Free The House of Vandekar by Evelyn Anthony

back-street abortionist sticking knitting needles into you! I’ve a good mind to go and call Mr Vandekar.
    â€˜You do that and you’ll be out on the street in five minutes flat!’
    â€˜Not five minutes,’ she answered. ‘It takes longer than that to pack, madam.’
    â€˜Oh, shut up, Lily!’
    â€˜Yes, madam,’ Lily said. ‘I’ll come back when I’ve pressed that dress. You’ll have your bath at the usual time?’
    Alice turned away. ‘Yes. You’re not going to say a word about this to anyone. Nobody is to know for the time being. We’re going down to Ashton next week and start the ball rolling.’
    Lily knew when to argue and when not. Now was not the time.
    â€˜Yes, madam,’ she said. ‘You can rely on me.’
    â€˜You’re wearing yourself out,’ Hugo told her. ‘You look absolutely exhausted. I insist you come back to London.’
    â€˜No,’ Alice said. ‘I’m perfectly all right. If I leave now, things will just grind to a halt. Christmas was what made me tired.’
    â€˜Alice, if you won’t think of yourself, then for God’s sake think of the baby. You’ve been told to rest.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m so sick of being told to do this and do that, and Lily nagging me and mother telephoning and now you! Nothing can hurt the baby. It’s just ridiculous making all this fuss. Do get me a drink and stop badgering me.’ She turned away from him angrily. Nothing can hurt the baby. Right up to three months she’d run up and down stairs, soaked in hot baths, exhausted herself at Ashton until the decorator she had engaged had walked off the job saying she was giving him a nervous breakdown. But nothing went wrong. The morning sickness stopped, the baby remained firmly growing inside and refused to be dislodged. When she told Hugo he was delighted, and drove her mad by fussing. He wanted the child, of course. He talked about a boy as if the sex was not in doubt. They had spent Christmas in Sussex with his mother and that weedy brother Phillip in that terrible cold, ugly monster of a house. Everyone gave her presents and gushed over her. She grew larger and ill-proportioned and the baby kicked her in the stomach at night and woke her up. She was bad-tempered and demanding. She sacked Lily, who refused to take her seriously, so she sacked the builders, who did.
    Yet Ashton grew, even as the baby grew. Except that as she became uglier the house became more beautiful. Walking through the rooms, seeing the plans become a reality, Alice recovered her spirits. She even found a kind of tranquillity. The house was nearly ready and, in spite of everything, it was under nine months. The last set of curtains were hung, the pictures and furniture in place.
    Hugo drove down from London. He put his arm around her. They walked from room to room. Through the magnificent hall, into the long green drawing room – that was her masterpiece, she thought, that lovely airy spacious room with the Gainsborough portrait hanging at one end, where the light caught it.
    â€˜Do you like it?’ she asked Hugo. ‘Are you really pleased with what I’ve done?’
    â€˜It’s perfect,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d kill yourself doing it, but it’s perfect.’
    â€˜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