The House of Vandekar (13 page)

‘Because I've accepted what you say, it doesn't mean I agree with it,' she said, and walked out of the office.

He tipped the ashtray into the waste-paper basket. He was not used to being challenged by a woman. He decided that Alice Vandekar needed a strong man to put her in her place. No, he admitted, he didn't really like her in spite of all the good work she had done. And it was obvious that she had become emotionally involved with Armstrong. She didn't realize it, but there was a deeper motive than the desire to comfort a sick man. A very dangerous situation all round, especially so when dealing with an acute neurotic. The sooner he could get rid of Armstrong and restore normality, the better. At least he had a few days' grace to sort it out. And she wouldn't break her word. She wasn't the type to do that.

The next few days seemed as if they would never end. Alice drove herself to exhaustion but she couldn't sleep and she couldn't stop thinking about Nick. Once she found herself drawn to that long winding corridor in the south annexe, passing his door. She had to force herself to hurry on. The thought of him sitting alone, slumped in despair in front of the window, tortured her. She'd seen him for so long sunk in the twilight of guilt and fear. He wouldn't notice, that pig of a doctor had insisted. Don't delude yourself. How she hated him, with his stubbly red moustache and his pompous voice talking down to her. She shouldn't have agreed; she should have fought harder … She blamed herself and agonized for the lost and lonely man abandoned in his room. But there was nothing she could do. Ferguson's threat prevented her. ‘He could collapse completely …' She had to endure the misery and the uncertainty, and pray that Ferguson was wrong and Nick would prove it. But nothing happened. By the end of the week she gave in and confided in Lily. She was in floods of tears.

Lily was horrified. She couldn't believe that the weeping girl was her sturdy, independent mistress. She'd been proud of her resilience, her gutsy reaction to trouble and sorrow with the other men. She'd never seen her so upset, not even when her mother went back to the States. Lily wondered how this poor creature had come to mean more to her mistress than any of the hopelessly disfigured or the wheelchair-bound for life. She was shocked and she didn't know what to make of it. Or she didn't want to know. But she saw the pale, tear-stained face and her heart ached for Alice.

‘Lily, he'll just go back to a mental hospital and stay there for the rest of his life if something isn't done to help him! What am I to do?'

Lily thought for a moment. Then she said, ‘How do you know he hasn't asked for you, madam?'

‘What? Ferguson promised.'

‘Who's going to tell Dr Ferguson,' Lily countered. ‘That nurse who went running with tales – tell the doctor she was wrong, my foot!' Alice's favourite expression came out before she could stop it. Neither of them noticed.

Alice said, ‘I promised I wouldn't see him. I can't go back on that.'

‘You can't go in, but there's nothing to stop me,' Lily declared. ‘Let me go and see how he is. I'm not frightened of any nurse. At least it'll set your mind at rest.'

‘Oh, Lily. Would you do that? Would you see him today, right now?'

Lily looked at her wristwatch, a present from Alice one birthday. It was gold, with a pretty little strap. ‘It's lunchtime,' she said. ‘Wait till the afternoon rest period. I'll pop in then. And don't you worry, madam.'

Alice sat down on the window seat. The lovely landscape unrolled below, the marble lovers locked eternally in their embrace.

‘I'll never forget this,' she said, not looking at Lily. ‘You don't know how miserable I've been these last few days. Not seeing him. Worrying about him. He may think I've just got bored and given up on him.'

‘I'll tell him you haven't,' Lily promised. And she said again, ‘Don't worry. I'll see to it.'

The rest period lasted from two until 3.30. There was no one about when Lily knocked on the door in the south annexe. Nobody answered so she opened it and went in. The man sitting in his chair looked up briefly and then turned away. Funny-looking type, not what she'd expected. Dark as a Spaniard, black hair and eyes and all. Thin as a scarecrow too. Fancy her lady getting so worked up about him.

‘Good afternoon, sir,' she said. ‘Can I get you anything?'

‘No.' The voice was flat. He turned his head away.

Lily took a deep breath. ‘I'm Mrs Vandekar's maid. She sent me to see how you were.' She stood there – it seemed impossible to wait much longer.

