The House of Vandekar (4 page)

‘You're awake so early,' she said. ‘And breakfasted already? I couldn't eat a thing!'

‘Don't be so edgy, Mother – you'll only feel faint in the church if you don't eat. There's nothing to be nervous about. And I want you to enjoy everything as much as I shall.' Alice reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I couldn't have done it without you. You sold your things to raise the money to come to England … I know all about it. I'm going to buy them all back for you, Granny's necklace and earrings and anything else you sold to Tiffany's. No, don't look like that, I found the bill of sale before we left home. You shouldn't be so careless leaving things about!' She giggled suddenly. ‘Poor Hugo's going to be broke by the time I've finished with him. Shall I call him and say hello?'

Phoebe was shocked. ‘No, of course not. You can't just talk on the telephone as if this were an ordinary day! He's got to see you coming down that aisle looking like a queen. You're not to think of calling him.'

‘He's probably on the phone to his broker,' Alice said.

‘Oh, Alice … you mustn't say things like that.'

‘I say it to his face. All he thinks about is money and me, or me and money, I hope. He laughs. Mother darling, if I'd been some mealy-mouthed minnie, he wouldn't have looked at me. I put up a fight and he thinks it's marvellous. He loves it. And I love him.'

She threw back the bedclothes, pulled on her dressing gown and poked her feet into her slippers. She had beautiful feet and long, elegant legs.

‘You really do love him, don't you?' Phoebe said. ‘It's not just because he's rich and you've got carried away?' She'd asked the same question when they became engaged. Alice had loved her for it then. How many mothers, faced with such a rich son-in-law and permanent security, would have risked asking such a question.

‘I do love him,' she said. ‘And I'm not the kind that gets carried away, believe me. He's everything I want. He's clever, he's interesting, he's got the best sense of humour, we never stop laughing, and I'm going to love being married to him. He wants a family; I want to be the best wife in the world to him. We're going to be blissful together. I know it. Now Mother darling, I'm going to run my bath. I'll see you later. And mind you eat something!'

It was Hugo's wedding day. His valet woke him with tea at seven and he asked about the weather.

‘It looks like a fine morning, sir.'

‘Good. We can't have it raining today, can we?'

‘No. Certainly not, sir. Shall I bring breakfast later or would you like it now?'

‘Now, I think. And some aspirin.'

The valet smiled. ‘They're on the teatray sir. In case you needed them.'

His bachelor party had gone on well past midnight and ended in a nightclub, where Hugo had refused to celebrate his last night of freedom by taking one of the pretty dance hostesses upstairs. But he had drunk a lot of champagne, followed by brandy, and he had a headache. It was a fatal combination. He was usually very careful not to start the day with a hangover. He hadn't wanted to sleep with the girl. One of his friends had taken her on instead. He'd laughed off the jokes at his expense. He couldn't explain that his hunger was for one woman and no others could rouse him. If the wretched girl had stripped off in front of him, he wouldn't have reacted. All he could think of was holding Alice in his arms that night, undressing Alice, pulling the long hair down and spreading it through his fingers. He wanted her so much it was like a sickness. From the moment on the terrace at Ashton she roused a passion he had never experienced before. Many women had come and gone through his life. He had fancied he was in love with some of them. He indulged a powerful sexual appetite without any scruple. He knew that his money was an attraction to women, his bachelor status even more so. He had pursued and been pursued but never caught. Alice had not attempted to catch him. He had been entrapped by her independence and her gaiety. And by the sexual aura of which she seemed quite unaware.

His mother didn't like her, Hugo knew that. His brother Phillip was admiring, but he was still too much his mother's boy to have a favourable view of Alice. Hugo didn't care. He didn't care what anyone thought because this was the girl he was going to marry and that was the end of it. And she was strong. He had watched the contest between his mother and his fiancée, and Alice won without much difficulty. He loved his mother, but his father only tolerated stupid women and Hugo's mother was very stupid. Alice was clever. Strong-willed, impulsive, highly intelligent. A challenge that would rise up and face him all through their married life, he realized that.

