The Amazing Mrs Livesey

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The Amazing Mrs Livesey Page 12

by Freda Marnie Nicholls


  Lady French had met her second husband, Sir Frederick French, in 1939, when he managed to bring a passenger liner full of passengers through the German submarine lines to Australia, the last passenger ship to safely make it through from England. Sir Frederick was promoted to Commodore and, though safe in Australia, felt he had to go back and do his bit for the war, so he steered the passenger ship back to England, without incident. He finally returned to Australia in 1944, when he officially retired, and Sir Frederick and the widowed Lady Maitland held a quiet wedding in Vaucluse, advising their grown-up children, who were all overseas, after the event.

  Ethel and Lady French became confidantes, sharing the experiences of their lives with each other. They had both married young and lost their husbands, Ethel telling Lady French that her husband James Livesey was killed in a bomb raid in London, where she had been working as an air-raid warden. Mrs French’s two sons were overseas, one working and settled in England, the other in India working as a doctor; Ethel’s two sons were decorated officers in the air force and navy, serving in Australia during the war, so far away from her in war-torn England. And Lady French, too, had lost a child. They had so much in common.

  Lady French’s late husband had also left her an impressive holiday home, Lethington, at Pittwater on Sydney’s northern beaches, which Ethel came to love as much as the good lady—even though it was a bit too far away from the city for her liking—and sought to be included in the Palm Beach set.

  Ethel happily recollected her own stories to Lady French of her château in the French Riviera, her manor house in Wales, and her cliff-side home on the Isle of Man. She told great stories to Lady French and her friends, of entertaining the Duke of Windsor and his friends on her yacht in the Riviera, and of her enormous wealth as the daughter of a successful cotton millionaire linked to the Coats cotton empire, and intimated that she personally held large holdings in Courtaulds, the rayon manufacturer, and that by her voting strength alone was able to control the destiny of the company. (She forgot to mention, of course, that the shares, a much smaller amount than she claimed, had actually been Thomas Liveseys.) With some modesty she also shared with her friends that she endowed hospitals and clinics, helped repatriate wounded servicemen—and despite spending large sums on her charitable pursuits, was left with an embarrassing amount of wealth, which she could spend as she pleased.

  Ethel’s tales became ever larger than life at each subsequent event she attended. She was to host and be seen at dinner parties, garden parties, bridge nights and charity balls, where she happily made large donations to all of her friends’ charities and repeated her fantastic stories of great wealth with flair.

  Ethel was in the society to which she felt she truly belonged, she had money to burn, and she was on a roll.

  25

  MR BEECH & THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY

  Just a month after arriving in Sydney, Ethel was introduced to a middle-aged civil servant by the name of Rex Beech.

  A divorcé, James Rex Beech had originally come to Australia in 1912, hoping to seek his fortune as a miner. He had then fought in the Great War, married and divorced in short succession, and was now working for the Federal Treasury in Sydney. He was from a fairly well-off family back in England, and like Ethel spoke with a clipped British accent.

  Mr Beech and Mrs Livesey were often seen together over the next month. When it was decided they would marry, her new friends were happy for the wealthy widow.

  With all her new money, Ethel decided to have a wedding that would be talked about for years to come. She certainly succeeded.

  Her engagement to Rex Beech was celebrated in style with an elaborate party at the Australia Hotel for her closest group of society friends, where she spent over £300 (nearly $20,000) in one evening, gleefully showing off to all her platinum engagement ring, set with 43 aquamarines and diamonds.

  Her wedding ring was being especially designed and contained another 32 diamonds, costing over £150. She also had an extravagant wedding dress made by Edward Molyneux, designer to the stars and creator of royal wedding gowns, and was having it flown in from his studio in Paris. Cattleya orchids in shades of mauve, purple and cyclamen were being specially grown in a hothouse outside Sydney for her bridal bouquet, which was to cost £50 alone, as well as bouquets for her four bridesmaids; the church and the reception were also to be filled with extra large and expensive floral arrangements. Doves were to be released from the magnificent sandstone All Saints Church in Woollahra as the bride and groom emerged, and the wedding service itself would feature a full choral ceremony, with Australian soprano Miss Jean Hatton and world-renowned Australian flautist Neville Amadio performing. The Australia Hotel was booked for the reception, with an unlimited supply of the best French champagne; an enormous four-tiered wedding cake topped with another elaborate floral arrangement was to be the centrepiece of an extravagant buffet, the likes of which had not been seen since well before the war.