Then his head turned towards her. ‘Where is she? Why hasn't she come?'

‘What on earth are you doing in here!' The nurse had come up behind her. She caught hold of Lily's arm.

Lily shook it off. ‘You shut up,' she snapped, ‘You never told the doctor, did you? Well, I'm telling him if you don't. Now, sir, do you want Mrs Vandekar to come and see you?'

‘Yes.' It was said very low. He brought up a hand and wiped his eyes.

Lily saw the tears running unchecked down his face. She gave the nurse a venomous look.

‘Oh, you bitch,' she whispered, ‘you bitch! Wait until my lady hears about this!'

‘Mrs Vandekar, I've decided to move Flight Lieutenant Armstrong back to Princess Mary's. It's the best thing for him.'

Alice drew a deep breath. ‘So they can send him to an asylum? Oh no, Dr Ferguson. No, you're not going to do that.'

He was infuriated by her tone; her angry denunciation of his nursing staff was the last straw. Armstrong should never have been foisted on them in the first place. He belonged with the mentally sick. ‘I've already made the arrangements.'

Alice flushed scarlet. ‘Then you can unmake them,' she said. ‘Unless you want to be posted out of this nice cushy billet. And don't think that I can't arrange it. One telephone call to my friend Lord Warrington complaining about your behaviour and that will fix you. For good!'

‘How dare you threaten me!' he exclaimed. ‘How dare you try and blackmail me!'

‘I don't give a damn what you call it. But I don't threaten anything I can't deliver. How would you like to go to North Africa, Doctor, and see the war at the sharp end for a change?'

‘You're unbelievable. You're a lunatic yourself!' He got up. ‘Get out of my office!' he shouted.

‘It's not your office, it's my house,' she shouted back. ‘You leave Nick Armstrong alone. I'll be responsible for him. I'll nurse him myself, and if anything goes wrong you can blame me. But he's not leaving here. Now call up and cancel those arrangements.'

‘I will see you damned before I do.'

‘Very well,' Alice said. She walked over to the desk and picked up the telephone. She dialled and, after a pause, said, ‘This is Mrs Hugo Vandekar. I'd like to speak to Lord Warrington. Thank you. Peter – how nice to talk to you … Oh, very well, busy, you know. We've a lot of patients at the moment.' She gave Ferguson a glare. ‘Not at all, it's a great privilege. But I'm having a little problem with one of the medical officers here …' She heard the door slam as the doctor walked out. ‘Well, it is rather embarrassing, but I wonder if you could help. It's a patient we've got, he's such a sweet boy and he's had such a bad time. I'm afraid this man Ferguson doesn't concern himself with battle-fatigue cases. He thinks they should all be in asylums. Yes, seriously, I've begged him not to send this particular boy away, but he won't listen and it's upset me dreadfully. He
is
rather special to me, Peter, and I've spent such a lovely time with him, reading and getting him to take an interest in things again. Now it's all going to be wasted. You wouldn't have a word, would you – just for me? Oh, you are just darling. I'm so grateful. Flight Lieutenant Armstrong – I'll go and tell the poor chap he won't have to move – he'll be
so
relieved. Everyone's been terribly upset about it. You really will? Oh, thank you, Peter. You're my favourite man.'

She put the receiver back. Peter Warrington was an old friend, one of the prewar circle who spent many happy weekends at Ashton. As Minister for Health he had inspected Ashton after it had been open for six months and had told Alice he would mention the wonderful work being done there to the Prime Minister. She walked back to the south annexe. If Peter Warrington said he would intervene, then the lines to Army Medical Corps would be buzzing.

‘Hello, Nick,' she said. He looked at her with his empty eyes. ‘Aren't you going to say hello?' she prompted. ‘If you don't speak to me, I won't be allowed to come and see you, you know. Did you miss me?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, thank God,' she said under her breath. ‘I missed you too. How have you been feeling? Are you all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘No, you're not,' she said brightly. ‘You've been sitting here glooming away feeling sorry for yourself. That's going to stop. I'm looking after you from now on. You don't need a nurse, except to dress your hands. I can do that for you if you like. One day you're going to stop wearing those silly gloves.'

