The House of Vandekar (40 page)

‘Of course it is,' he said. ‘Congratulations. It was a triumph of organization.'

‘And fun,' Alice prompted. ‘Say it was fun, can't you, Hugo?'

He said gravely, ‘Great fun, Alice. I enjoyed it. I particularly enjoyed the people we left out. I think we settled a few old scores last night.'

‘Well, it's going to be fun from now on,' she declared. ‘We're going to have the best parties in England. We're going to be famous for them.'

‘If that's what you've decided,' he said, ‘that's how it will be.'

The next eighteen months seemed to run on at roller-coaster speed. Hugo had given up shooting because he couldn't walk the distances or stand for a long time at the butts. But none the less they leased a grouse moor and migrated to Scotland for the Glorious Twelfth.

‘Why is it called that?' Nancy asked. Alice had come up to say good night. Nancy was excited about going to Scotland, and she'd spent the afternoon looking at pictures of the Highlands with her governess, who was going along too. There were lakes, called lochs, which sounded like someone coughing and made her giggle, and beautiful mountains and little castles like nesting birds in the wilderness.

But nobody knew what made 12 August glorious. ‘God knows,' Alice said. ‘After all the years I've lived here, I've never understood the English. What's glorious about shooting a whole lot of grouse beats me. But we'll have fun anyway. And there'll be some children your age to play with – we've a mass of people coming up.'

Nancy hesitated for a moment. ‘Is Daddy coming?'

‘No.' Alice made it sound casual. ‘No, not this time. He's going to Scotland, but it's not near us. Now go to sleep. OK?'

‘OK,' Nancy echoed, and slid down under the bedclothes. ‘Good night, Grandmother. Where are you going?'

‘Out to dinner. Over at Castleford.'

‘You look very nice.' The big eyes were fixed on her.

Alice came back into the room, over to the bed and bent down. Richard wasn't going shooting with them. Richard was going to Scotland, but he was never coming back. She had insisted that she tell the child herself.

She stroked the hair back off Nancy's forehead and kissed her lightly. ‘Stop trying to make me late,' she chided. ‘Go to sleep!'

She went down the corridor. She passed the Pink Room. It was locked permanently now. Her step faltered and she gave a bitter glance at the shut door. ‘Damn you,' she said under her breath. Then she quickened her pace and hurried down the corridor to the stairs.

Dinner at Castleford. One of the great ducal houses, open to the public now like so many, but with private apartments that were wallpapered with priceless old masters, and Their Graces, while bemoaning the rigours of life under the Labour Government, still dined off gold plate if they decided to be formal. Weekend parties throughout the summer season; invitations to Cowes week, as guests of the Commodore of the Royal Yacht Club; the Derby, where Hugo, who was becoming interested in racing had a box; letters from every prestigious charity asking for their patronage – no first night was complete now without Lord and Lady Vandekar attending. They were becoming known patrons of the arts. Hugo himself had joined committees and raised substantial sums of money for selected charities. He concentrated on ex-service organizations. He left the arts to Alice. Occasionally he took part in a debate in the House of Lords, but she couldn't resist the jibe about the Upper House being the ultimate proof of life after death, although it wasn't an original remark. They were busy, courted and flattered, and the circle of intimates who came to stay regularly were known as the Ashton Set. They were credited with more influence than they could possibly have had, but Alice didn't mind. They cultivated foreign politicians and tycoons and mixed them with artists and opera singers and actors.

And then, at the end of that long, frenetic summer, Richard had come down to breakfast one morning and announced to them both that he was leaving home for good to live in the Western Isles. As a lay brother in a High Anglican monastery.

Hugo was the first to speak. He put down his knife and fork very deliberately, wiped his lips with a napkin and said, ‘You are going to do
what
?'

‘I'm joining a religious order,' Richard said quietly. He had heard his mother gasp, but hadn't looked at her.

‘Are you completely mad?' Hugo asked.

‘No, I don't think so.' The reply was spoken calmly.

