The House of Vandekar (8 page)

‘Do you like it?' she asked Hugo. ‘Are you really pleased with what I've done?'

‘It's perfect,' he said. ‘I thought you'd kill yourself doing it, but it's perfect.'

‘Wait till you see the dining room,' Alice said. ‘I've been saving that up. Oh Hugo, I can't wait to have this baby and get back to normal. Think of the parties we'll give here!'

He didn't answer. She didn't want the child, he knew that. Maybe after it was a reality she'd feel that it was more important than the house.

In the first week in May she gave birth. It was a long and very painful labour. The child was a girl and she was christened Fern.

Ashton was too remote, so Alice agreed they should have the christening ceremony in London, at St James's, Piccadilly. There were six godparents.

‘Not a commoner among them,' Alice announced to her mother. ‘I guess you think I'm a snob.'

‘I hope not, darling,' Phoebe answered. Alice was too thin, and too restless. The birth had been difficult, poor Hugo had been frantic with worry, but the baby was so sweet, poor little thing.

Fern Alexandra. Lovely names. Phoebe said gently. ‘I'm so glad it's a little girl. I've always wanted a granddaughter and she's so pretty already.'

Alice put an arm round her. ‘I'm glad you're glad,' she said. ‘She'll be lucky to have you. I know I am. It's just a pity she's not a boy.'

‘Hugo doesn't mind. He's crazy about her – surely you know that?'

‘Of course I do. He hangs over the cot making goo-goo noises like some kind of idiot – Mother, don't you see it means I've got to have another one? Nine months of feeling like hell and looking worse and then that awful business at the end …'

She lit a cigarette. The ashtray was full of stubs. She had chain-smoked since the birth. She saw her mother's anxious face and said. ‘Oh – I shouldn't have said that. Don't take any notice of me, I'm just het up about this christening. All these hundreds of people and all the arrangements to be made. I wish we could have had it at Ashton.'

She seemed happy when she was there, more relaxed. The house was always full of people and Alice loved showing it off. Phoebe felt she was too obsessed by it, but again she said nothing. So far as she could see, Hugo was an adoring and indulgent husband. Alice was beautiful, rich, gifted with wit and personality. But not happy. Phoebe had suffered enough herself to know that.

‘Mother, I've got a fitting this afternoon – I've got to rush. I'll call you tomorrow.'

‘You go ahead, darling,' Phoebe said. ‘I'll just go up and see little Fern before I leave.'

It was the prettiest nursery imaginable. Pink and white, with a cot swathed in tulle and ribbons. The nurse engaged by Alice had impeccable references and long experience of looking after children from a few weeks old. Alice could safely leave the welfare of the little girl to her.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Holmes Fry.'

‘Good afternoon, Nanny. Is she asleep?'

‘No, just lying quietly. She's such a good baby, never cries.'

Phoebe bent over the cradle. Under the canopy of pink and white flounces the baby looked at her. She was dark, like Hugo, with a round, rather fat face and big blue eyes that were already changing colour. She didn't cry much, that was true. A placid, quiet little thing.

‘She's a little dear,' the nanny said. ‘One of my nicest babies.' She leaned over and touched the child's cheek. The baby smiled. The mother never went near it, except when Mr Vandekar came up. The grandmother showed more affection than
she
did. But she was typical. Spoilt, selfish young madam. ‘I want someone who'll take complete charge,' she'd said. ‘I don't know anything about babies and we lead a very busy life.'

Poor little thing, with a mother like that who didn't even come to see it. She'd make up for her. She'd give the little girl lots of love, like all her other babies. She saw the grandmother out. Nice woman, even if she was American. She went back to the cot. ‘There, my little lovekin, we're going to turn over and have a nice little nap.'

It was a very prestigious job, with a very good salary and conditions. She lifted the baby and cuddled her for a moment. ‘Who's my best girl, then?' she murmured.

Alice's baby looked at her and smiled.

By the time Fern Alexandra was two years old, the little king with the yellow hair had abdicated and married his American divorcée. The jazzy parties became old-fashioned, like the rattle of cocktail shakers. The little king's Fort Belvedere was given up to ghosts. Bright and brittle lives had lost their glamour; the country and the Empire were safe from constitutional crisis. There was a new king and his consort, with two small daughters, and Britain felt secure again.