He was marrying her that day. The ritual and the snobbery didn't concern him. Nor did the service. He was not religious. Nor, he was sure, was she. He knew she was a virgin. Not because she told him, but because he'd known too many impostors to be deceived. Alice was innocent in her own way.

He didn't even think of taking her to bed. He was keeping that, whetting his own appetite and hers by deliberate self-control. He didn't want a hole-and-corner seduction to spoil the climax of their wedding. He wanted to conquer that provocative sexuality and prove that he could master it. And her. Then offer her the world.

It was indeed the wedding of the year. The society columnists went into ecstasies over the bride's dress, the handsome bridegroom; they gushed over the distinguished guests – twelve hundred of them – the splendid reception at Londonderry House. It was lavish, glittering, romantic. The superlatives flowed like the champagne. And then the final accolade. The Prince of Wales attended the reception.

Alice and Hugo were standing together; the receiving line had come to an end at last. Alice had shaken so many hands her own felt numb. The Prince arrived late; Hugo's mother had begun to panic that he might not be coming. But there he was, advancing towards them. Alice curtsied. She didn't get a chance to examine him properly. Lady Furness, who'd been so kind when they first came to London, wasn't his mistress any more. Her good friend Wallis Simpson had replaced her. He murmured a few words – he had a flat, rather metallic voice. She watched him move into the crowd. People made way for him. He joined a small, very slim woman in an exquisitely cut blue dress.

‘What did he say to you?' Alice wanted to know.

‘Nothing much,' Hugo answered. ‘Just said how charming you looked, wished us happiness.'

‘He said that to me. I looked charming, I mean, not you! Is that her – in the blue?'

‘Yes, it is. Don't stare, darling. We should move round and talk to people. And he's wrong. You don't look charming. You look beautiful.' He raised her hand and kissed it. She looked up at him and he saw the expression in her eyes. For a moment he trembled. His wild one, he called her. She was gazing at him with real love. That look promised everything.

She said, ‘Why darling, you've got the shakes. You must have been a naughty boy at your dinner last night!'

‘It's tonight I'm thinking about,' he whispered.

‘Me too,' Alice said. ‘Won't it be wonderful to be just on our own – just the two of us? I guess we better mingle. It'll soon be time to cut the cake.' Hugo watched her as she entered the crowd. He was so proud of her. She hadn't faltered throughout the long wedding ceremony. She had carried herself with dignity and grace, and he'd never forget that look, more valuable to him than any vows.

The bridal suite was booked at the Amstel. Amsterdam was a beautiful city, one of the most romantic in the world. And so special to him. He wanted to show her the little house by the Zeeden Bridge where three generations of Vandekars had been born and died before old Adam moved to London and began to build a trading empire. Alice would love it. He could see her talking to a group of young men. Men were fascinated by her. He would have to be careful with Alice. Only a fool would be complacent.

‘Hugo.' He turned. His younger brother was beside him. Phillip had been his best man. They had never been rivals. Even as very small boys, Hugo's dominance was accepted.

‘Well, you did it,' Phillip said. ‘You've actually got her to the altar! I must say, she's a stunning girl. I've been sent over to tell you it's time to cut the cake. Mother and I have been talking to La Simpson. She makes the Little Man dance attendance on her like a bloody waiter. I've got the notes for our speeches. I'll put yours on the table for you.'

‘I'll get Alice,' Hugo said. He could sympathize with his future king's obsession. He wanted Alice with him every moment.

It was a wonderful wedding, ending, as all wonderful weddings should, with a laughing departure in a flurry of rice and real rose petals. Mrs John Vandekar waved them away, with her son Phillip beside her. She said goodbye to her daughter-in-law's mother. She was just a little tired, she explained, and her doctor had insisted that she go home to Sussex and have an early night.

Phoebe accepted the lie with her usual simplicity. It had been an emotional day, she agreed. But wasn't it just wonderful? Weren't they the handsomest couple, and so much in love? Tears brimmed in her eyes.

