Bryan’s letter failed to nudge her conscience to do the right thing by him and by her reputation. Verifying that his sentimental feelings would always infuriate her – the letter had that very effect, it pushed Diana in the opposite direction. More than ever, it strengthened her longing for a clean break.
NOTES
* Mosley’s boyhood nickname remained with him throughout his adult life. Not wanting to get him mixed up with Tom Mitford, Diana never referred to him as such. She chose the private nickname ‘Kit’ for him.
50 Source as above.
51 Letter published in full in Diana Mosley, Anne de Courcy.
25
THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA
An undercurrent of tension was brewing between Mosley and Cimmie. Wavering between hysterical outbursts and passive aggressiveness, she told Mosley: ‘I schooled myself the whole week never to even mention her [Diana] in case I should say something I regret.’ Having suffered from the humiliation of her husband’s public betrayal for a year, Cimmie could ignore it no longer.
Escaping the tension at home, Mosley fled to the Eatonry, where he was greeted by Diana’s unwelcome news: Bryan had finally consented to a divorce. The prospect of the once unobtainable divorce had allowed Mosley to dodge his responsibility towards committing to her. For Cimmie, it hovered over their marriage. She realised that if a young woman such as Diana, in an enviable position, could throw her entire life away she would stop at nothing in stealing another woman’s husband. Mosley dreaded the news of the divorce reaching Cimmie and his lack of enthusiasm prompted Diana to react furiously. Having escaped his wife’s wrath, he was not prepared to tolerate a petty squabble with his mistress.
With the unfinished business of their argument playing on her mind, Cimmie spent a sleepless night awaiting Mosley’s return. In his absence, she felt guilty about the bitter words they had exchanged and, accepting the blame for the situation, she wrote him a letter: ‘I want to apologise for last night but I was feeling already pretty rotten and that made me I suppose silly.’ Feeling ‘pretty rotten’ was an understatement. During her last pregnancy, Cimmie had suffered from kidney trouble – an ailment not helped by a series of infections, and also afflicting her was a curvature of the spine, leading her to believe the lower-back pain was due to its inflammation. Her mental health was also in a delicate condition, given the stress and misery she had endured with Mosley and Diana.
That same evening, after the argument had taken place and Mosley had fled, Cimmie’s appendix burst. She was rushed to the London Clinic, where she was diagnosed with acute appendicitis. At only 34, she appeared to be healthy and strong and under normal circumstances an appendectomy should have posed no threat. Assured that Cimmie was recovering nicely, Mosley seized the opportunity to escape from her bedside to spend the night with Diana. In her post-operative state Cimmie developed peritonitis and in an age before antibiotics it proved untreatable. On the morning of 16 May, Cimmie whispered to Mosley: ‘I am going. Goodbye, my Buffy.’ Later that evening, she was dead.
A bitter feud intensified over Cimmie’s deathbed. Tensions between Irene and Baba seemed beyond repair when she realised the depth of her younger sister’s ‘unnecessarily provocative’ obsession with Mosley. To demonstrate her disapproval, Irene, who at the age of 37 had become engaged to Captain Miles Graham, had previously written to invite Cimmie to the quiet wedding, asking her to keep the news from Baba. But the timing of the letter was ill-judged. Cimmie, too weak to read the letter, had discarded it to her bedside table, well within view of Baba. Baba retaliated by refusing Irene entry into their sister’s room, forcing her to sit outside with Mosley’s mother and Cimmie’s maid. It further wounded Irene when it was Baba whom Mosley first turned to – ‘the one bright spot in a losing fight’ – provoking Irene to react with jealousy. ‘If I had not kissed him on the stairs he would have passed me by!’ she fumed.
Despite Mosley’s philandering ways, he deeply loved Cimmie and, realising that his conduct in some way had contributed to her death, he lapsed into a state of turmoil. Captain Miles Graham thought him genuine and he asked the maid where Mosley kept his guns. Mosley kept a pistol under his pillow and its pair in the top drawer of his chest of drawers. He swiftly removed both.
