The Kennedy marriage would famously survive, but in the following year the Canfields would divorce: Lee to marry Prince Stanislaus Radziwill, and Michael the English aristocrat Laura Charteris.*
Aly’s first speech to the United Nations Assembly in August 1958 was during a debate on the Middle East, a region about which he was well qualified to speak. The Washington Post commented on the event: ‘Prince Ali Khan, more commonly known as Aly, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary, Representative to the United Nations from Pakistan, stood up in the General Assembly and made his first speech. It was a momentous occasion, since the ambassador’s previous public utterances had been largely limited to shouts of “Wine for everyone!” and “Where are the girls?”’ It was inevitable that Aly could not expect to shrug off a lifetime of play overnight, but he enjoyed his new role and he worked hard at it. In a sense it was similar to his spell in the army: he was useful, busy and successful, and judged on his own performance. When the Pakistani government that had made him ambassador was suddenly overthrown in a coup, Aly worried that it meant the end of his time at the UN. He flew to Pakistan and the new government reconfirmed him in the post, for by this time he was accepted as a world diplomat, and was respected by his peers at the United Nations.
In the summer of 1959 one of the notable guests at Château de l’Horizon was Elizabeth Taylor. Recovering from the death of her husband Mike Todd, she was in Paris when she ran into Eddie Fisher, whose marriage to Debbie Reynolds was, he claimed, on the rocks. The two stars fell in love and Fisher scandalously divorced America’s sweetheart to marry Elizabeth. In an attempt to escape the baying press they flew to Cannes, where they became virtual captives in the Carlton Hotel. Aly and Bettina had known both Elizabeth and Eddie when they were married to their former partners, and while passing the Carlton one day Bettina saw Elizabeth besieged by paparazzi on the steps of the hotel. She immediately invited them to come and stay at the villa, where they could be more private. The Château de l’Horizon had often shielded world-famous celebrities from such press attentions, and now it did so again.
Aly was not in France at the time, for he was deeply involved in a UN debate concerning Algeria and France. On 7 September he was rewarded for his work at the UN by being elected a vice-president of the General Assembly. Later he would serve as chairman of the Peace Observation Committee. In December that year the Algerian question was again raised and Aly, who by then had become something of a prime spokesman on the subject, cleverly avoided being accused of partisanship. It was tricky for him, as a lifelong resident of France, to fairly represent Pakistan’s support for Algeria’s case for independence without being critical of the French government, but, having given his objective opinion on the matter, he made his point by tactfully abstaining from the vote. Even so, there was much disparagement of him in French newspapers. He answered this calmly, stating that he had acted according to his conscience, and had served both Pakistan – ‘my country’ – and France, the country in which he made his home and which ‘I love so much’.
He was able to do a good deal of work, garner support and canvass opinions at his renowned entertainments, and he threw an annual gala dinner in New York, much resembling his Bois de Boulogne summer ball. But the effect of all his entertaining and ambassadorial activity in his late forties was weight gain – enough to stop him riding in races. He was increasingly physically restless and one of the few outlets left now for his natural ebullience was driving too fast. Countless people told him, as his father had done, that he would kill himself; his response was usually that his time would be up when it was written, but in the meantime he would continue to try to get from life all he could. ‘Death to him, as a Moslem,’ Bettina wrote, ‘was an ever present reality.’3 With Bettina living mostly in France, Aly’s womanising in the United States continued and his friends noticed that most of the women he was seen with around town were very young. It was as though he were trying to prove to himself that he was not ageing, and like most men in this not-unknown situation in mid-life he clearly did not realise how pathetic this appeared, nor how it affected the public perception of his work.
One explanation is that he had possibly been diagnosed with prostate cancer, and feared that the necessary operation might mean the end of his sexual activities. A friend who had had the operation, and with whom Aly had discussed the matter, told Aly’s biographer that he had already noted how Aly frequently rubbed his abdomen – a recognisable symptom – and he also confided to Aly that following the surgery his sex life had ended.