Mrs Vandekar said yes, indeed, and please excuse her but her chauffeur was bringing round the car and she had a long drive ahead of her. She was not going any farther than the house in St James's Square, where a dinner for thirty close friends and relatives had been planned long before. She disliked sentimentality and that silly woman's wet eyes had irritated her. Mrs Vandekar was practical, sound and not at all clever. She felt that Hugo had made a thoroughly bad choice. But he was the head of the family and she would have to make the best of it. She wished he had settled on a nice English girl. These American women were so assertive. She looked quickly at her younger son. Phillip was a good boy. A lightweight, his father called him, but then he was such a harsh judge of his sons. Phillip was a dear, and he wouldn't marry anyone she didn't approve of, she felt quite confident of that.

She slipped her hand through his arm. ‘I shall miss Hugo,' she said. ‘But, thank goodness, I've got you. I don't like her, Phillip. I don't know what it is about her, but there's something … I do hope Hugie will be happy with her.'

‘Mother,' said her younger son, ‘don't worry about Hugie. He can take care of himself. Give Alice a chance. She's very American. She'll mellow. And she won't let him walk all over her either, and that's no bad thing. Now cheer up, we'll have a jolly good party tonight.'

The flight was exciting. The plane bumped in air pockets and Alice clung to her new husband and laughed. Nothing frightened her. She had no nerves, no anticipation of disaster. Everything was an adventure. Looking at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, as they lurched in some really unpleasant turbulence, Hugo thought what a splendid man she would have made, and then thanked God she wasn't.

As it grew calmer and they came in to land at the airport, he pointed out to her the gleaming network of canals, shining like silver ribbons through the city. ‘I love it,' he said, ‘I come three times a year. I feel it's part of me, I feel as if I am coming home whenever I see that view.'

‘Well, you're part Dutch, darling, so it's not surprising,' Alice said.

He hadn't told her where they were going till they were driving to the airport. She had rather hoped for Paris. Amsterdam made her think of tulips and those round, red-skinned cheeses. But Hugo said the Amstel was one of the greatest hotels in Europe, so that would be nice.

It didn't disappoint her. Neither did the charming old city itself as they drove through. She exclaimed over the quaint gabled houses fronting onto a sweep of canal. There were windowboxes everywhere, filled with tulips – what else? – but it was colourful and neat, like a picture-book town.

The Amstel was as grand as he had promised. They had a suite overlooking the canal and there were great banks of flowers in their rooms. Trunks and suitcases were brought up. Hugo wouldn't let her bring a ladies' maid. The hotel had offered to engage someone suitable, and they had. A pleasant Dutch woman with reasonable English came to help her change out of her travelling suit. Champagne was waiting in their sitting room.

Hugo had changed too. He wore a short silk dressing gown. He gave her a full glass. ‘To us, my darling,' he said. ‘I'm going to make you the happiest girl in the world.'

He was fast asleep. She could hear his deep breathing in the darkness. As soon as she could, she eased herself away from him, inching to the very edge of the bed. She couldn't bear to touch him. He was naked and, despite all her protests, so was she. When he slept she was able to cry. She let the tears run down her face until the hollows at the base of her neck were wet.

She wasn't hurt. He had been so considerate, so gentle, assuring her over and over again that the horrible things he was doing would be lovely for her too. ‘Just relax with me, my darling, don't tighten up against me …' She had wanted to strike out at him, tear herself free. But she couldn't. This was the much-vaunted wedding night, this disgusting ordeal.

She couldn't blame him or say that he had been rough or selfish. His gentleness and restraint had made it worse. In trying to arouse her, he prolonged the agony.

Men had kissed her, tried to take liberties. Her first admirer was a cousin who had fumbled with her clothes when she was seventeen and retreated with a slapped face.

It was easy to fend off what she didn't like: she had her reputation to consider and a good, rich marriage as her aim. She wasn't ignorant. She knew all the facts and viewed them without enthusiasm or alarm. Other girls said what a man did to you was thrilling, and she accepted that it probably was since so many people made fools of themselves on account of it. Sex made the world go round. She remembered that axiom and felt sick. Really sick, so that she slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, heaving into the basin. Nothing came up.