The House of Vandekar (33 page)

Nearly five. The time had sped by. ‘No thanks, I don't think so. I've got some more work to do, John. But you could bring me a whisky and soda.'

He'd forgotten Diana was due back. He'd worked feverishly on his book, and listened to the playback, exulting in how original and amusing it was becoming. It was so easy now that he had the odd drink. It was commonplace for the young footman who looked after him to find him asleep in his clothes in the morning. Nobody knew what to do. They waited, because Mrs Richard would be home by the end of the week.

She drove up the drive and the stately house was like a pearl in the sunshine. She was so longing to see Richard. Longing to make a fuss of him and give him the presents she'd bought. She was very brown and very, very tired. Lethargic, after a sexual marathon with dozens of different pick-ups. From the moment the plane landed she shut Portugal out of her mind. It would be so lovely to see Richard and Nancy. She'd got a dressed doll for her that was so pretty.

She hadn't forgotten her promise to find somewhere they could go together in the autumn. The local travel agent had recommended a hotel inland which had been a private palace. It had magnificent rooms and terrace after terrace of ornamental gardens. Richard would enjoy it. She parked the car and ran in and up the stairs to their rooms to find him.

He was sitting by his desk. She didn't see the decanter and the glass at first. ‘Darling! I'm back!' She hurried to throw her arms round him.

He pushed the chair back and tripped. ‘Di!' He recovered himself. ‘Di, darling!
Hello
…'

Diana froze.

He lumbered towards her, a beaming smile on his face. ‘Did you have a good time? Did you have fun? I've had fun … I've been working and working … Listen, come and listen … It's bloody good, you know.'

He was drunk. Very drunk. She let him lead her to the desk, put her into his chair, and she sat while he switched on the tape. It was gibberish.

He leaned down and looked at her. ‘What's the matter? Don't you like it? What's the matter?'

Diana got up. He was unsteady on his feet. ‘Sit down, Dick,' she said. ‘You've gone back on it, haven't you?'

‘Not really,' he protested. ‘Just one now and again. It hasn't hurt me. Don't you like the book?'

‘Yes,' she mumbled. ‘Yes, I like it. It's very good.'

She had to get him away from Ashton. Back to London. The servants knew, of course, but the housekeeper wasn't there, nor thank God, was Lily Parker. The young staff wouldn't dare say anything to Alice. She had to get him home. She couldn't think what to do beyond that.

He was amiable in drink. Affectionate and friendly, willing to do whatever she suggested. She drove him home that evening. He was sober enough to unpack and behave normally when they got in, but he went looking for a drink. Diana never kept alcohol in the flat. ‘I'm just popping out for cigarettes darling,' he said.

She stood against the door. She was trembling. ‘It's your punishment. God's punishment for what you've been doing.' Her father had shouted that at her often enough. ‘God knows you're lying. He knows what you are …'

‘Don't buy drink,' she said. ‘Please, Dick, I beg of you. Don't go out and buy it. Just for tonight.'

‘Don't be silly, Di. There's nothing to worry about. I can handle it now. I promise you.'

‘You can't,' she said in despair. ‘You can't ever have a drink again. You know that! Oh, why did you do it? Why? Just because I left you for a few days.' She broke down in tears.

He shook his head. ‘That's not why,' he said. ‘Listen, darling, I'm not lit up now. Well a bit, not much. I didn't booze because you weren't there. I boozed because I wanted to. You're here and I still want to. If I don't get some tonight, I'll get it tomorrow.'

She went into the bedroom and locked the door. She didn't want to see him go out or be there when he came back. She had to have help. She had to stop him before Alice came back. She dialled the specialist who had looked after him before. It was a Friday and the Ansaphone gave a number to ring in an emergency. She rang it. A woman answered. Diana stammered in desperation. The woman on the other end was used to such calls. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘My husband is up north. He won't be back till Monday. You can ring him in Harley Street at nine o'clock.'

‘What am I to do?' Diana cried. ‘How can I stop him?'

‘I don't think you can,' was the answer. ‘Just hold on till Monday. And try not to worry. Isn't there anyone you can get to come round?'

