He hopes to be back by May. He said, “It’s impossible to be sure of dates. Business takes as long as it takes. Think of it this way, chou-chou. It’s the future I’m investing in. Both our futures.”
Chou-chou is French for “sweetest darling.”
4th March 1938
To Elsie Mendl’s, where we heard that Lily’s friend Prince D’Annunzio passed away. I wonder who’ll get his house. The German Ambassador von Welczeks were there, also Henri and Alix Piston-LeRupin, Sylvie Vieille-Soiffarde, and Lucien Ecornifleur. I taught them the Lambeth Walk. They very much regard me as their eyes and ears in London. A sort of cultural attaché.
I noticed Sylvie cut Maxi and was pretty cool toward me. Perhaps she nursed hopes herself.
Wally’s in a whirl of color charts and fabric samples for La Croe. Everything from the Fort is being fetched out of storage, ready for shipping. She said, “They may have taken away his palaces, Maybell, but he’s still a prince of the blood, and I intend to give him what he’s due. I’m going to give him a truly royal home.”
They’re very affectionate at present. Lots of golf seems to be beneficial.
Pips says now Anthony Eden’s gone, homburgs are absolutely out. She’s making Freddie get a bowler.
8th March 1938
My last evening with Maxi for a while. To Crocodil, where we tangoed and drank far too much champagne, and then to Les Halles for onion soup, while the gay market traders bustled around us with their trays of meat. The sky was turning mauve as we kissed good-bye.
Wally on the telephone at ten, urgently needing my opinion on water carafes.
9th March 1938
It’s been announced that King Bertie York and his Queen will make a State visit to France in July. The whole world at their disposal, and they have to choose France! Wally says we’re not going to wait around to be ignored while Bunny and Cook get the red-carpet treatment. We shall leave the country. HRH has Forwood looking into yachts.
Johnnie MacMullen has made a brisk start on La Croe. Blue and white for the drawing rooms, with accents of yellow; peach for Wally’s suite; royal scarlet for HRH; Toile de Jouy for the guest rooms; Wedgwood blue for mine.
12th March 1938
Hitler has sent his troops into Austria. Everyone is walking around with shocked expressions, but Kitty Rothschild has been predicting it for weeks. They all speak the same language, so it simply amounts to a revision of frontiers and, as HRH says, there were many who argued for this very arrangement at the end of the war, and the case may be stronger now, because the Fuehrer is himself Austrian and so has a natural care and affection for the place.
Tomorrow to Cannes. We’re staying at the Cap Argent until La Croe is habitable.
15th March 1938, Cap Argent, Cannes
The Crosbies are still dithering. Freddie says now Austria has fallen, Czechoslovakia will be next. I don’t see that that need upset our plans. Adolf Hitler is hardly going to send his tanks to the Cote d’Azur.
Boss and Ethel are going to motor over from Menton with Lily and the Bajavidas, so things may liven up. Herman and Kath are sweet, but they don’t keep late hours, and they have Monckton and his wife staying. Hardly the life and soul of the party. The Moncktons are the kind of people who sit for hours studying books with no illustrations.
22nd March 1938
Motored to Monaco to meet the Crokers. Played a little roulette, but Lady Luck deserted me. The Moncktons stayed home with the Rogerses and played bridge.
Lily says Eugene Rothschild’s brother has been arrested in Vienna. HRH wants to propose himself to go and parlay with the Nazis, but Wally won’t hear of it. She says he could easily be taken hostage, and the New Bunch wouldn’t lift a finger to rescue him. Also, his furniture from Fort Belvedere arrives next week and she needs him here to decide which pieces he wants in his rooms. Still, what a worry for Eugene and Kitty.
29th March 1938
The King of Albania is to marry a stenographer called Geraldine. Her mother was a Stewart from Richmond, Virginia. Married a Hungarian who ran through her money, and there’s not much left, by all accounts. As suitable royal brides go, this girl makes Wally look like a Crown Princess.