Mr and Mrs Hugo Vandekar were just as popular with the society columnists. Alice was photographed and written about, her witty sayings were repeated; invitations to Ashton became more and more prized as the splendour of the parties she gave increased.

The Vandekars were a bright spot in a darkening year, with rumours of Nazi Germany's build-up of armaments and men. To Alice the talk of possible war was tiresome pessimism. Anyone who mentioned such things and spoiled the fun at Ashton wasn't asked again. And Hugo didn't discuss it with her because there was another woman, and he talked to her about everything.

Fern Alexandra grew up with Nanny in her nursery. She was a happy child. Quiet and a little slow, perhaps, but docile and sweet-natured. Nanny's love enveloped her; she saw people called Mummy and Daddy but they came so briefly into her life that they had little substance. Daddy played with her and she grew to like the smell and feel of a man. It was reassuring. Mummy came in and out, like a bright sunbeam that vanished moments later. She didn't know the smell or the feel of her, because she stayed on Nanny's knee and clung in case Mummy tried to pick her up. There were grannies, who patted her and brought soft cuddly things to play with. She still clung to Nanny in case they tried to separate them. But she was very happy.

The Munich crisis put an end to one of Alice's best-planned weekend parties at Ashton. Two cabinet ministers and their wives, long pursued by Hugo and finally netted by Alice, cancelled at the last moment. Hugo had come down from London early on Thursday. The way to manage his enormous interests was by dint of inside information at the highest level. He had courted Chamberlain's colleagues with that end in view, and because Alice understood his reasons she targeted the wives. She was difficult to resist, even for ladies so highly placed. She was so beautiful and so well known, and, of course, so rich. But above all she could be so charming. Men and women were equally vulnerable and her reputation was untouched by scandal. She flirted and amused, but there were no whispers of a lover. The same was not said of Hugo. Some of her women friends were able to be sorry for her, and that made her even easier to like.

‘What am I to do?' she demanded. She threw the telegrams down and faced Hugo. ‘We've got the Adams and the Reedlands and the Spanish Ambassador – what are they going to think that our two most important guests have cancelled? This is just the damnedest thing to do!'

Hugo looked at her. She was twenty-seven, mature and lovely as a young woman, but she seemed suddenly no more than a petulant, silly child. Have I done this, he thought, seeing the scowl and the telegrams bunched into little tight balls and thrown on the floor. Have I turned the intelligent, original girl with all her American flair and independence into a spoiled, useless creature who can't see anything beyond her weekend party? He felt more angry with himself than with her.

‘They've cancelled because the Prime Minister has decided to fly to Germany and see Hitler. He's trying to avert a war. It's just possible that Charlie and Rachel Adams and the Reedlands
and
the Spanish Ambassador – who I didn't want to ask anyway – will understand. I only wish you did too.'

Alice stared at him. ‘Well, my God! And who's been baiting the hook for those two old bores for nearly a year? You have! “I want to invite them here,” that's what you said to me. “I want you to be especially charming to Lady Tritton – see if you can get her to lunch.” God, Hugo, what a hypocrite you are! You're just as furious as I am, except you won't admit it – and
I've
taken all the trouble. Why did he have to go to Munich just at this time anyway? Next week would have done just as well.' She opened one of the cigarette boxes that were kept in every room and lit a cigarette.

Hugo stopped blaming himself. That last remark was a deliberate provocation. He still slept with her – he hadn't completely got over that miserable hunger when she was close, but she could make him lose his temper quicker than anyone else. He grabbed her by the arm. ‘There's going to be a war. Don't you understand? Don't you care? I wanted those old bores, as you call them, because I've got responsibilities all over the world and I have to protect them. That's why I'm disappointed. You're just annoyed because your bloody house party's been upset!'

Alice wrenched her arm away. ‘Responsibilities my foot! Money's what you mean. I don't care about Chamberlain or Munich and I don't believe there's going to be a war! And if there is, you'll just get richer!'

He stepped away from her. ‘If there's a war, I'll be fighting while
you
get richer. Now I'm going upstairs to see Fern.'