During one of Aly’s regular trips to Pakistan in 1959 the feelings between those who believed that Aly was the true Aga Khan (and with whom Aly had remained in constant touch) and those who supported Karim as their Imam, were evident. In Lahore a huge crowd of the former group turned out to welcome Aly and hundreds camped for days outside the house where he stayed simply to catch a glimpse of him and venerate him. The same thing had happened on visits to East Africa and Syria. In many ways these situations demonstrated the supreme wisdom of the old Aga: he knew that Aly would never do anything to harm Karim’s imamship. But had Aly’s love for his son not been stronger than his ambition, there was potential for a religious schism among the Ismailis, such as that which exists between Sunnis and Shias.
Following this trip to Pakistan Aly addressed a prestigious diplomatic assembly in Paris, eloquently making a case for Pakistan’s potential to act as a link between West and East. That winter he commuted between New York, Paris and Cannes, keeping the small team of secretaries that he employed on UN work busier than ever, but always making time for major race meetings in France and England. His formal engagement to Bettina was announced at the same time he was named as Pakistan’s ambassador to Argentina, a country he knew well and liked, and where he had many influential connections through his bloodstock dealings. It was another new challenge and he looked forward to meeting it.
By May 1960 Bettina was several months pregnant, and their wedding date was still a few weeks away. On the 12th they were in Paris for the races at Longchamp and that evening they were to dine with a group of old friends, among whom were Baron and Baroness Guy de Rothschild, Baron Élie de Rothschild, Porfirio ‘Baby’ Rubirosa and his wife, and Stavros Niarchos and his wife.
Because he had been working all evening, making telephone calls, organising his forthcoming summer ball, and dictating letters to a secretary, Aly was running late for the dinner engagement. Bettina had to remind him of the time. At 10 p.m. their hosts rang to ask where they were as they were holding dinner. Aly was still dictating to a secretary as they walked to the elevator. When they reached the garage Aly decided to take his new car, a Lancia sports coupé he had bought only a few days earlier and had not yet driven. He told the chauffeur to get into the back seat so he could drive them home after the dinner. Aly took the wheel with Bettina beside him.
Publicity given to Aly’s other exploits made many people forget that in the Thirties he was a well-known driver in practically all the big automobile races in France and Italy. In 1953 he was set to race his Alfa Romeo in the hazardous Mille Miglia until his father stepped in and forbade Aly to drive, using as an excuse that he had not sufficiently acquainted himself with the seven thousand death-dealing curves on the course, but even as recently as two years earlier Aly was still driving in some of the smaller races in Italy. He knew how to handle a car.
It was a dark night and raining as they drove along the Bois de Boulogne and through Paris. Aly, chatting to Bettina, was driving fast and confidently as he always did, breaking the speed limit for he knew the road well. They were almost at their destination as they approached a set of traffic lights near Saint-Cloud. A small car was driving slowly in front of them and Aly overtook it in order to make the lights before they changed, turning to make a complimentary remark about the car’s handling to Bettina as he did so. In the gloom he evidently did not see a small Simca coming in the opposite direction and he smashed into it head on.
Inevitably, the crash caused world headlines: the sudden shocking death of a celebrity always makes news. Debo Devonshire remembered how all his friends thought it especially tragic that the Aly they had known, so full of life and laughter, had met his end on a rainy night in a Paris backstreet.
Following Islamic law Aly’s fortune went almost entirely to his children, though Bettina received a $280,000 bequest. His wish was that his body should lie in Syria at Salamiyah, the site of his first personal triumph.
It was some twelve years earlier when Aly had flown to Syria in his green and red Avenger with his private pilot John Lancaster. They had driven off the main highway towards Salamiyah into the isolated area where the Ismailis live, thirty-odd miles south-east of the city of Hama in a lush farming area dotted with prehistoric tells, where it was not unusual to find irrigation provided by gigantic wooden water wheels, called norias, that had been in use since the Romans occupied the country. Large gatherings of very excited Ismaili Arabs had blocked the road, and having effectively stopped the car swarmed all over it.
