The House of Vandekar (44 page)

It was strange to think of Alice inspiring a man to write like that. ‘To my darling, who made my darkness light' – the dedication on the flyleaf, Ashton, 1942. The year her father was born. How cruel it had sounded when Fern taunted her. ‘Your father was a bastard and you don't belong here …' There was nothing sordid about the love affair between the man who wrote the verses and the woman they were written to.

How wise her grandmother had been to give them to her. She could be proud now of her father's father. Proud of Alice too, because she hadn't been afraid to love him and take the consequences. As she, Nancy, was afraid. David was right – everything he said touched a nerve. She was hiding something from herself.

‘I won't go on about it,' he said. ‘I'll let you think it through. But you know I'm right, darling. You'll never be happy, and we won't be either, until you get rid of this guilt feeling for good. We both know what you're scared of finding out, don't we?'

‘Don't say it, David,' she protested. ‘I don't want you to say it!'

‘All right. You're the one who's got to do that. I'll go into the office and I'll call later. You'll make up your mind, won't you?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘One way or the other.'

He loves me and I love him. But I can't make a commitment. I've never really made one with any man. The married lover in the States was safe enough. I knew he wasn't serious, just having a bit of fun on the side. I made a big thing about it because it let me off the hook. I didn't have to fall in love with anyone where there was any future. I could go on pretending to be someone else, with my phoney name and my career-girl image. But my conscience wouldn't let me get away with it. It made me dream, it made me hold back from really giving myself to anyone. If I don't face up to it, I'll lose David in the end.

Nancy put the little notebook away with Alice's letter folded inside it. ‘I know what you'd have done,' she said out loud. ‘You said it in that letter. “Be brave.”' She reached over and picked up the telephone and dialled David Renwick's office.

It was raining hard. The wipers flashed at full speed across the windscreen, just as they had done that night all those weeks ago when David drove her to Ashton. But it was daylight now, and there was no risk of her being lulled to sleep. The London traffic crept down Fulham Road. They seemed to catch every red light. Nancy knew how much David hated delay. He fretted and swore under his breath and then said, ‘Sorry, darling. It drives me crazy crawling along like this. Every time it rains the whole of London gets jammed solid.'

‘It doesn't matter if we're late,' she said. ‘They said any time between five and six.' He glanced down at her and squeezed her hand. ‘Stop worrying,' he said. ‘If it's no good we haven't lost anything.'

‘You've spent so much time and money already,' Nancy answered. ‘Private detectives, advertisements, travelling all over the place to see people, and we haven't got any further. If this is another dead end, then I'm not going on with it!'

He didn't argue with her. They'd found the housekeeper and the footman Robert; the agency had tracked them down. The housekeeper had retired to a bungalow in Haslemere. She had nothing to add about the night Nancy's mother died. David and Nancy had the impression that she didn't want to help or get involved. The habit of discretion was ingrained in her.

Robert had left domestic service. It took a long time to find him. He ran a garage in the West Country. A long trip down there brought little more than interviewing the housekeeper.

He remembered Diana. ‘Can't forget that red hair,' he said. ‘Lovely lady your mother was. Same to everyone.'

He remembered that evening and the coroner's court. But he had nothing new to tell them, though David questioned him closely.

‘What was the feeling in the house – about the verdict? Did anyone think it wasn't suicide?

Robert hesitated. For a moment their hopes rose.

‘I wasn't sure,' he said. ‘She wasn't much older than me. I often wondered … Why should she do a thing like that? But she didn't seem herself that night. Not when she ordered the milk. Not smiling or anything.'

‘She did order it? It wasn't suggested by anyone else?' Nancy asked him.

He was definite. ‘Oh no. She came out and called me and asked for it specially. Told me where she'd be sleeping. You know, it's funny. After she died I couldn't stay on there. Got on my nerves. If it hadn't happened, I'd still be carrying trays in and out. Now I've got a nice little business of my own.'

He stood up and held out his hand. Nancy took it. ‘Sorry I can't help any more,' he said. ‘She was a lovely lady.'

On the long drive back David had said, ‘We've got one chance left. Lily Parker.'

