The House of Vandekar (39 page)

‘I'm working,' he reminded her.

‘Not now,' she said. ‘You've finished. What do you do with yourself, darling? And now this business of going to church … What's got into you?'

‘I'm not sure,' he said quietly. ‘That's what I'm waiting to find out. Don't worry about me, I'm really very happy.'

Alice bit her lip. He knew the mannerism. She always did that before saying something that embarrassed her. ‘You don't miss Diana, do you?'

His eyes were calm and clear. He shook his head. ‘No. I don't miss her. I hope she's found peace. Don't think anything like that, will you?'

‘I'm glad,' she said. ‘We won't talk about it again. I didn't mean to mention it. I'll tell Nancy you're coming. She's getting excited about Christmas already. Try and spend some time with her while we're there, will you? She's taken it so well, poor little thing, but I think she needs you, Richard.'

‘I'll do my best,' he said. ‘But you're the one that matters to her. She won't miss Diana so long as she's got you.'

It was strange being away from Ashton. Alice felt restless. She was irritable with Lily, who grumbled and managed to get a bad cold in spite of bright, sunny weather. It didn't feel like Christmas. Fern was sullen and hostile to her; Alice shrugged her off. Hugo didn't seem to notice and mother and daughter maintained a cool politeness when he was there. The children found it all very exciting. The twins were obsessed with their presents, counting them and picking them up until Alice longed to smack them for being so greedy. Nancy dogged her all day long. She seemed afraid to be without her grandmother, and, sensing the reason, Alice kept the child with her as much as possible. They went for walks in the hills above the villa and for excursions into the town below. But all the shops were still and shuttered, a holiday resort closed up for the winter, and they retreated feeling depressed. I won't do this again, Alice decided. It's not fair on her. She misses her pony and all the familiar things of Christmas at home. She would search out Richard and make him walk with them. If he liked striding around with his dog at Ashton, then he could damned well keep his little daughter company. She had never been critical of him before. There had always been an excuse for him in the past, but not now, particularly if he was selfish with Nancy.

The great family feast of loving and giving came and was celebrated in a kind of exile. The same standards of luxury applied, as if they were in England. Alice made sure of that. But she longed to get back to Ashton. Hugo was in better health and spirits. The three children looked well and spent a lot of time scrambling round the gardens and climbing the hillside. Fern tried to monopolize her father, but there was nothing new in that. Richard read a lot and seemed content in his remote way. With a child's intuition Nancy sensed that he didn't want to be disturbed and, although he was kindly and attentive when she approached him, she did so less and less.

It would be the New Year soon. A new year in every way, Alice had made up her mind about that. No more regrets, no more recriminations. Life was for living. That was her motto, and with all the force of her energy and nature she set about making it a life full of vitality and challenge. It would begin with the most lavish party given since the war. The successor to the great ball at Ashton on the very eve of the war. If the world thought Alice Vandekar was licking her wounds and keeping out of sight, it was in for a surprise. The ball would celebrate her sixty-fourth birthday.

On 29 December there was a storm. Torrential rain swept over the South of France and the temperature plunged. It was time to go home.

The date was set for June, on the Saturday of Royal Ascot week. The preparations began three months before. If the press were against you, then you had to win them over. Fighting them was useless – Hugo had convinced her of that. She engaged a public relations firm to start the publicity off and continue it. And, to everyone's surprise, she agreed that the climax of the party should be an auction in aid of a children's charity. That way, it was explained, she would deflect charges of extravagance. She could spend without limit on decorating the superb house and its setting. She could lavish food and wine on her hundreds of prominent guests and, provided the charity benefited, the ball would come out smelling of roses.

The idea of extracting treasures from their rich friends appealed to Alice's sense of mischief. ‘Lily,' she said, ‘I'm going to badger them till the pips squeak! Think of old Harvey Watson – he's so mean he wouldn't give you mouseshit! It'll kill the old devil to give something good and he won't dare not to, because everyone's name is going on the programme. Lily, don't you think it's a great idea?'