The first of the furniture wagons are expected tomorrow. Wally is praying the good weather holds. She’s going to have everything unloaded onto the lawns and inspected, so as not to waste time carrying into the house pieces that have no place there. The carpenters are on standby with their chisels. The housemaids are at the ready with beeswax and cloths.
3rd April 1938
HRH has spent the day running around in golfing knickers, reclaiming forgotten treasures. “Oh look, my drum table!” I heard him cry. “And remember this, darling? My tapestry footstool!”
Wally’s creating a special room for him on the top floor. She’s in great form.
I think she’s quietly rather pleased with what she’s found in the crates. None of the silver is missing, the linens have survived the trip, and there are lots of decent paintings HRH had in storage, things she’s never seen before. There’s going to be enough for here and for Paris.
Fruity and Baba are going to come for Easter.
10th April 1938, Chateau La Croe
Our first night in residence. Wally and David seem more like honeymooners today than ever they did last June. I wish Maxi were here.
HRH waylaid me as I was going up for my bath. He said, “Maybell, I haven’t shown you my new realm. Come up and visit the Admiral of the Fleet.”
This is Wally’s special gift to him. You go through his dressing room and then up in a tiny elevator to the penthouse. MacMullen has fitted it out like a boy’s dream. It has a desk for his typewriter and baize on the floor so he can practice his putting. He has his bagpipes up there, and his ukulele, and a telescope on the little terrace, so when he goes out for a cigarette, he can survey the horizon for battleships. He’s named it The Bridge.
I said, “Sir, you’ll be able to alert us when Daisy Fellowes hoves into view.”
He said, “I will, indeed. Isn’t it all wonderful? Wally’s so, so clever. I’ve never had a room like this before.”
Tomorrow, a lunch party for the Erlangers, the Metcalfes, and the Rogerses, to celebrate the completion of Wally and David’s first home.
12th April 1938
La Croe made a glorious debut. Wally had the terrace doors thrown open so that when people arrived, they had an uninterrupted view through the hall, across the lawns, and down to the sea. Herman murmured, “Good old Wally, ever the stage manager. Even the sun remembered its cue.”
The entrance hall was filled with sprays of white lilac. No paintings. Just a scarlet-and-gold flag hanging from the stair gallery. Very dramatic. It’s David’s old Knight of the Garter banner. Apparently, when he abdicated, the New Bunch had to remake him a Garter Knight, with a new emblem and everything, so Wally snapped up the old one and told Johnnie MacMullen to do something with it.
Wally kept trying to herd us out to the terrace for drinks, but HRH was bounding around, overexcited like the dogs, pointing out little features and objets. It was such a good-humored lunch. Piquant chicken livers, eggplant baked with tomatoes, custard ice with crème de cassis.
Fruity says he’s relieved to find HRH looking so well. From what Monckton had reported after his last visit, he’d expected to find David smoking like a chimney and generally going to pieces.
I said, “Wally won’t allow that. She finds little chores for him, but it’s all a strain on her. It’d be far better if someone else were to give him things to do. Papers to sign or something light like that, just for the mornings.”
He said, “I know. Chamberlain will bring it up again with His Majesty. It’s a question of timing. What about his memoirs? Monckton had high hopes of that, but he doesn’t appear to have made much progress.”
I’m not sure. I think his pen ran out of ink one morning, and then Dimitri Shapaleff called up and suggested golf, and somehow he just didn’t get back to
it.
I said, “All I know is, it seems crazy that he’s hanging around, opening and shutting snuffboxes and checking the time every few minutes when Wally and I are up to our necks in menus. Surely there’s something the New Bunch would be grateful to offload?”
He said, “It’s a problem, Maybell. It’s a family thing. Tricky. Her Majesty’s worried that if David becomes active again, the country might rally to him, that there might be some kind of attempted return. Of course, she’s remembering him when he was full of vim. If she’d seen him after those months at Enzesfeld, she’d know that much of the fire has gone out of him. Actually, I’d say he’s entirely harmless and could be a useful extra pair of hands, but Her Majesty’s very protective of the King, you see? Every bit as fierce as Wally, when it comes to looking after her husband.”
