The House of Vandekar (32 page)

‘Mummy, come and watch me.'

Diana smiled. The child was pony mad. She'd never gone through that phase when she was little. Nancy spent every spare moment with the new pony. It was Alice's birthday present. The docile old pensioner she had learnt to ride on was happily retired. There was a new star in the stable, bright chestnut, with a flowing mane and tail and a reputation won at show classes in the county. Alice and her granddaughter were a familiar sight at local shows. And Alice had seen the little chestnut heading the line so many times, it began to take her fancy. Nancy sighed and gazed at it, never imagining that the prize could be hers. Alice decided that she must have it. There was no gainsaying her when she had made up her mind. Diana tried; she was frightened the high-spirited little creature would be too much for Nancy to manage. Alice brushed the objections aside. ‘The child who rides it isn't as good as Nancy,' she said. ‘I'll get a proper groom, and she can teach Nancy. In fact I might try to tempt the girl who looks after it now.'

The pony and its keeper were tempted indeed by the price Alice offered. And it had been waiting for Nancy in the stable on her seventh birthday, with ribbons plaited into its mane. Alice spoiled Nancy. Diana couldn't stop her and didn't really want to. She hadn't been spoiled herself as a child. Where Alice loved she was overgenerous. So much of her love for Richard had spilled over to the little girl.

Richard was going into the bank twice a week now, not doing too much at first, but he was enthused by the idea of writing a book on the Vandekars. Diana was so happy to see him interested and alert again. Of course he would write the book, she insisted when Fern made some disparaging reference to the length of time he spent researching. You can't hurry these things. He'd get down to the actual writing when he had everything assembled. She loved him so much. She told him so, and it was a way of begging him not to ask questions or wonder why she made no attempt to revive their sex life.

She had made a promise during that long voyage. She was responsible for his loss of confidence and the drinking that followed. He must never be pressured again. She would deal with her own problem in her own way.

And so far fate had been kind. Her affairs were discreet and she had avoided the risk of becoming involved in a long-term affair with any married man. She lived a schizophrenic life, a loving wife and a fond mother at Ashton for part of the week, and the woman who slipped in and out of hotels and flats with a variety of men. She had matured, and at twenty-six she was a very beautiful woman. It wasn't difficult to find men. They gravitated towards her, scenting the sexual invitation that was implicit in everything she did. Their object was the same as hers. Luck was holding out so far. Richard was sober, Nancy was growing up into a lovely, happy child, and Alice, whom she had feared more than anyone in the family, had come down firmly on the side of the marriage once Richard had stopped drinking. Alice was her safeguard, and though she was never at ease with her, Diana was grateful.

She went down to the paddock to watch Nancy school the little pony. The girl was coaching her. Diana stood by the rail and watched. She didn't understand exactly what was happening, but there were rosettes in Nancy's bedroom to prove that it was working.

‘Hello, Diana.'

She turned in surprise. ‘Brian? I didn't know you were coming down? How nice to see you.' He gave her a friendly peck of a kiss on the cheek and she blushed.

‘Fern wanted a break. We've brought the kids. How's the riding going?'

‘Very well, I think,' she said. ‘I never had a pony myself, so I don't know too much about it.'

He grinned. ‘I didn't have a pony either! She looks good on it. I'm afraid horses are not my idea of fun.'

‘Dangerous at both ends and unsafe in the middle,' Diana quoted, and they both laughed. After a decent interval they walked back to the house together.

Alice and Hugo went to the South of France that summer, to the same rented villa. They had gone to Cap d'Antibes for the past ten years – Hugo disliked hotels. The villa belonged to a Greek shipping magnate. It was luxuriously furnished with a large staff and a magnificent swimming pool. The magnate had lent it to the Vandekars in the palmy days when tankers were at a premium. Latterly he wasn't so rich and was happy to take a generous rent from his old friends. Alice enjoyed it. She took Lily with her, who grumbled because she didn't like the heat but would never have agreed to stay behind.