‘You won't have many friends left,' Lily countered. ‘Especially the mean ones.'

‘Oh yes we will. They'll have a wonderful evening and a lot of good press, and they'll love it. And the people we haven't asked are going to be sick as cats.'

‘Parrots, My Lady,' Lily corrected.

Alice laughed. ‘Cats,' she insisted. ‘I'm not a footballer.'

She looked so well, Lily noted happily. For a long time after that business she'd been poorly, not her bright self at all. All that blood pressure was due to worry, no doubt about it. Lily always referred to Diana's death as ‘that business' to herself. And then she'd add, Good riddance, good riddance to bad rubbish. She's cost the family dear as it is. Lord Vandekar losing his job, the nasty things written about him since. And Richard going queer and spending his time in that damp old church every Sunday. He's made his mother unhappy too. Lucky she has Nancy. She and that child dote on one another. She is letting her dress up and come to the party. She never did anything like that with either of her own children at ten years old.

Pity about that red hair. Lily wished it hadn't been that colour. But otherwise the child was her grandmother to the life. Lily always smiled when she thought of Nancy. Dear little thing, but full of pluck. Not like those twins. They weren't staying up. Always bickering and crying about something. Mind you, the parents were to blame. They spoiled them and they used them against each other. Fern and him were always fighting. Or not speaking when they did come down. Lily hated it when they were there. He had no right to cross the door after what he'd done.

Quite often he didn't come with them but stayed in London. Then
she
would mope round the place with a face on her like a boot, for ever ringing up to see where he was. Hoping to catch him out. Marriage, Lily snorted at the idea. If that was what marriage was, thank God she'd had the sense to stay single. She was excited about the ball, although she had to grumble because it annoyed Alice. Annoying Alice and Alice responding with the inevitable ‘Shut up, Lily,' had become a game they played for their own amusement. It stimulated their relationship. It stopped Alice from treading on Lily, and Lily from admitting how much she depended on Alice in order to be happy. No one else understood the way they talked to each other or why their ways hadn't parted years ago. Even Hugo, hearing them shouting over some trivial detail, was bemused at times.

Lily was consulted about Alice's dress. She came to London for the fittings, criticized and made suggestions, to the fury of the couturier, but Alice insisted that she was there and often took her advice. Lily remembered the other dress, the green chiffon with the touches of embroidery that she had worn to the ball in 1939. It was still hanging up in the back of the cupboard. Her figure hadn't altered. She could still have worn it. She had been so beautiful, Lily mused, her mind going back in time as the preparations reminded her of that other party. She was beautiful now, with her blonde hair a silver-white and hardly a line on her face. The dress was blue, the same colour as the sapphire necklace His Lordship was giving her for her birthday.

And what a guest list. Lily was a self-confessed snob. She had a reverence for titles and grandeur which was quite unaffected by her own self-esteem. She was Lily Parker and proud of it. She didn't have to envy anyone, thank you, and that left her free to admire them if she liked.

She knew Alice and understood that there was a very different motive from the obvious one in giving such a lavish and highly publicized party. The country wasn't in a good state either, with high inflation and everyone going on strike. Taxes were sky high too. It wasn't vanity or extravagance that prompted Alice Vandekar to give a ball at Ashton and invite every celebrity in every sphere of public life that she could think of. She would no more have a charity auction at her own birthday party with all that upheaval and running around than fly, except she had another reason. Alice's response to charity appeals was to write a handsome cheque. Lily knew that she was embarking on a new career. No longer a politician's wife, no longer privy to the highest circles of government, she was determined to establish herself, her husband and their great house as the centre of fashionable society. She was going to be the most famous hostess in England, and the ball was her opening salvo in the battle.

‘What's the weather forecast?' Alice demanded. It was the Friday evening before the ball.

‘Sunny, clear, normal temperatures.' Hugo had memorized the television report.