18th April 1938
Fruity and HRH have been up and down to The Bridge all day. Roars of laughter and the reek of tobacco. Wally’s all gaiety and confidence. She even volunteered to keep Baba company when she drove over to see the Rogerses this afternoon, and she’s never really been fond of Baba.
Hattie is trying to persuade me to go back to London. She says the monarchy has been saved, HRH has his Treasury elves cranking out ready money, and Wally is in her element, so there’ll be no further excitement. She says I should leave them to live happily ever after.
I said, “I’m Lady-in-Waiting.”
She said, “Wally doesn’t need anyone in-waiting. She doesn’t have State occasions to attend.”
Hattie didn’t see us in Germany. Besides, what would I do in England? Put up bottled plums? Weekend at Leake Priory and play whist in gloves? How can I return to that after Paris? I need a colorful arena. I need food for my lively mind.
19th April 1938
HRH wore his Lord of the Isles kilt at dinner and played one of his own bagpipe compositions, The Belle of Baltimore. Afterwards, to the casino. Saw Nazli Egypt and Lucien Ecornifleur at the chemin de fer tables. No news of Maxi.
Lucien said, “You know Maxi. I bet he’s busy investing someone’s money in a surefire scheme.”
I said nothing. I’m sure he was trying to trick me into divulging things. Maxi warned me there’d be a stampede to get into oilseed once people got wind of it.
Back to Paris on Friday. Fern Bedaux’s people have found a house that sounds promising. Boulevard Suchet.
26th April 1938, Meurice Hotel, Paris
Wally has snapped up the house. It’s on a very busy street, but once you’re inside, the noise doesn’t penetrate, and the interior has great potential. There’s an important staircase, an enfilade of salons, and a pretty view over the Bois de Boulogne. It needs bringing up to scratch from A to Z, but Johnnie MacMullen says he can make a start on it as soon as he’s finished the Lazslo Melchiors’ house at Le Touquet.
Randolph Putnam says I shouldn’t have put anything into Maxi Finto’s oilseed factory until I’d had him look into it. He treats me like a child. I only wish I could hear from Maxi. Paraguay even sounds dangerous.
To the Piston-LeRupins. Just carafe wine and saltines, and far too many people. Wally says it was their way of discharging a whole year’s worth of social debts.
Afterwards, to the ABC to hear Johnny Hess. Kenny Opdyke said Sylvie Vieille-Soiffarde had been planning to oust me as Lady-in-Waiting until she discovered all the job paid was a dress allowance and accommodations. Dress allowance! If only!
I said, “Excuse me, Kenny! All it pays is a suite at La Croe and an interesting life.”
10th May 1938
News at last of Maxi, and not from a welcome source. Didi Grimaldi.
It turns out, she’s gone into oilseed, too. So much for it being hush-hush. She said, “He’s been seen in Rio and he’s been seen in Montevideo, but he’ll be back here sometime. I have every confidence.”
I thought last night’s Scavenger Hunt was rather a put-up job, because Winnie Gulliver must be the only woman in Paris with access to a size 13 evening sandal. Still, I was the only one who managed to produce a four-leaf clover. Cloisonné, admittedly, but I was still the only one.
Lord Halifax is coming to tea today. Part of Walter Monckton’s campaign to keep HRH in the swim vis-à-vis British foreign policy.
Dudley Forwood has found us a yacht for July. She’s called the Gulzar. We’re going to take her down to Portofino, pick up the Venetian contingent—Tori and Paola Nasibruni and Clarice Sfogginomi—and continue on to Capri. As Wally says, best to give the Bertie Yorks a wide berth while they’re king-ing in Paris, and with Queen Dumpling, that means a very wide berth indeed.
Tomorrow, back to La Croe. Boss and Ethel are coming for Wally and David’s anniversary. Possibly Bernie and Zita Cavett, too.
1st June 1938, La Croe
The Hermann Goerings have a baby girl. What a blessing. Only five hundred airplanes in the fly-past. Anniversary cards and letters and presents are arriving by the dozen, many of them addressed simply to “The Duke and Duchess of Windsor, France.” All offering affectionate good wishes. The difference a year makes.
