asked the wife of the Foreign Secretary if she would like to dance and guided her round in a romantic slow-tempo Carrol Gibbons speciality.

He noticed with relief that the distinctive green and silver dress was floating somewhere among the crowd, and steered towards her. She didn't look at him – she was gazing into the admiring face of a very handsome young Conservative politician, famous for his hats and for having resigned over Chamberlain's capitulation at Munich. When the music stopped he excused himself and went over to her.

‘Alice,' he said, ‘I've been looking for you. Anthony, you must forgive me, but I haven't had one dance with my wife the whole evening. She's been too popular!'

‘I'm not surprised. What a wonderful party you've both given!' Anthony brought Alice's hand to his lips and kissed it. He was very attractive to women. Alice thought him charming, intelligent and fun. He sensed that, while she was flattered and amused by him, she was not at all interested in him. He supposed she must be very much in love with her husband. Lucky devil, Hugo Vandekar.

Alice and Hugo began to dance. They didn't speak for some time. Then Hugo said, ‘I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything. I've been looking everywhere for you.'

‘I went for a walk,' Alice said. ‘The gardens were looking so lovely. We ought to have the floodlighting more often.'

‘Don't be angry with me,' he whispered. ‘I promise you, it meant nothing to me.'

‘She is the biggest tart in London,' she said, smiling at someone as they passed. ‘How did you manage to jump the line, Hugo? Paid her bills? Hello, Joan, how ravishing you look –'

‘Alice, on this evening of all evenings, I don't want you to be upset. Come and we'll walk in the gardens together. Please, darling. Let me talk to you.'

The music ended and there was a swell of applause. It was the hit song of the moment and no pianist could play it like Carrol Gibbons.

Hugo held her hand too tightly; she couldn't get away without attracting notice. He could feel how angry she was. Anger was in the flashing smile and the hurried walk as they made their way out onto the terrace. There Hugo stopped. ‘Do you remember standing here with me that first night when we met? I fell in love with you then. And you fell in love with all of this, didn't you?'

‘And you bought it for me.' Alice finished for him.

‘I don't know whether to be glad or sorry.'

She stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Isn't it what you wanted too?'

‘No,' he said. ‘I didn't want a house, however beautiful. I wanted you, Alice. I'll always want you. Celia Forbes doesn't mean a damn to me. I'll never see her again after tonight. That's a promise. But will you do something for me?'

She said slowly, ‘What is it? What do you want me to do?'

‘Go to a doctor and talk about this thing. There must be a reason. Don't you see, it's the only thing that stands between us and our being happy? Really happy. Ashton won't do it. Children won't either. I know you don't give a damn about Fern. Money won't and parties like tonight won't. There's going to be a war; God knows what the outcome will be. People are talking about six months, a year perhaps. I don't believe it. I think we're in for a terrible time. We may not even win. Alice, my darling, it's our one chance. Will you see a doctor?'