‘Richard –' Alice had found her voice. ‘Richard darling, you can't be serious …'

He turned to her then and smiled. It was a gentle smile. ‘Why not, Mother?' It had been ‘Mother' now for a long time. ‘Why shouldn't I be serious? It's a very serious decision. I'm sorry if you think it's mad, Father. I think it's the first sane thing I've done in my life.'

‘Richard,' Alice was pleading – there were tears in her eyes. ‘You're sober, you're happy, your books have been published … What's wrong with your life?'

‘It's empty,' he said.

Hugo snapped, ‘You mean, it's idle. If you'd got a decent job and done something useful –'

‘Like you, Father? Making money – going into politics? I'm not like you, I never was. I'm not like either of you. I don't want to be unkind but I'd say both your lives were pretty empty. From now on mine is going to have a real purpose.'

‘What sort of purpose?' Alice argued. ‘Hiding away with a lot of misfits for the rest of your life. Richard, for God's sake …'

‘You've just said it,' he answered. ‘For God's sake. That is my purpose, Mother, and nothing is going to stop me. I've had plenty of time to think about it. Ever since the night Diana died. You asked me once if I missed her, remember?'

Alice said, ‘Yes. I know I did. You said no. I believed you.'

‘It was true. I didn't miss her. I didn't miss the misery and the lies. I didn't miss getting blind drunk either. It's not a happy state, you know. But that didn't mean I pushed it out of my mind. I kept thinking there must be something more to life than the way we lived. Otherwise nothing made any sense at all. It was just a bloody awful mess. I couldn't find any answers here. I found them in the church. Not your church, Father, going once in a blue moon and reading the lesson for form's sake because you live here and it was a duty, like Mother opening the British Legion fête every year. Things began to make sense to me at last. I didn't think you'd understand but I hope you'll try.'

‘And what about your responsibilities?' Hugo demanded. ‘What about Nancy?'

‘Nancy doesn't need me,' he said. ‘She needs a mother. She needs love and security, and she's geting all that here.'

‘Richard,' Alice said, ‘Richard, what are you running away from?'

‘I'm not running away from anything,' her son answered. ‘I'm running towards something. It's an enclosed order. We don't leave the abbey until we die. It's in the most beautiful spot in the world.'

‘When did you decide this?' she asked him. ‘When did you go there?' And then in anguish, ‘Why didn't you tell us? Why do all this behind our backs?'

‘Because I didn't want you to try to stop me, and you're a very powerful lady, Mother. I had to make up my own mind. I saw the abbey when you were at Deauville in April. I had a long interview and I stayed there for a week to see what it was like. I've never been so happy in my life. I knew it was what I had to do.'

‘I suppose you'll be expected to make a financial settlement on them?' Hugo said.

Richard ignored the sarcasm. ‘That's the great thing about it,' he said. ‘No possessions. No money, no personal things, nothing. You were generous to me, Father. I've made arrangements to give it all back to you. Do what you like with the money. The abbey doesn't want it. Mother, please don't cry. Try to be happy for me.'

He looked at them both and gave each the same distant smile as if he were a benevolent stranger who had wandered in and would soon wander out again. When he was gone, Alice gave way and wept.

Hugo got up and came round to her. For a moment his hand rested comfortingly upon her shoulder. ‘Don't upset yourself,' he said. ‘If he's fool enough to make this kind of reparation, then he must get on with it.'

She raised her head and looked at him. ‘Reparation? What do you mean?'

He didn't answer. He just said, ‘Come along. Don't cry any more. It's probably for the best. And you have got that child to make up for it.'

It was a happy summer for Nancy. Two of Alice's guests had brought their children at her suggestion, so she had companions. They all went exploring the great purple moors, paddled in streams as clear as glass and had picnics every day. Sometimes they were allowed to watch the guns, but Nancy didn't like to see the birds being shot out of the sky, and the mountain of feathered corpses at the end of each day was even worse.

There were huge shooting lunches, outside if the weather was fine enough or back at the lodge. It was a wonderful time for the children because they roamed for miles, and Nancy's young governess, Mademoiselle Druet, was a sporty girl who encouraged them all to climb some of the hills and didn't fuss about their getting dirty.