‘No,' Diana said slowly. ‘There isn't. Thank you. Goodbye.'

She put the phone down. She came out of the bedroom. The flat was empty. He had gone. There were times when he didn't come back for a day or more. Especially if she'd been upset or angry because he was drinking. He went and holed up in some bed and breakfast and drank himself insensible.

By nine o'clock Diana knew it was going to be like that this time. She had three weeks to save herself and Richard before Alice and Hugo came back from France. And she couldn't do it alone.

‘Brian, it's so good of you to come.'

‘No sweat,' he said gently. ‘When did he get back?'

‘Half an hour ago. He's in a dreadful state. I put him to bed. In there.'

He opened the door. Richard was lying flat on his back. He was unshaven and dirty, and the sickly smell of alcohol hung pungent in the air.

‘He'd fallen down,' Diana said behind him. ‘His trousers were torn and his knee was bleeding. He started crying when he saw me. It was so terrible to see him like that.'

‘Not much fun for you either,' Brian remarked. He closed the door. Poor little thing – she looked so white and miserable. He had no sympathy with the rotten drunk lying in there. ‘Thank God you called me,' he said. ‘You couldn't possibly cope with this. Come on, why don't you sit down? I'll make us both a cup of coffee. Have you had anything to eat?'

‘I couldn't,' she said. ‘I felt sick with worry. I'm so sorry about this but I
had
to talk to somebody!'

He'd been kind when she was in trouble before. He was always nice to her in spite of Fern. She couldn't risk getting
her
, so she phoned his studio and by a miracle he was working even though it was Sunday. She burst into tears as she spoke to him. Richard had been missing since Friday night. She'd tried the police and the local hospitals but he hadn't been picked up. He was on a major jag. Brian didn't ask any questions. He just said, ‘I'll be right round.'

She did as he told her and sat down. She was weak with misery. He came back with coffee and said, ‘Drink this. I've made us some sandwiches. I haven't had any lunch either.'

‘What am I going to do?'

He shrugged. ‘Get him in somewhere and let them dry him out. That's the first step.'

‘But he'll start again as soon as he comes out,' she protested. ‘It's happened every time before. Brian, you don't know what will happen when Alice finds out he's drinking again. After eighteen months. She'll think it's because I left him alone.'

He saw despair and fear in her eyes. Fear of what? ‘Why the hell should she blame you?' he demanded. ‘She knows he's a hopeless boozer. How could you have stopped him even if you were with him twenty-four hours a bloody day? You never managed it before.'

‘She will blame me,' she said. ‘They'll kick me out. Hugo won't mind this time. I don't know what to do,' she repeated.

‘You're not going to do anything,' he said. ‘I'll handle this. I'll get him in somewhere tonight. You can't be left alone with him. And I can't stay because Fern would raise hell if I did.'

‘Don't tell her,' Diana pleaded. ‘Please, don't tell her.'

‘I wasn't going to,' he answered. ‘I've got a pal who's a doctor. We were at school together. Good old Paddy, like me. He's up in Harley Street coining money. I'll get hold of him.'

Richard was admitted to a private clinic that evening. Brian got him up, washed him and shaved him, changed his clothes. It upset Diana because he was quite rough. Richard submitted to everything, bleary and disorientated. Brian and she drove him to Putney. Brian's friend was waiting for them. He was a slight, spectacled man, with a Cork sing-song in his voice. He took charge of Richard, who willingly agreed to go wherever was suggested. It wasn't strictly ethical to admit him in that condition, but after what Brian had said Tim Flanagan wasn't going to bother about rules. The wife couldn't be left alone with that.

Outside the clinic Brian helped Diana into the car. ‘You'll be all right tonight, won't you? I wish I could say come back and stay with us, but I can't.'

He saw her crying and said, ‘For Christ's sake, don't upset yourself over him. He isn't worth it.'

‘I'm so sorry,' she whispered. ‘I'm so sorry for him …'

‘Do better to be sorry for yourself. Look. I'll ring home and say I'm going to the pub. I meet my old friends sometimes and we have a few jars. Fern never comes, she hates pubs. I'll take you somewhere and give you dinner.'

