Free The House of Vandekar by Evelyn Anthony Page A

godparents.
    â€˜Not a commoner among them,’ Alice announced to her mother. ‘I guess you think I’m a snob.’
    â€˜I hope not, darling,’ Phoebe answered. Alice was too thin, and too restless. The birth had been difficult, poor Hugo had been frantic with worry, but the baby was so sweet, poor little thing.
    Fern Alexandra. Lovely names. Phoebe said gently. ‘I’m so glad it’s a little girl. I’ve always wanted a granddaughter and she’s so pretty already.’
    Alice put an arm round her. ‘I’m glad you’re glad,’ she said. ‘She’ll be lucky to have you. I know I am. It’s just a pity she’s not a boy.’
    â€˜Hugo doesn’t mind. He’s crazy about her – surely you know that?’
    â€˜Of course I do. He hangs over the cot making goo-goo noises like some kind of idiot – Mother, don’t you see it means I’ve got to have another one? Nine months of feeling like hell and looking worse and then that awful business at the end …’
    She lit a cigarette. The ashtray was full of stubs. She had chain-smoked since the birth. She saw her mother’s anxious face and said. ‘Oh – I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t take any notice of me, I’m just het up about this christening. All these hundreds of people and all the arrangements to be made. I wish we could have had it at Ashton.’
    She seemed happy when she was there, more relaxed. The house was always full of people and Alice loved showing it off. Phoebe felt she was too obsessed by it, but again she said nothing. So far as she could see, Hugo was an adoring and indulgent husband. Alice was beautiful, rich, gifted with wit and personality. But not happy. Phoebe had suffered enough herself to know that.
    â€˜Mother, I’ve got a fitting this afternoon – I’ve got to rush. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
    â€˜You go ahead, darling,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’ll just go up and see little Fern before I leave.’
    It was the prettiest nursery imaginable. Pink and white, with a cot swathed in tulle and ribbons. The nurse engaged by Alice had impeccable references and long experience of looking after children from a few weeks old. Alice could safely leave the welfare of the little girl to her.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Mrs Holmes Fry.’
    â€˜Good afternoon, Nanny. Is she asleep?’
    â€˜No, just lying quietly. She’s such a good baby, never cries.’
    Phoebe bent over the cradle. Under the canopy of pink and white flounces the baby looked at her. She was dark, like Hugo, with a round, rather fat face and big blue eyes that were already changing colour. She didn’t cry much, that was true. A placid, quiet little thing.
    â€˜She’s a little dear,’ the nanny said. ‘One of my nicest babies.’ She leaned over and touched the child’s cheek. The baby smiled. The mother never went near it, except when Mr Vandekar came up. The grandmother showed more affection than she did. But she was typical. Spoilt, selfish young madam. ‘I want someone who’ll take complete charge,’ she’d said. ‘I don’t know anything about babies and we lead a very busy life.’
    Poor little thing, with a mother like that who didn’t even come to see it. She’d make up for her. She’d give the little girl lots of love, like all her other babies. She saw the grandmother out. Nice woman, even if she was American. She went back to the cot. ‘There, my little lovekin, we’re going to turn over and have a nice little nap.’
    It was a very prestigious job, with a very good salary and conditions. She lifted the baby and cuddled her for a moment. ‘Who’s my best girl, then?’ she murmured.
    Alice’s baby looked at her and smiled.
    By the time Fern Alexandra was two years old, the little king with the yellow hair had abdicated and married his American