  The tabloids got a decent whiff of the wedding, which was being touted as the society wedding of the year, and ran exclusive stories about the twenty-stone bride to be.

  Ten days before the December wedding, Ethel was sitting in the garden of her Edgecliff flat with her secretary Miss Dick in tow, speaking with a young guest reporter with the Daily Mirror, who was a society lady herself brought in by the editor to find out more about the wedding and its bride. The editor thought her perfect to interview the wealthy cotton heiress everyone was talking about. The accompanying photographer snapped photos of Mrs Livesey and her secretary, in the courtyard of her Art Deco flat, and had to suppress a smile as the large lady before him tried to hold her new toy Pekinese puppy.

  ‘This is Ting-a-ling,’ Ethel explained as she held the squirming puppy up to her face for the photographer. ‘Dr Cunningham gave him to me as a wedding gift,’ she added, letting the relieved pup drop to the ground and run over to Miss Dick.

  ‘An unusual gift,’ the lady reporter noted, watching the pup jump against the secretary’s leg.

  ‘Not at all. He knew I used to own this wonderful breed back in England before the war,’ Ethel replied, straightening her clothing. ‘I was once offered 3000 guineas for my best stud dog, but refused of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ the reporter remarked, trying not to appear disbelieving, scribbling Ethel’s comments into her notepad. ‘I’m sure our readers would love to know more about yourself, Mrs Livesey. You were born in Britain, I understand?’

  ‘Indeed, Manchester—my father runs a large cotton empire, stretching from Manchester to London. And my mother is a cousin to the Coats cotton family—you may know of them?’ she asked. The reporter nodded as Ethel continued, ‘I am the eldest of two daughters, so will inherit the business.’

  ‘Have you been in Australia long?’

  ‘Only a few months,’ Ethel replied. ‘I came out as I have some business interests that needed attending, and my two sons Frank and Basil Livesey from my previous marriage have been out here serving in the Royal Navy.’ Once again changing her story slightly.

  ‘They will be coming to the wedding?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ethel replied.

  ‘Of course,’ the reporter repeated, looking at her notes. ‘And your fiancé?’

  ‘Yes, Rex, he is the son of Mr James Beech of Whitby House in Staffordshire and is an officer in the Treasury,’ she said. ‘He served in the AIF and was at the Anzac landing.’

  Lady Elizabeth again nodded as Ethel continued, ‘We plan to have our honeymoon at the Carrington Hotel in the Blue Mountains. Mr Beech and I expect to return to England in March, by way of Monte Carlo, where I have a château,’ she added. ‘I also have homes on the Isle of Man, and a home, Brynderwen Hall, in Wales.’

  The reporter looked up at her curiously. ‘Indeed,’ she remarked. ‘And your wedding, Mrs Livesey—who will be in the bridal party?’

  ‘My dear friends,’ she replied, ‘Mrs Cunningham, wife of the well-known surgeon Dr William Cunningham, will
be my matron of honour, and I have three other wonderful attendants as well—Mrs Jack Sharpe from Woollahra,’ she said, purposely mentioning the exclusive Sydney suburb, ‘Mrs Sweet, also from Woollahra, and Miss Dick here from Elizabeth Bay,’ she added, smiling over to her secretary. ‘And I cannot forget the lovely Marigold Dezarnauld, who will be our little flower girl.’

  ‘How old is Marigold?’ Lady Elizabeth asked.

  ‘She would be seven,’ Ethel replied absently, before continuing. ‘Sir Frederick French, former Commodore of P&O liners, will be giving me away—his dear wife Lady French suggested it—and Mr Beech will be attended by his good friend Mr Leslie Booth, Dr Cunningham, and Flight Lieutenant Jack Sharpe, RAAF.’

  ‘And I understand you have booked the Australia Hotel for 500 guests, yet you’ve been in the country only a few months, is that right?’