Nancy decided that, next to riding at home, she loved Scotland the best. And it helped her understand why her father wanted to go and live there. Alice had explained it in a practical way, leaving the spiritual aspect out of it as much as possible. She couldn't have made it convincing anyway. He needed to live very quietly, and he'd found a place where other men got together because they felt the same. They did some praying, and they worked in the gardens producing their own food, and they had flocks of sheep. It all sounded peaceful and rather like a very long holiday.

‘When will he be coming home then?'

It had taken all Alice's self-control to answer that. ‘Not for a long time, I think. It depends on how much he likes it. We'll see.' And she had hurried Nancy off to do something before she could ask any more questions.

But Nancy noticed, that although her grandmother was always busy and surrounded with people, she looked funny round the eyes after Nancy's father left, as if she had been crying. And she had to stop smoking because the doctor said it was bad for her. And Lily was fussing round her too. Nancy liked Lily, but she was secretly a little scared of her. Lucille Druet was talking to the twins' nanny one day and Nancy heard her say, ‘I wouldn't want to get the wrong side of her … She's a right old battleaxe.'

There was a letter once a month from Scotland. Alice read it to her. Sometimes they came addressed to her.

Her father was very happy. It was a wonderful place to be, and he prayed for her and for all the family every day of his life. Nancy couldn't imagine him kneeling down like that. He began to fade a little, and sometimes there weren't letters for months. But she agreed with Mademoiselle about Lily, because it was Lily who persuaded her grandmother that it was time Nancy stopped living for horses and went away to a proper school.

And that was the first time she had ever seen her grandmother Alice break down and cry, as she said goodbye to her at Waterloo Station.

And it was the first time that Nancy, blinking back tears in case any of the other girls should see them, thought her grandmother looked an old lady. An old lady in a long mink coat and hat, waving a handkerchief as the train moved out.

The rumours began with the servants. The Kiernans had been quarrelling for years – everyone had heard the voices raised inside their room and sensed the atmosphere. They led a cat-and-dog life, those two, though they had to behave themselves when Her Ladyship was about, and nobody dared upset His Lordship. Often Mr Kiernan didn't come to Ashton at all. The staff took bets on how long it would be before they got divorced. The sooner the better. Those children were badly brought up and allowed to be rude to the staff, and Fern was so abrupt and temperamental that nobody felt comfortable when she was staying there.

But that Christmas there was a crisis. It began on Boxing Day, when Dr Gradder was called in to see Fern. The husband stayed downstairs, socking into the whisky in the library, and His Lordship came down with the doctor. He had a face like thunder and he went into the library and slammed the door. Nobody dared hang around outside to listen in case they were caught, but the household knew in a matter of minutes that something very serious was up. They knew for certain when the husband called for his car and loaded a suitcase and drove off. It looked as if they had finally bust up.

‘Do you think I should go up and see her?' Alice asked.

‘She's been given a sedative,' Hugo answered. ‘Gradder says she'll sleep. It was dreadful to see her in that state.'

‘Did you throw him out or did he go?'

‘Both. He said he was leaving her and I said he was to get out immediately.'

Alice sighed. Hugo was very shaken. It didn't do him any good to get angry at his age. He was remarkable for a man in his seventies, but just the same … She wished she could feel sympathy for her daughter. She wished she had been able to run upstairs and offer comfort instead of hanging back and leaving it to Hugo. But she couldn't. If Brian had finally left Fern, she only had herself to blame. Alice didn't say so to Hugo. I must be getting old, she thought suddenly. I'm learning to be tactful.

‘What brought it to a head? Has he got someone else?'

‘I expect so. But it wasn't that. He finally admitted about Diana.'

‘Oh my God,' Alice said in exasperation. ‘She's been goading him for years. Why does all that have to be brought up again?'

‘She may have suspected he was with Diana that night, but he actually told her he was. Boasted of it, she said. He said terrible things to her, Alice. She was completely devastated.'