‘Thank God for that. Let's hope they've got it right for once.' She swept out again before he could say any more.

Her energy was astonishing. A huge marquee draped in green and white had been built out at the back of the house below the level of the terrace. The guests would dance there after the auction. The items donated were already laid out and Alice's efforts had been well rewarded. So well that a team of security guards had to be employed throughout the night and the next day to make sure nothing was stolen. There were pictures, porcelain, bronzes, jewellery, trinkets and treasures of every kind and the chairman of one of London's best known auction houses had agreed to act as auctioneer. He was an old friend and the Vandekars were faithful clients. There were banks of flowers in every room, garlands festooned round the suits of armour, draped the staircase, blazed a profusion of colour and scents from every corner. A green and white striped awning spread from the portico to the courtyard below the entrance. Flambeaux were ready to guide the guests up 2 miles of twisting, turning drive. There was a live orchestra and the inevitable disco, for the young and some of the middle aged who pretended they weren't. Hugo deplored that, but gave way because Alice argued that they weren't giving a party for geriatrics. She and he didn't have to patronize it, but it had to be there.

She had invited thirty for a private dinner before the party started, and secured a royal duke and duchess, with three very senior ambassadors including a charming newly appointed millionaire representing the United States. The doyen of Shakespearean actors was another trophy. Alice had never cultivated the stage before, but she relied on a meeting the previous year and issued her invitation. It was accepted with alacrity. Politics were represented, and carefully chosen from all sides of the House. No one guilty of the slightest criticism or disloyalty to Hugo, regardless of rank, was included in Alice's list.

The gossip columnists were primed and salivating at the amount of copy she was providing. Money and power have their own peculiar fascination; accompanied by personal charm, they can be irresistible. At a quarter to eight on that Saturday in June, Alice was dressed and ready to meet the first of their important guests. There was a knock on the door. Lily stood back, admiring the picture, and called out, ‘Come in.'

Nancy opened the door. She came forward and then said, ‘Grandmother. You look lovely!'

Alice smiled at her. ‘Thank you. You look very pretty too. Isn't that dress a success, Lily. Aren't you pleased with it?'

Lily had made it herself. None of that awful green people associated with redheads or anything like a strong blue. White organdie with some touches of colour – pale turquoise ribbons. The child was delicately pretty, with a very pale skin and mercifully few freckles. Lily had designed the dress, and the result was a charming, old-fashioned costume which neither she nor Alice realized was out of date.

‘Come here, darling,' Alice said. ‘Turn round. The back's perfect too. What do you say to Lily?'

Nancy's face flushed pink with excitement. ‘Thank you, Lily. Thank you so much,' and she reached up and clasped Lily round the neck and kissed her.

Over her head the two women looked at each other and exchanged a smile. Grandmother and granddaughter went down the staircase hand in hand to where Hugo waited for them and took their positions to greet the guests.

It was a long evening – the sky was bright blue overhead when the last cars disappeared down the drive. Nancy had long gone up to bed, worn out with excitement. On her way up with her new French governess, she came face to face with her Aunt Fern. ‘What's that child doing up at this hour?' she heard Fern say.

The new French governess was nice, but too new to know about Aunt Fern. ‘I'm sorry, Madame Kiernan, but she's been with Lady Vandekar.'

‘It's disgraceful. She ought to be in bed.' And then Fern swept past them, and the little cloud over Nancy's happiness went downstairs with her.

Alice spent the next morning in bed reading the morning papers. The ball had been a huge success. The sum raised for charity made a second headline in some of the national dailies. £50,000. A record. The party of the decade. Photographs, anecdotes, reports of who was there and what was worn, and what the famous said to each other. And pictures of Alice and Hugo, welcoming their royal guests at the top of the steps, with the little girl in her party dress peeping from behind them.

‘It's a success,' Alice called out.

Hugo came out of the bathroom. He looked tired, but there was a faint air of satisfaction which he couldn't quite hide, although he scorned to read all the copy or do more than glance at the photographs.