  Ethel smiled at her incredulous tone. ‘Why, yes—we originally intended to ask only six close friends, but I have made so many friends since I arrived that the numbers of guests kept growing. I had to ask my hairdresser and some of the delightful local shop girls and sales managers I have come to know, and of course the cream of Sydney society,’ she added smugly.

  ‘It sounds like quite a wedding, Mrs Livesey.’

  ‘Indeed, it will be,’ Ethel replied.

  Mr Beech was not impressed at the articles appearing in the press about his upcoming wedding.

  ‘It will be fine, Rex, no need to worry,’ soothed Ethel, straightening his tie and flicking some imagined dust off his new jacket.

  ‘If you say so, Ethel, but I do wish you hadn’t said I’d been at the Anzac landing—it simply isn’t true!’

  ‘Really? I thought you had been, silly me. Now let’s not worry about the gutter press, let’s enjoy our evening.’

  Rex Beech nodded, turned and held out his arm for Ethel to loop her arm through as they walked towards the impressive entrance door to their friends’ house for a social evening playing cards.

  Ethel had first met Mac McDonald, a successful lawyer and ex-politician, at one of Mrs Dezarnauld’s Sunday dinners, as he was married to one of her daughters, May. Mac opened the door and greeted the charming Ethel Livesey and her fiancé Rex Beech.

  ‘Ready for the big day?’ he asked.

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be Mac,’ she replied. ‘Only five days to go, but I do wish the press weren’t so terrible—neither of us can get much peace.’

  ‘I am sure they will let up eventually,’ Mac said reassuringly. ‘Your wedding has caused quite a bit of excitement, but do come in—I think May has put us on a table together.’

  They entered to find card tables set up in the drawing room and most of the other guests already there, and it wasn’t long before they sat down to play. The first games went well for Ethel on Mac McDonald’s table, and on the last she won yet again, with an incredible hand. Mac sat back as everyone rose for some refreshments, trying to remember the cards that had been dealt; it left him feeling uneasy.

  When his wife suggested they swap tables, Mac positioned himself so he could watch Mrs Livesey. His surveillance was keen enough to spot Mrs Livesey reaching for a handkerchief in her bag; he remembered her doing something similar in their games as well. He felt sure she was cheating—but why would a woman of her standing sink so low? It didn’t make sense.

  Later that evening, after farewelling their guests, Mac decided some discreet enquiries might be in order.

  More newspapers had taken up the story of the wealthy heiress’s marriage the following weekend, and the extravagances planned.

  ‘Oh, listen to this one!’ began Ethel, reading from the newspaper in front of her. ‘Mrs Livesey speaks with a gentle cultivated voice, and her two-handed generosity and democratic outlook have made her a popular figure … that is lovely, isn’t it?’ looking up at her doctor as he tried to take her pulse, and then to her secretary.

  Joyce nodded absently. She’d had about enough of newspaper reporters. They were constantly harassing her on the telephone, or lurking outside the building, always wanting more details, and as Mrs Livesey’s address had been printed in one of the papers, there were even people lining up outside the flat on Edgecliff Road to catch a glimpse of the large middle-aged bride to be.

  Sitting in a lounge chair with her puffed-up feet on a cushion, the room filled with fresh pink gladioli, Ethel looked up at Dr Cunningham as he warned her, ‘You need to rest, Ethel—your blood pressure is too high for my liking.’

  ‘Thank you Bill, I will be fine,’ Ethel replied with a gentle smile as her secretary handed her a cup of tea and some papers without a word.

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Joyce,’ she said to her secretary as she scanned the pile of letters and notes handed to her alongside her tea. ‘So many!’

  ‘Over thirty requests yesterday alone,’ Joyce replied wearily. ‘All wanting charity of some sort.’

  ‘Yes, but there are also these wonderful letters from people—everyday people wishing me luck … ’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Ethel,’ Dr Cunningham interjected as he started to pack his medical bag, ‘you have been far too generous.’