‘That's hopeless,' Nancy protested. ‘I told you, darling, she's completely gaga. The nursing home said she wouldn't recognize me if I went to see her.'

‘Maybe,' he agreed. ‘But there's no one else. Old people remember the past, don't they? I had an old aunt once and she could tell you everything about thirty years go, but she didn't know what day of the week it was. It's worth a try anyway.'

And so they were on their way to the nursing home the other side of Putney Common, where Lily Parker had lived in the twilight of senile dementia for the past seven years.

The rain was so heavy they had to use sidelights. At last they crossed Putney Bridge and the flow of traffic quickened slightly. Nancy felt the familiar lurch of apprehension as they turned down a wide street towards the nursing home. The same sense of sick unease before they found it all came to nothing. As this would, she felt sure. But she was still nervous.

‘It's quite a place,' David said. ‘Must cost a bomb to stay here long term.'

They passed through tall ornamental gates. There was a short drive, bordered by well-kept shrubs and lawns. They stopped in front of a big, Victorian Gothic house.

David took Nancy's arm as they went up the steps and into the reception hall. ‘Don't worry,' he said again.

It was stiflingly hot inside. Nancy glimpsed a few very elderly people sitting in a room with the door half open. There was a bright patch of colour from a television set. The hall was panelled in a dark wood, with armchairs and a sofa. Out-of-date magazines were neatly laid out on a big table in the centre of the room. There were green houseplants standing sentinel.

A nurse came to meet them. She was a smiling, lively figure in the gloom. ‘Mr Renwick? Miss Percival? Good afternoon. Isn't this rain terrible?'

‘Yes,' Nancy said. ‘It makes the day so dark.'

‘Well, I told Miss Parker you were coming to see her, but I'm afraid she didn't take it in. She's bedridden now, poor thing. Come this way – her room's on the first floor. She has a very nice view of the grounds. The gardens here are really lovely.'

‘I'm sure they are,' Nancy murmured.

David whispered to her as they climbed the stairs. ‘Who pays for all this?'

‘My grandmother left Lily quite a lot of money. She wanted to make sure Lily would be independent.'

‘Here we are,' the nurse said.

She opened a door and went in ahead of them. She raised her voice slightly, as people do when dealing with the old, even if they're not deaf. ‘Hello, dear. You've got a nice surprise today. You've got visitors.'

She motioned Nancy forward. She said in an aside to David, ‘I'll bring you some tea. I hope your friend won't be disappointed. She won't recognize her. If she shouts or gets fretful, just ring the bell. It's by the bedside.' She gave him a quick smile and went out.

Nancy walked towards the bed. She didn't know the woman propped up on the pillows. Her hair was white and her face had collapsed into folds of wrinkled skin, with bleary eyes peering out either side of what had become a prominent, bony nose. Her mouth was slightly open, showing an ill-fitting top denture.

Nancy swallowed. Lily Parker. She remembered her as a tall woman, plainly but impeccably dressed, very much the power behind the throne with everyone in the house. She couldn't identify her with this shrunken mummy in the bed.

She made herself lean close and speak. ‘Hello, Lily. It's me, Nancy. I've come to see you. How are you?'

No answer, no response. The old turtle eyes were fixed on her but there was no gleam of awareness in them.

Nancy turned back to David. ‘It's no good,' she said. ‘It's hopeless. Let's go, darling. It's so awful to see her like this.'

He came and stood close to the bed. ‘You remember, Nancy,' he said loudly. ‘You remember Alice, don't you? Alice Vandekar –'

‘It's hopeless,' Nancy insisted. ‘Come on, please.' She caught his arm.

‘You're dead – I'm not afraid of you!'

It was a deep croak. The eyes were alive now, glaring at Nancy. ‘You're dead and you can't come back,' the croaking voice went on. The feeble body heaved itself a little upright, away from the supporting pillows. ‘You can't frighten me … I knew what you were up to! Ruin My Lady and the family … I wasn't going to let that happen. Not ever! I'm glad I did it! I'm glad …'

Nancy gave a loud gasp.