He was being kind, Diana told herself. Helping her out because she was his sister-in-law. He was very much a family man. All the Irish stuck together. She gazed at him across the table. He had rather a beautiful face. Not classically handsome like Richard used to be, but sensitive, fine-drawn. And deep, intelligent eyes.

They went to a small trattoria in the King's Road. Not so full on a Sunday evening. They had a table in the corner. She wasn't really hungry but she ate to please him.

Fern was so lucky. He was kind and strong and took all the decisions.

She gazed at him with such intensity that he began to see her as if it was the first time. She was beautiful in a wistful way. Marvellous colouring with the red hair and a flawless skin. What a waste, he thought suddenly. Throwing herself away on that piss artist. A good hard kick up the arse was what he needed, instead of everyone running round after him. No wonder she'd got herself mixed up with that married man – what was his name? He couldn't remember … Pity she didn't go off with him and leave mother's boy. What a hell of a life she must have led.

‘I better get the bill. The pubs'll be shut by now.'

‘Is Fern very jealous of you?' Diana asked him.

He hesitated. ‘Possessive, not jealous. She knows she hasn't any reason to be. I've never looked at anyone else.' Until now, he thought, as he took her arm and walked to the car. She was light as a feather.

As an artist he knew that everyone has an aura. If you capture that, you've painted a true portrait. And Diana's aura was affecting him very powerfully. She breathed sexual attraction.

He drove her home and said goodnight at the entrance. He didn't trust himself to go up to the flat. She turned and lifted her face to be kissed. On the cheek, like a good sister-in-law. Her lips were slightly open.

‘Thank you, Brian. Thank you for everything.' She reached up and kissed him full on the mouth. He didn't know how he managed to leave her and go home.

‘I mustn't do it. I mustn't do it again.' Diana said the same thing every time. ‘Richard's in that home, having treatment. I mustn't see Brian.' But she did. Each day she made the resolution when he left and the next day she broke it. He had done everything, taken the responsibility for the specialists and the nursing home, ordered her to stay out of the way. And taken her to bed as if he expected her to put up some resistance. ‘I'm in love with you,' he said, and that had been enough. She hadn't had to touch him or seduce him. All she had to do was submit to his desire and let herself explode in unison.

He was a wonderful lover. She felt safe with him too. Fern mustn't find out. Her secret would be kept along with his. And he was helping her patch up Richard in time. ‘He'll last for a bit, my darling,' he promised her. ‘When he goes on the piss again, and he will, it's got to be right under their noses. You move into Ashton as soon as they come home.'

Diana said, ‘Yes, darling,' and believed that she'd be strong enough to do what he told her. Alice and Hugo were still some days away. She forgot everything when he made love to her. In the end there were no more resolutions. ‘I love you,' he said, and she began to say it back to him. It made the guilty feelings go away.

She went to visit Richard every day. He was restless and bored. ‘I want to come home,' he'd say, and she'd do what Brian told her and persuade him that one more day wouldn't be too bad. He was so much better. One more day and the day after that. He was weak and depressed. Very depressed. He didn't think of discharging himself because Diana said he would be out on Wednesday anyway and she planned that they should go straight to Ashton. His parents and the grandchildren would arrive that evening. He'd be so much stronger and everything was going to be all right. And she loved him, she insisted, cradling the sunken head in her arms. She would never stop loving him. He knew that.

The day before they were due to go to Ashton her nerve failed. At least that was the explanation she gave herself. Just cowardice – fear of facing Alice and the chill eyes of Hugo. How could she pretend that nothing had happened? How could she hope to repeat the lie Brian had rehearsed her in so convincingly? Poor darling Richard had just got over a really dreadful bout of flu. That would account for the loss of weight, the low spirits. They wouldn't be deceived. Alice would suspect. She'd ask him. Diana worked herself into a state of panic.

She used to lie so easily, so fluently. But this time the prospect terrified her. She didn't want to go to Ashton, and if she hadn't telephoned Brian she probably wouldn't have done. ‘You've got to be there,' she insisted. ‘Stay for a week, see me through this. Darling, I can't face them on my own.'