With Mosley and Baba united in their grief and, perhaps, their guilt, Irene, who had knelt at the foot of Cimmie’s coffin and promised she would never fail her, decided to take care of the practical matters. She arranged to have the three Mosley children and their nanny collected from their family home. ‘I was nervously worried at the dim future of all those children and the babe and wished to God they were my own. Tom is such an undependable quantity,’ Irene recorded in her diary. And Mosley did not protest when Irene appointed herself as the children’s surrogate mother.
Despite their animosity, Irene and Baba managed to agree on one thing – Diana was responsible for Cimmie’s death. Vivien Mosley, who was 12 at the time of Cimmie’s death, believed Diana had ‘destroyed’ her mother: ‘Peritonitis is what killed her … but with Diana there, she didn’t want to live.’
When the opportunity presented itself, Mosley stole away to the nearest private telephone to inform Diana of Cimmie’s death. Later in the evening, he escaped to the Eatonry to deliver the news she had been dreading. They could not see one another for some time and despite him reassuring her ‘it will be all right’ Diana knew in her heart it wouldn’t.
The divorce proceedings occupied Diana, and Bryan – sweet and loyal until the end – agreed to set up false evidence to make it appear as though he had spent the night in Brighton with a prostitute. The prospect of her much longed for freedom could not elevate Diana’s mood and, sick with worry, she was momentarily relieved when Mosley made a brief appearance at the Eatonry. ‘Well, have you jumped your little hurdle yet?’ he teased her.
The comment triggered a rare confrontational response from Diana and she turned on Mosley, attacking him: ‘It isn’t a hurdle, you are talking of my whole life!’ It had been six weeks since his last visit and Mosley spun his usual web of lies: citing the children’s grief and Irene and Baba’s disapproval as the reason for his absence. Diana, far from unreasonable where his children were concerned, accepted his answer. It could not have been further from the truth. Baba offered to move into Savehay Farm – the Mosley family home – to help Irene care for the children. Although she had little patience for her own children let alone somebody else’s, it provided a flimsy cover-up to disguise her affair with Mosley, something they had both instigated.
Diana’s instincts told her different and, as much as she tried to ignore Baba’s presence and how Mosley felt about his sister-in-law, she could not ignore the facts. Trying to overlook any unpleasantness, Diana reminded herself that Baba was a surrogate Cimmie and, as such, was really no threat at all.52 Mosley carried on with his deceitful ways and he assured Irene and Baba that his involvement with Diana was strictly platonic. He was only going through the motions, he told them, of dining with Diana and paying calls to the Eatonry, as it would have been cruel to abruptly end their relationship. This excuse was good enough for Baba, who believed him. Irene, however, was far from convinced.
The three devoted a shrine to Cimmie, and her personal gardener, Norah Lindsay, motored down to Savehay to meet with Baba and Mosley. They walked in the woods and discussed the plans for her memorial garden. Lindsay found Mosley ‘quite calm but looked all the time as if he had been condemned … poor unhappy man’. As though to compensate for the poor treatment of his wife when she had been alive, Mosley commissioned a pink sarcophagus by Lutyens and a marble tombstone bearing the words: ‘Cynthia Mosley, My Beloved.’ Loyal friends reported every detail to Diana and she listened, pale and withdrawn, and fearful for her future. She learned that the funeral had been an intimate affair with only Mosley, his mother, Irene and Baba in attendance. Later that day, a memorial service took place at St Margaret’s, Westminster, for extended family and friends. The only mourners in
black were members of the BUF, and Cimmie’s loved ones were asked to refrain from wearing traditional mourning colours. As always, all eyes were on Mosley.
Baba and Irene forgave one another of their previous rift to focus on one thing – their hatred of Diana. And Mosley’s formidable mother, known as Ma, participated in trying to sway Mosley’s attention from Diana. She told him of the apparent whispers circulating around London that Diana was boasting she would marry him. His mother further warned him that those who knew of Diana confirmed she was ‘a most determined minx and talked freely to everyone’.53 Mosley, in his role of bereaved widower, rebuffed this rumour and he defended Diana’s character, claiming she was ‘dignified and sweet and would never chatter loosely like that’. Hearing Mosley’s gallant defence of Diana, Ma wept and said he was ‘so marvellous to his children that perhaps Cim had died to save his soul’. Irene scoffed at such a notion.