Sometimes they invited friends to join them. It amused Alice to see how ambitious Hugo was and how cleverly he courted those who might support him. He had higher ambitions than a place in the Cabinet, and only she suspected just how high they might be. He could do it too. He was shrewd, determined, dedicated, and he could gather people round him when he wanted to. He was a noted and feared opponent in the House.

Alice was charming, amusing and hospitable to everyone who came to stay, and Hugo thanked her solemnly for helping him. When they were alone they were very companionable. No Fern to claim his attention, no Richard to wring her heart with worry.

We could be very happy in our own way, Alice thought that summer, reading side by side with Hugo at the edge of the pool. I loved him once, and God knows, he loved me. If there'd never been children. If there'd never been Nick. She put the novel down and closed her eyes. The sun was hot; she felt relaxed and sleepy. Nancy was coming out with her nanny to spend three weeks. That would be fun, Alice thought. She loved that child. She had to have the twins as well, because Fern would start creating and saying she didn't love them as much. But they were very small and quite sweet, which meant they didn't get in the way too much. She could take Nancy down to the Hôtel du Cap and swim in the sea. The pool would bore the child after a time and the sea was much more fun. Hugo hated it and wouldn't go near a beach because of his amputated leg. He even insisted upon swimming in the pool alone. The rest of the time he wore a long beachrobe and a slipper on the artificial foot. But he loved the villa and the climate suited him. He hasn't been happy, she thought. He's made the best of a bad job. Marrying me. Losing his leg. He's been brave, no one can deny him that. ‘Hugo,' she said.

‘Mm?' He was deep in the biography of Lloyd George.

‘Why don't we make Stavros an offer for this place?'

‘Why on earth should we?'

She stretched lazily. She had as good a figure as the day they got married. He noticed it, but there was no twinge of desire any more. ‘Because you love it here.'

‘Do you want it?'

‘No, not particularly. Ashton is enough for me. I was thinking it would be nice for you. We could come out in the winter recess. The weather can be lovely here.'

‘And why should you want me to give myself a present?' he asked.

She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Because you deserve one,' she said. ‘For putting up with me for all these years.'

‘I'll think about it,' he said, and went back to his book.

He found he couldn't concentrate. She still had the power to disturb him. To make him so angry that he could feel himself shaking inside. To say something outrageous and original that made him bark with laughter. And to move him, just as she had done now, by saying something thoughtful, even tender. He didn't love her any more. He didn't want to reach out and touch her though she lay half naked an arm's length away. He paid for that in London. No Celia Forbes, but an attractive professional who'd given up her other clients and lived in a flat in Regent's Park. He was her only friend. He paid for everything and she was the most discreet mistress he had ever had since he came back from the war. She had to be because of his position in the government.

But he wasn't proof against Alice. The worm of distrust had eaten into him until desire was dead, for so long that his whole core was rotted through. He kept hearing the pain-crazed accusations of the dying man in hospital cursing Alice for his fate. Hugo would never know whether she had given another man the love she had refused to him, whether the son he found on his return was the result of adulterous deceit or his own lovemaking before he left England. He had tried to make himself hate her and thought at times that he had succeeded. He knew how to strike at her, how to wound her as she had wounded him. He hadn't hesitated. But she could still say something that moved him.

‘If you wouldn't mind leaving Ashton sometimes in the winter,' he said after a pause, ‘then I might have a word with Stavros about this. But only if you'd enjoy coming here too.'

‘I would,' Alice said. ‘The winter doesn't bother me the way it does you, but it would do us both good.'

She closed her eyes again and fell asleep. They drew close together and, without putting it into words, they stayed close for the rest of the holiday. Neither of them was to know that their lives were about to change for ever.

Diana had slipped away to Portugal. ‘You don't mind do you, darling? Just for ten days. Patsy's going – she asked if I'd like to join them. I know you don't want to go away just when you've started your book.'