He drew a sharp breath and hid his hands under his arms. ‘No,' he said, ‘no.'

‘I know they look bad,' Alice said gently. ‘It doesn't matter. They'd heal quicker if you didn't cover them. Nothing like that matters except your getting well.' She came and knelt close to the chair.

‘You don't know,' he said, and his mouth twisted in private agony. ‘You don't know …'

Alice reached out and put her arms round him. ‘Oh yes I do,' she whispered, trust me – everything's going to be all right. I promise.'

The new medical officer arrived within the week. Alice didn't see Ferguson before he left. The nursing staff knew that he had been replaced because of a row with Mrs Vandekar; it didn't make her popular but it made them wary. She had taken charge of Armstrong. She did everything for him herself, moving down into the south wing to be near him at night.

Some odd and ugly rumours began circulating among the nurses. He was a real basket case, they said, but Mrs High and Mighty had decided she was going to cure him. They couldn't say she neglected the others. Somehow Alice found time to do everything she'd done before. She read to men whose eyes had been affected, she played cards, she organized the weekly film show, she was there for anyone who asked. But she spent most of her time in that room, taking her meals with him, reading poetry which she discovered he liked. She only found it out because he would volunteer whole sentences sometimes. There were good days when she was full of hope, and bad days, when she hid her anxiety from him. There was no need to force the pace, no threat of a return to a mental hospital. Dear Peter Warrington had seen to that.

Alice left the war and his experiences lying fallow in his mind. Her task was to bring him back to normality, to make contact with life and people, and then bring him to the edge, holding fast to him when the moment came. ‘Nick,' she said one morning, ‘the sun's shining. It's quite warm outside. I'd like to walk round the garden. Will you come with me?'

When he didn't answer, she went on, overriding the refusal before it came. ‘I'll get a warm coat, there's one in the cupboard here. We'll just take a few turns and then come back. It'll do you good. Come on, put this on. There.' She buttoned it for him. He was taller than she was, but so frail and so uncertain in his movements that Alice held his arm and guided him out into the corridor and through into the gardens.

It was a warm day for early April, a time of year when Ashton drew on its cloak of glorious spring colours. Daffodils in great swathes, the patchwork of primulas under the trees. If only he could recognize its beauty, she thought. If only he could forget his nightmare and look out and see how wonderful life could be because of a beautiful day.

There was a walled garden, sheltered from winds and passers-by. She took him there and made him sit on a little seat in the sun. ‘You should have seen this place before the war,' she said. ‘Now it's a mess, because you can't get enough people for the gardens. They're all one-legged or something.' She laughed and slipped her arm through his. He still wore the gloves, but one day she would persuade him to take them off. ‘It used to be a sunken rose garden,' she went on. ‘The scent was almost too much when they were all blooming. But I'll get it right, when things are normal again. There'll be no more weeds, Nick, just masses and masses of flowers.'

‘I'd like to see them,' he said.

‘You will,' Alice said. ‘I promise.' He was having a very good day, she thought, and her heart filled with a deep joy. There was a brightness in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

‘I can't stay here for ever,' he said.

‘You can stay as long as you like,' she said.

‘I'd like that.'

‘So would I.' She mustn't let him see how moved she was. He became agitated and distressed if he sensed she was unhappy.

‘I don't want to go back to the hospital. I heard them say …'

The brightness was gone. He was fearful again, and Alice responded almost fiercely. ‘You're not going anywhere you don't want to,' she declared. ‘You're staying with me, here at Ashton. For the rest of your life, so far as I'm concerned.'

There was a long silence. She thought they had better go in. His walk out into the garden was miracle enough for one day. But there was another to come.

‘You care about me, don't you?'

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘Very much.'

‘I don't deserve it.'

‘I think you do.' It can't go on, it's too good to be true. He's talking to me about himself. Only once before when he wept in my arms and mumbled about his guilt, and since then nothing. Oddments. I like Browning. That gave the clue to poetry. Some classical music. This pudding tastes of apples. Fragments of the personality, but always superficial, always guarded. Maybe the moment was coming.