Aly had been many times to Salamiyah since then, and he was always sure of a huge welcome. So it was at Salamiyah, he instructed, that his tomb was to be built. However, this had always been his plan for the distant future – he had not expected to die in his forties, and following his sudden death his wishes could not be effected immediately because of internal fighting in Syria. Until it proved possible to comply, it was decided by his sons that Aly’s body would be buried temporarily under the small lawn outside his study at the Château de l’Horizon. After the funeral in Paris, attended by Bettina and the Begum as well as the male members of the family, Aly’s coffin was taken by train to Cannes, where it was solemnly interred at the Château de l’Horizon.
Aly’s last wishes took a lot longer to fulfil than anyone envisaged and it would be another twelve years before the coffin was disinterred, in July 1972. An Air France passenger jet was privately chartered and flew Aly’s remains to Damascus. At Salamiyah an exquisite small mausoleum had been built, and both his sons were in attendance as Aly’s coffin was placed in the tomb.
The Château de l’Horizon was never the same after Aly’s death. Karim used it occasionally, and there was a ‘sensational’ picture taken by paparazzi of the young Aga Khan asleep with his head on the lap of his current girlfriend. Paris Match spread the story across several pages, but it is simply a picture of a young man and young woman dressed in beach clothes, relaxing.
This was to be, however, the last story concerning the villa’s residents, for soon afterwards Karim discovered his own Mediterranean bolthole. In 1962, while sailing off the northeast coast of Sardinia, he came across a thirty-five-mile stretch of isolated coast. It was how the French Riviera used to look in the Thirties: rocky outcrops with deserted sandy coves lapped by crystal turquoise waters. The best feature was the lack of tourists. Karim bought it and built there a marina playground resort for multi-millionaires. He called it the Costa Smeralda. The Château de l’Horizon was eventually sold to the King of Saudi Arabia and is still today owned by the Saudi royal family.
Maxine’s world is long gone but each decade brings a new smart set to swirl between the stunning villas; richer and maybe not quite so captivating as those who used to people Maxine’s terrace, in the days when the worst possible behaviour was to be boring. The allure of the area remains, and the resorts of Antibes, Juan-les-Pins and Cannes still flourish within a stone’s throw of the old Château de l’Horizon. With its dazzling backdrops of blue sea and beaches crowded with serried ranks of cushioned sun-loungers and parasols under reliable sunshine, casinos, multi-million-dollar villas and fleets of superyachts, the region remains a symbol of wealth and success.
The unique quality of life to be found there, identified and cultivated by Maxine Elliott in 1930, has survived and against all odds the glamour and unique sense of joie de vivre somehow lives on.
* Before Ronald Reagan, this was regarded as amusing: the idea of a movie star becoming President of the United States was the stuff of a Hollywood screenplay.
† As well as serving as US ambassador to the UN Assembly, Henry Cabot Lodge was Senator for Massachusetts, and was Republican nominee for Vice-President in i960.
‡ Michael Canfield was almost certainly the illegitimate son of George, Duke of Kent (who died in an air accident in 1942, an incident that is the subject of various conspiracy theories) by Violet Evans, a Canadian girl who was living in England. She had quickly married a cavalry officer to give her baby a name and prevent any scandal and there is some indication that financial help was given to the young couple by a royal source. The marriage did not last long; the child, born in 1926 and named Anthony, was subsequently adopted by rich American publisher Cas Canfield and his wife and renamed Michael. Michael was raised in New England, educated well and made financially secure by his adoptive parents.
§ During the war William Douglas-Home had been court-martialled for disobeying an order to fire on civilians, and sentenced to a year in prison. Many years later he successfully fought to have this removed from his record on grounds of humanitarianism.
