The House of Vandekar by Evelyn Anthony Page B

home in England. That’s going to be my contribution to this bloody awful war.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m glad. Knowing you, you’ll do exactly that.’
    â€˜I must say,’ the ward sister remarked, ‘She’s amazing.’ She sipped her cup of tea.
    Lily said, ‘She is a bit, I suppose. I’ve been with her for five years now, so nothing surprises me.’
    â€˜When she said to Matron she wanted to help, we all thought she’d read to the boys, stop for a chat with some of them, that sort of thing. When Matron suggested it she fair bit her head off. “I mean help ,” she says. “Not fool around playing Lady Bountiful.” I haven’t seen many people stand up to Matron, I can tell you. But she got her way!’
    â€˜She always does,’ Lily agreed. ‘I’ve told her she’s wearing herself out and she just tells me to shut up. There’s no half measures with my lady. When she does something she does it.’
    Lily was so proud of Alice. From the moment the first group of patients arrived, Alice had taken charge of the non-medical side. The RAF welfare officer decided it was easier to collaborate with this dynamic and determined woman than to fight her. And she worked without counting the hours or the cost. She wrote letters home for the men too hurt or apathetic to do it for themselves. She telephoned relatives, she arranged concerts and film shows, buying a projector and setting aside a room as a cinema. And, of course, influence secured the latest films, the concert pianist who came down to play for them, a well-known comedian who never gave his services without a fee but succumbed to her bullying and blandishments. And she volunteered to sit during the night and watch anyone who needed it. Some, having suffered psychological damage, couldn’t sleep, and she would sit up talking to them or playing cards till the nurse on duty came in the morning. The men recovering from burns were her special care. No matter how hideous the scarring, Alice didn’t flinch. Often, when the bandages came off, the victim would ask if she would be there. The young men blinded were always asking what she looked like. The nurses said truthfully that she was blonde and very pretty. Bit like a film star.
    Hugo was proud of her too. She was usually so tired by the weekends that they would spend the days quietly in their own wing of the house. Even then she would rush down to see this boy or that to make sure he was all right. Hugo was proud of her, but nothing had changed between them. They slept apart, and their one child grew up in her nursery alone. Hugo began to spend more and more of his time with her. Fern was a sweet child, and he loved her. Docile and trusting, a little too dependent upon the old Nanny, who didn’t discourage it. As soon as Fern was old enough, they should engage a nursery governess and let Nanny fade into the background. There would never be another child unless he could persuade Alice that it was cruel to deprive Fern of a sister or brother. He didn’t expect her to listen. She was too absorbed in her work. All the love she had withheld from him was being lavished on the maimed and the helpless.
    In the meantime he suffered and her daughter was neglected. But he was still proud of Alice, and praise for what she was doing was reaching far beyond the confines of Ashton. If she went on like this, Alice Vandekar would be a legend by the time the war ended. And there was no sign of that.
    Christmas 1941. Russia had been invaded; the war in North Africa was going badly, and Hugo had finally arranged to join an active service unit. He hadn’t told Alice. She was too preoccupied with making Christmas something everyone at Ashton would remember.
    There was a huge tree set up in the hall, cut down on the estate. She and some of the young airmen had spent two days decorating it. There were individual presents for