  Ethel let out a big sigh and was about to reply when the telephone rang with a loud shrill, making Joyce jump. The rattled secretary took a breath and quickly picked up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  Ethel watched as Joyce frowned at the person on the other end. ‘No, she is not available—all of this unwelcome publicity has made her quite ill.’ Ethel and Dr Cunningham watched as the normally placid girl fired up. ‘It has been the exaggerated reports in your paper that has caused all of these problems!’ Halted by an interruption, she continued, ‘Your reports on the amount of money being spent are likely to cause problems with the Federal Prices Commissioner for Mrs Livesey if they continue.’ Joyce sat looking at Ethel as the reporter quizzed her further. ‘Yes we are getting sick of it, we all are,’ she said, looking away. ‘The matrons of honour and groomsmen are being constantly pestered, and the groom is also upset by the publicity!’ She stopped and again listened. ‘No, she has nothing to say. Good day to you,’ and hung up.

  She looked over at Ethel, who was taking a sip from her tea. ‘I will be glad when this wedding is over,’ Joyce said.

  ‘I understand completely dear,’ Ethel replied, placing her cup back onto its saucer, as the phone rang again.

  Joyce snatched it up in annoyance. ‘Hello!’ she said savagely. ‘Oh, hello Reverend. Yes, yes, she is here, but can’t come to the phone I’m afraid … I see, yes, yes, I will inform Mrs Livesey. Thank you Reverend. Yes, see you soon.’ She placed the receiver down carefully and looked over towards her boss.

  ‘That was Reverend McCook—he is coming over and would like to talk to you about moving the wedding.’

  By the time the Reverend arrived, Joyce had managed to get Rex to the flat. Mrs Livesey was nearly in tears, Rex sitting stiffly beside her chair, patting her arm in condolence as Dr Cunningham again checked her blood pressure.

  ‘Oh Reverend!’ Ethel exclaimed, as the man who was to marry them walked into the room. ‘I am sorry I am unable to stand to greet you—my ankles have swollen drastically and I, I …’ she tried to continue, bursting into tears.

  The Reverend stood in the middle of the lounge room, his hat in his hands in front of him. ‘Please don’t apologise Mrs Livesey, this is a trial for all of us.’

  Rex stood and extended his hand, which the Reverend gratefully shook. ‘Thank you for coming, Reverend. Now, I understand you want the wedding ceremony moved?’ he asked, as Ethel tried to stifle a sob behind him.

  The Reverend nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, I am sorry to do this, but there has been unprecedented interest in your wedding from so many—the press in particular. I am more than happy to perform the ceremony, but am deeply concerned something may happen to the church or surrounds.’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself, Reverend. We have spoken with Dr Cunningham here, and he is happy to have a s
maller ceremony at his home,’ Rex said, Dr Cunningham giving a small nod of approval.

  Fighting back tears, Ethel hiccupped, ‘What about the doves … the flower arrangements … the guests … the, the choir?’ she managed to get out between sobs. Noting her fiancé’s glare, she swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘It is not that I wish to appear ungrateful, Reverend, but surely it is too late to cancel all of these arrangements?’

  ‘As I said, I am more than happy to perform the ceremony, Mrs Livesey, but I must insist that it be moved.’

  Rex walked over to Ethel and squatted uncomfortably down beside her. ‘We will still be married Ethel, the wedding itself is not cancelled, and with a few telephone calls we will be able to set this right.’

  She returned his tight smile and again hiccupped. ‘What of the reception?’ she asked quietly. ‘We can’t cancel that—the food, the ice sculptures, 500 people …’

  Rex stood and let out a sigh. ‘No, we will go ahead with the reception.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to sit up straight. ‘It would be a shame for everyone not to see my dress.’

  The wedding, now to be held in Dr Cunningham’s Darling Point home, was to take place at 7.15 p.m., with limousines conveying the bridal party to the much-anticipated reception at the Australia Hotel.

  The bride, her four bridesmaids and little flowergirl Marigold were dressed and having photographs taken at Mrs Livesey’s flat, when there was a knock at the door. Marigold’s mother went to answer it and was surprised to find the bridegroom standing there, with Mac McDonald.

  ‘We would like a word, Mrs Livesey,’ Mac stated, walking into the lounge room, followed closely by Rex Beech.

 

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