The old woman faltered suddenly, the burst of energy exhausted. She fell back on the pillows. ‘My poor Lady,' she mumbled. A thin tear streaked one side of her face. ‘The dead don't come back … You get away from me …'

‘It's the hair,' David whispered. ‘She thinks it's your mother.'

The eyes half closed and the mouth fell open. Lily snored loudly.

‘Here we are,' the nurse said behind them. ‘Two nice cups of tea … Oh dear, she's gone to sleep on you. That does happen a lot now. I'll put the cups down here.'

David had his arm round Nancy. ‘No thanks. I think we'll just go now. Thanks for the tea, but we won't hang around.'

The nurse saw Nancy's face. Funny, she looked quite white and poorly. ‘Never mind, I'll have a cup myself,' she said. ‘I'll just settle the poor old dear, she's slipped right down in the bed. You know your way out?'

‘Yes, we can find it,' David answered.

The nurse said to Nancy, ‘Don't be upset. She's quite happy in herself. I always say it's worse for the relatives than it is for them.'

They walked down the staircase into the stifling hallway and past the room marked ‘Residents' Lounge'. Someone had shut the door. It was very silent until suddenly a telephone began to chirrup from inside an office marked ‘Staff Only. No Admittance'.

David heaved the front door open and hurried Nancy down the steps and into the car. The rain had stopped. There was a smell of wet laurel and earth all around them. He put his arm round her.

‘You thought it was Alice … That's what's been at the back of it all. You thought she'd poisoned your mother.'

‘It was Lily – it was Lily following her that night,' Nancy whispered. ‘Oh David! Thank God you made me come!'

He looked down at her and smiled. ‘You're a bit shaken now, sweetheart, but there'll be no more nightmares. Lily did it. And you can live with that. Now we'll go home. It's all over. You'll be a different girl tomorrow.'

He put the car into gear and they began to move, turning in the short sweep of drive, out through the gates and down the long tree-lined residential street into the busy main road round the common.

‘David,' she said suddenly.

‘Yes, darling?'

‘I thought it was my father,' she said. ‘Not Alice. I knew she wouldn't do a thing like that. I thought he killed her, and that's why he went away and spent the rest of his life in a monastery. That's what I've been running away from.'

He hid his surprise. She'd had enough shocks for one day.

‘Well, you don't have to run any more,' he said firmly. ‘I think your grandmother would be proud of you.'

‘She'd be proud of you too,' Nancy answered.

It was going to be a quiet registry office wedding. Nancy didn't want a lot of fuss. Just their closest friends and a private lunch afterwards. When they returned from their honeymoon David planned a very big party.

He had never seen her so happy. She was so full of energy and high spirits. Full of plans for enlarging her own business. He didn't argue about that. He let her have her head, confident that when the time came to choose between Becker & Percival and a family, she'd choose the family.

No doubt about it, the grandmother's phenomenal drive had been inherited by Nancy. Only the burden of fear and guilt had kept it shackled. Other inhibitions had disappeared. She was passionately in love with him, and told him so. Ever since that scene in the nursing home she had bloomed into a vital, confident woman.

He left her to make the arrangements. He had business in the States. Important business, which could lead to a share in one of the biggest property consortiums in New York State. Nancy came to Heathrow to see him off. Concorde waited on the tarmac, sleek and menacing, like a great silver bird of prey in the sunshine.

‘Goodbye, darling. Have a wonderful trip. I'll miss you!'

‘I'll call you from New York,' he promised.

She kissed him and watched him go through the departure lounge. He turned and waved once more.

The flight was smooth and fast, aided by a strong following wind. He disliked the cramped seating and the high-pitched engine noise, but the time saved was invaluable. He loved New York. He loved the bustle and energy of the great city. It must have been a lonely place for Nancy when she first came. He booked into the Waldorf and for the next five days was immersed in business meetings and trips to see various projects for development. He telephoned Nancy every evening. All was going well. She'd booked a private suite at the Ritz for lunch after the wedding. He laughed and refused once more to say where they were going for their honeymoon. She was happy and missing him. He was missing her.