¶ Lauras former husbands were Walter Long, 2nd Viscount Long, and William Ward, 3rd Earl of Dudley. She was also the long-term unrequited love of Randolph Churchill. In i960 Laura and Michael Canfield lunched with her old friends the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, and noticed that the Duke could not take his eyes off Michael. When she asked him if anything was wrong, the Duke told her, ‘Yes. I am certain your husband is my brother’s son.’ After Canfield’s death Laura married, in 1972, the 10th Duke of Marlborough. Canfield’s true parentage was later confirmed to her by sources close to the Royal Family.
Epilogue
I first heard of Maxine Elliott and her villa on the French Riviera when I was researching a previous book, The Churchills. It was obvious how Churchill’s visits there often recharged him in the Thirties at times when the outlook for him was bleak. It occurred to me then that it was worth writing about: Maxine’s friendship with Winston, her sybaritic spoiling of him and her uncritical admiration and belief in him quite possibly played a more important role in history than might initially seem, for it bolstered his confidence during the period he always referred to as the wilderness years, and his holidays at the Château de l’Horizon were highlights in his year.
While working on this book I flew to the South of France in 2013 to research archives there, hoping to find local information on the Château de l’Horizon.
The Cannes Municipal Archives had a file of information on the villa, which I was allowed to access, and the following day I arranged for a car and driver/guide to see and photograph the villa itself, and other properties in the area that are mentioned in this book. This was easier said than done for when I came to find the villa, despite knowing its precise location, it did not seem to be there. From the roadside, the building has always been protected by the high wall and gates that Maxine Elliott erected to shield it from the sound of passing trains. The height of that wall has now been raised and topped with protective wire, so that it is impossible to see over it.
I had been assured by the archivist at the Cannes Archives that the villa was still there, and by coincidence a few days before my long-planned departure for France I had seen an article in the American Express house magazine containing a photograph of the villa as it had looked in Maxine’s day and in Aly’s day, giving a brief précis of its history and stating that it still existed. My local guide, however, assured me that this could not be the villa I was seeking. ‘This is the house of the Saudi King, Fahd,’ he insisted. ‘It has bee
n there for many, many years. It is nothing like the picture you showed me. This cannot be the same place.’ Since we couldn’t see it anyway, I dropped the matter and concentrated on looking for the other houses in the area, such as the Aga Khan’s Yakymour. I had a similar problem photographing the Château de la Croë, equally well-shielded by high walls and high security.
That evening I decided there were two ways in which to get the photos I wanted. Knowing that both properties fronted the sea I could hire a light aircraft and fly over them, or I could rent a boat and sail past. The latter option won on grounds of cost, and I was able to charter a small yacht with skipper for the day from Antibes Marina. Having sailed past the Château de la Croë on the Cap d’Antibes and taken photographs, we rounded the southerly point and eased sheets to lay a perfect course across the Golfe Juan with the Château de l’Horizon right on the bow. I had marked the position on a chart and we could see the building from a long way off, but as we got closer to the shore consternation set in. There was a building in the right place, but it looked nothing like the beautifully proportioned white art deco villa that I had researched. We reached the coast and sailed up and down for a mile in each direction, looking at other villas in case I had it wrong – there are not many, only three or four, well-spaced along that narrow stretch of rocky coastline. None even vaguely resembled the Château de l’Horizon. I took photographs of the building on the site anyway, a vast development painted pink and of no particular style, except that it could be described as vaguely Mediterranean.
That evening, when I returned to my hotel room I enlarged the photographs of the pink palace on my laptop screen and compared it with the old aerial photographs of the Château de l’Horizon. Immediately, I could see that part of the existing building encompassed what had been the old villa, which now accounts for perhaps a fifth of the entire new building. The shady pine trees that had once housed Maxine’s artificial moon were gone from the terrace; the swimming pool wall towered some ten metres above the sea but no longer housed the water-chute built to accommodate Maxine’s ample derrière – presumably the steps for swimmers to clamber back up to the terrace made it a security risk for the Saudi King, who, I now learned, had purchased the house from Karim Aga Khan in the early Eighties.
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