Suspecting Mosley of dishonesty, Baba flew at him, hysterically begging him to give up Diana. Irene tried to persuade him that it was ‘hurtful to the memory of Cimmie’. A master of deceit, Mosley successfully convinced Irene and Baba that his affair with Diana was over. Believing this to be true, and observing how involved Baba was in Mosley’s life, Irene prayed ‘this obsession will utterly oust Diana’. Certain the ‘troublemaker’ Diana had been erased from their lives, Irene broke off her engagement with Captain Miles Graham, sold her house, dismissed her staff, euthanised her old dog Winks and embarked on a cruise of the South Sea Islands. Having regained her strength, she returned home to rescue the Mosley children from ‘whatever new high jinks their father might advance on’.
One of the dreaded ‘high jinks’ was still in the form of Diana. Sneaking around the corner from Ebury Street, Mosley visited the Eatonry once it was dark. He told Diana of the situation with Baba, how grief had consumed her and the irrationality of her feelings. Diana listened to his monologue, though not entirely deceived. It was simpler than Mosley had let on. Baba was useful to him, serving as a go-between for him and her other lover, Count Dino Grandi, Mussolini’s ambassador to London, and the dubious role earned her the nickname ‘Baba Blackshirt’.
Leaving that small fact out, Mosley convinced Diana that it would be best if he and Baba went on a motoring holiday to France. He reassured her it was platonic and that his children would also be joining them. This was, in fact, a lie. Irene had agreed to take the two eldest children on holiday to the Canary Islands, while baby Micky remained at home with his nanny. Far from understanding, Diana was furious but little could be done to change Mosley’s mind. With both women convinced that each had been romantically eradicated from his life, Mosley set off for the Continent, with one of his mistresses in tow.
In spite of the family drama surrounding Diana’s wish for a divorce, the actual hearing was brief and without ceremony. Summoned to the witness stand, Diana stood before the judge and in her typical reticent manner she conveyed the false evidence. Explaining the marriage to Bryan was a happy one until the birth of their second child in 1931, she confessed that ‘differences arose and there were quarrels’. The previous March, she explained, Bryan presented her with a letter stating that he had spent the night with Miss Isobel Field at a Brighton hotel. Validating this charade, a paid witness from the hotel was called to provide further evidence. It did not trouble the atheist Diana to lie under oath, but for Bryan the entire set-up proved distressing. A decree nisi was finally granted to Diana by Lord Merrivale, on the grounds of misconduct on Bryan’s behalf.
Keeping to her word that she wanted nothing more than her freedom, Diana repeatedly refused the large sums of money, which, given the false evidence of Bryan in the role of adulterer, was rightfully hers. She also refused the marriage settlement offered to her from Lady Evelyn and Colonel Guinness. It baffled the solicitor and he warned her: ‘You are signing away millions.’ With her integrity intact, Diana returned the Guinness tiaras, brooches and kept only the presents Bryan had bought her since their marriage – a three-strand cultured pearl necklace, large Victorian paste earrings and a bracelet of diamonds and cabochon rubies. Regardless of the hurt and betrayal Bryan had suffered, it was not the end of his feelings for Diana, and he sought to ensure her security should Mosley abandon her. He convinced Diana to accept £2,500 a year and insisted the income would be hers for life, even if she remarried.
Life was unbearable for Bryan and, longing to escape the prying eyes of his contemporaries in London, he retreated to Biddesden with Jonathan and Desmond. He tried to concentrate on writing his novels and aimed to write 1,000 words per day, but he seldom achieved it. He also busied himself by acting as a non-executive director of the brewery, looking in on it during his visits to Ireland, and he read the weekly notes Colonel Guinness sent him with little interest. Reflecting on this miserable time, Bryan aptly described himself as a rolling stone: ‘I gathered no moss, made no notes, recorded no conversations.’
Diana was equally unhappy and, largely cut off from society, she found her engagement book becoming increasingly vacant. Many hated her because of the divorce. Sympathies lay with Bryan, and their old friends Henry and Lady Pansy York told him that Diana had had an affair with Randolph Churchill. The old guard shunned her and, to the young debutantes, shop-soiled Mrs Guinness was a cautionary tale. Still, Diana had a few friends who remained loyal and she enjoyed trips to the cinema with Henry York, attended concerts with her brother Tom and continued to receive supper invitations from Emerald Cunard, who had given her the amusing nickname ‘Golden Corn’.