‘Go ahead,' Alice shrugged. ‘Have a nice long talk with Nanny. Ask her what she thinks about Munich!'

He slammed the door.

She lit another cigarette. ‘I'd better tell Lily,' she said out loud. What she meant was, where's Lily, I want to tell her what's happened. But she couldn't admit that, of course.

‘I wouldn't mind, if I was you, madam,' Lily said.

‘You're not me,' Alice said. ‘You haven't made all the plans and written all the letters inviting people and worked out all the menus.'

Lily put her head on one side. ‘Oh, there, there. You've a housekeeper and a chef and lord knows how many servants in this house taking care of everything. Why don't you put the others off then?'

‘Oh, shut up, Lily! Go and get me a drink and stop nagging.'

‘I'm not nagging,' Lily insisted. ‘Why don't you put them all off? It'd look better, you know. People shouldn't be giving parties at a time like this.'

‘You're nuts,' Alice said. She knew vulgarity pained Lily. ‘You'd think we were at war already. What do you mean, look better? Who cares what I do?'

‘Nobody, most likely. It just looks better, as if you and Mr Hugo were serious about it. Like the rest of us.'

‘You mean you? Lily, what the hell does any of it matter to you? You won't be affected.'

‘I have three brothers, madam. They'll go off and fight if there's a war. And England's my country. I mind about it.'

Alice rubbed her arm. Hugo had held on so tightly that there would be a bruise. It brought back ugly memories of a night in Amsterdam. ‘I asked for a drink,' she said. ‘I've half a mind to take your advice, you know that? I've half a mind to ring round and cancel everyone. That'd teach him.'

‘Make it a whole one and do it,' Lily said. ‘I'll get you a nice martini made up.'

Alice went on rubbing her arm. Suddenly she didn't feel like entertaining people. The motive had gone.

Perhaps Lily was right. She had this straightforward common sense that saw the obvious. Maybe she should cancel her party, not just to spite Hugo, but because it was the right thing to do in the circumstances. The telephone rang. She picked it up. ‘Yes, oh, yes, Your Excellency. Oh, well, of course I understand. You couldn't possibly be out of touch here at such a time. Well, I'll make a confession to you … I was just about to call you and our other guests and suggest we made it another time when let's hope things are more settled. Yes, I do pray he will. So much does depend on it … Yes, I will tell my husband. Goodbye.'

Lily came back with a dry martini on a salver. She knew how to mix Alice's favourite drink and kept the ingredients in her sewing room.

‘That's the Ambassador,' Alice explained. ‘He's cancelled too. Give me that, Lily, and get me my address book, will you? I must get on and call the rest of them before anyone else calls me.'

‘Yes, madam,' Lily said. For a moment she and Alice smiled at each other, like conspirators. Alice tried the martini, found it excellent as usual, and reached for the telephone.

There was a report in the press the next morning that the famous society hostess Mrs Vandekar had cancelled one of her lavish parties as a sign of concern over the Anglo-German crisis. It was the beginning of her reputation as a patriot.

‘Darling, don't cry.' Phoebe hugged her. Alice hardly ever cried; when she did it was noisy and uninhibited. ‘I've got to go home,' her mother went on. ‘If there's going to be a war, I might not get back for ages. Please, don't make it so difficult for me.'

‘There
isn't
going to be a war,' Alice insisted. ‘It's just a lot of scaremongering! Why can't you wait a bit longer? I'm going to be so lonely without you, Mother …'

Phoebe reached out and put her arm round Alice's shoulders. ‘Darling, listen to me. We've been very close since you got married. I'm always coming down to Ashton and I love it here. But you're settled now. You have Hugo and dear little Fern, and this wonderful house you've made so beautiful. You're a famous person, my dear. Your life is full. You don't need me any more and you shouldn't. I want to go home. I miss the States. I'd have gone sooner except you wouldn't hear of it.'

‘Don't make me feel guilty,' Alice said. ‘It's not fair. I know you miss home. Damn it, so do I at times.' She wiped her eyes angrily. ‘OK, my life is full. But I've made it full. I've made it so busy I haven't time to think. And I've always had you. I just had to lift the telephone and you were there.'