‘I don't mind,' he said. ‘It is important not to stop now, it's taken me long enough to get started. You have a little break, Di. I'll go to Ashton and work there'.

‘You're sweet,' she said, and kissed him. ‘We'll plan something special for the autumn, shall we? You'll be well into the book by then. I'll have a look round Portugal and see if there's anywhere you'd like. The weather's gorgeous there right up to October.'

She went to Ashton to see him settled with his tape recorder and his copious notes, and then flew off. She had a friend called Patsy Frewen who was going to Portugal with her husband and two children. But Diana wasn't joining them. She was going alone to a hotel on the Algarve where nobody would recognize her. She had promised there'd be no scandal. She would have ten days among the package tourists and the Portuguese who catered for single women on holiday. She'd done it in Spain in the spring, and nobody had asked awkward questions. Richard never did. He would be busy working on his book on the Vandekars at Ashton.

He didn't ask for an address and she promised to send postcards. They parted happily. It was a glorious summer. He had the house to himself except for a skeleton staff. He felt as if Ashton belonged to him already. He didn't hurry to begin the actual dictation. He played back the few hundred words of the first chapter and felt satisfied. Nobody except Diana really believed he'd write that book. Fern was always jeering. His father never mentioned it. Alice, being Alice, asked about its progress, but only because she wanted to encourage him. He thought of her and laughed to himself. She should have written it. She wouldn't have pondered and hesitated and put off starting. She'd have rattled away and finished the whole thing while he was still researching.

He took his time because there was such a lot to find out about the Vandekars. They weren't dull either. Solid, respectable Dutch merchants, but not above a little slave trading and smuggling in the early days. Good businessmen, steady churchgoers, who saw no sin in profit, only in waste. He had spent a lot of time on his great-grandfather, the founding father, as he headed the chapter devoted to him. Steely-eyed old bugger from the portrait and the many photographs he'd gathered. Adam Vandekar. They owed it all to him. The bank, the businesses in the States and Canada, the gaudy jewels his grandmother had left him which Diana couldn't wear. They were too heavy and vulgar for her. Ashton, the ultimate jewel. It was so beautiful, he spent the first few days wandering round, taking long walks with his father's current labrador for company. There was always a labrador, one generation after another. Fine, affectionate dogs, highly intelligent. He loved dogs. When Nancy was older and could really take care of it, he'd buy her a puppy. Might wean her away from that damned pony. It was so peaceful and he felt calm and contented. He must take a pull and go and start dictating. Otherwise there'd be nothing to show Diana when she got back. She'd be home in a week. He spent a lot of time remembering. Happy memories. Walking with his mother by the lake, learning to fish from a little boat with his father teaching him. His father had been too busy politicking to spend much time with him when he was a boy, but he had taught him to fish. Playing tennis with his friends during the holidays. Swimming parties in the new pool. What bloody good times they'd been. The place where the swing used to be. There was a new, low one with a cradle round it, put there for Nancy and the twins. He'd swung Diana up so high she nearly fell out.

He must get down to work. It was fascinating stuff, seeing what had made him and Fern. All those strong-willed Dutchmen and their wives. His father had a lot of the burgher in him. Richard grinned to himself. He'd better not put that in. The old man wouldn't be pleased. He might chance saying it into the machine. It would make Diana laugh. He could erase it later. He went back to the house, up the steps and under the splendid porch. The big hall was cool and restful after the heat outside. The tapestries still moved in a draught no one could find. When they were little Fern used to frighten him shitless saying there was a man in the German armour with the pig's head. What a cow, he said to himself, and shook his head. Upstairs and to work. He felt quite inspired. He had a room with a desk and a filing cabinet for his documentation and letters – masses of letters from people all over the world connected with the family – his dictaphone, cigarettes, everything the writer could require. He put in a whole afternoon's work, and when he played it back, he was genuinely surprised at how good it was. Interesting, concise. Funny in parts too.

There was a knock on the door. One of the under footmen looked round. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. Would you like tea now? It's nearly five.'