Emerald was extremely modern in her outlook, and her visual intelligence and love of the arts elevated her into an altogether higher category from the general run-of-the-mill, snobbish hostess. Furthermore, she provided a light-hearted environment for Diana, who was amused by her rare lapses of Americanisms. One day, Emerald invited Diana over to the house she rented while her own home was being repainted and, giving Diana a tour, she complained in her shrill voice: ‘There are no faucets near the basin.’
‘Faucets, Emerald. What are faucets?’ Diana teased.
‘Faucets,’ Emerald became furious. ‘Everybody knows what a faucet is. It’s American for tap!’ This short-tempered response was similar to when Diana asked Emerald if she had known Helleu. Diana sensed that, not only did Emerald detest being reminded of her dead friends, she also disliked being reminded of her origins.
During this interval in her dwindling social calendar, Diana had grown close to her younger sister Unity, who disobeyed David and Sydney’s rules to visit her at the Eatonry. Twice a week, the sisters went to the Women’s League of Health and Beauty, but these various outings, along with Unity’s company, could not distract Diana, and all too often she found her mind and her suspicions wandering to Mosley and Baba, who were in France. Longing to escape London, and with her children staying at Biddesden with Bryan, Diana decided to take a holiday.
The location of the holiday was inspired by an impromptu social visit that spring. Bryan’s cousin’s wife, Mrs Richard Guinness, had invited Diana to meet ‘a very interesting German’ and when she arrived she found this interesting German playing the piano. ‘He is a personal friend of Hitler,’ said the other Mrs Guinness. ‘He plays the piano for him when he is exhausted after a great speech. He is David to Hitler’s Saul.’ The man in question was Ernst ‘Putzi’ Hanfstaengl, Hitler’s press secretary.
Diana’s first recollection of Nazism was from 1931, when she and Bryan had visited Tom Mitford in Berlin. She recalled the violence in the streets, the graffiti and the silent terror sweeping Berlin. Tom’s remark of hypothetically siding with the Nazis was brought back to Diana. Since that visit, anything regarding Nazism was related to her through newspaper reports and gossip, and she innocently asked Hanfstaengl about the Jews. ‘Oh the Jews, the Jews, that’s all one ever hears in London, what about the Jews!’ Hanfstaengl shouted. ‘People here have no idea of what the Jewish problem has been in Germany since the war. Why not think once of the ninety-nine pe
rcent of the population, of the six million unemployed,’ he informed the stunned guests. ‘Hitler will build a great and prosperous Germany for the Germans. If the Jews don’t like it they can get out. They have relations and money all over the world. Let them leave Germany to us Germans.’ Adopting a friendly tone, he turned to the guests and added: ‘You must all come to Germany … you will see with your own eyes what lies are being told about us in your newspapers.’
Prior to her evening with Hanfstaengl, it had not crossed Diana’s mind to holiday in Germany and, remembering her trip with Bryan blighted by the salacious nightclubs, she was not in a hurry to return. With Mosley in France and her once-good friends in Venice, there seemed no reason for Diana to stay in London. Not wanting to travel alone, she extended an invitation to Unity and together they left on a trip that would change the course of their lives forever.
NOTES
52 ‘Baba Metcalfe, Cimmie’s sister, was a sort of surrogate Cimmie in my eyes.’ A Life of Contrasts, Diana Mosley.
53 ‘Lady Mosley added that she had reported to him what she heard: that Diana had said she was out to get him and that those who knew her said she was the most determined minx and talked freely to everyone.’ The Viceroy’s Daughters, Anne de Courcy.
26
DETOUR
Since her early teens, Diana longed to experience the idealistic image she had formed of Germany, portrayed to her through Tom’s musical tastes, her grandfather’s books and Professor Lindemann’s advice that to ease her adolescent boredom she ought to learn German. It was a culture, he warned, too advanced for the frivolous, modern world. Upon reaching Munich, the impression of Germany embedded in Diana’s memory from her last visit had changed dramatically.
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