We’re going to mark Friday with a small lunch party.
3rd June 1938
HRH and Wally posed for photos on the lawn before lunch. Fern came without Charlie, who is away on some secret mission. Lily believes it’s not unconnected with the bailing out of that poor Rothschild, who’s still incarcerated in Vienna.
Great hilarity over the quantity of baby booties among the anniversary gifts. Boss said, “Well, Wally, what about it? It’d be cute to see a little David gamboling on the lawn.”
Ethel said, “She already has a little David who gambols on the lawn.”
Wally said, “I have an even better idea. Let’s pack up the booties and send them to Emmy Goering.”
David gave her a platinum eternity band.
Ethel said, “I take my hat off to her. She’s taken a disaster and turned it into a happy ending.”
Well, Wally was never deterred by unpromising material. Even at Biddle Street, she made her mother use their few bits of good china every day.
Lily has offered a little birthday dinner for Wally in Nice.
20th June 1938
We took over Le Cirque last night. Lily had offered to pay for twelve, but, to my certain knowledge, Wally invited twenty, and then people like Lucky Patrice, whom we actually hardly know, brought extras with them. Wally says Lily can afford it.
HRH gave her a jet-and-diamond leopard pin.
30th June 1938
Judson and Hattie have arrived, and Bernie and Zita Cavett are expected any minute. We board the Gulzar tomorrow in time for dinner. First stop, Rapallo.
1st July 1938
I’ve bagged an upper-deck cabin. Let the latecomers sweat and suffocate.
Frette bed linens, a walk-in closet, chairs and vanity stool covered in dark raspberry ostrich hide. I’m very comfortable.
5th July 1938, off Rapallo
Wally and HRH have gone ashore to see the King Victor Emmanuels, so we are at leisure. Tori and Paola Nasibruni came aboard last night and are sleeping in. Hattie is wearing bobby socks and the most extraordinary gingham playsuit bunched up between her legs like a diaper. What can she be thinking! Judson and Bernie are playing at quoits.
12th July 1938, off Anzio
All day being dragged around Roman ruins by Hattie. Tomorrow, Judson can go with her. I’m going to the Tiberio spa to relax and put aside all busyness. Wally says the facials alone make the whole trip worthwhile.
Rory is seventeen today. How he’d love the Gulzar. Better than any of those little canoes he gets to sail with old Salty Laird. He’d be beating to windward and splicing the yardarm and having such fun. Perhaps next year. And Flora, too. Violet can’t expect them to spend every summer of their lives at Drumcanna, persecuted by insects, playing Chutes and Ladders while the rain patters against the windows.
19th July 1939, Pensione Bon Sol
The most wonderful surprise. We put in to Sest
ri Levante for our last few days, and who should I find sitting on the veranda of our pensione but Maxi. He’d been chasing up and down the coast of Italy for the past three weeks, trying to find me. Tonight, dinner à deux. Zita says she can smell love in the air!
20th July 1938
Wore my orange china silk and my amethyst dragonfly pin. Maxi hardly let go my hand all evening. He said, “You know, Maybelle, I adore you. But what do I have to offer? I have nothing in the world, only the head on my shoulders.”
But it’s a very handsome head and a very smart head, and that, after all, was all Brumby had. And it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have money, because I do, and the oilseed business is about to take off in a very big way. This is a golden opportunity to increase the size of my investment. Wait till Randolph Putnam hears!
23rd July 1939
HRH offered Maxi a ride back with us to Cannes, but he’s staying on in Italy to look into cork. Well, Brumby was also great believer in diversification. Wally said, “What do you know about this man, Maybell? I hope you’re not being silly.”
I said, “I know he’s looking out for my best interests, and there’s nothing wrong in that. I know he dances like a dream.”
She doesn’t like anyone paying me attention.
She wanted to know how much I’d given him, but it’s none of her business. And Randolph Putnam isn’t going to hear about my oilseed prospects yet, either. Maxi says financial advisers are well known for scaring people off good things so they can mop them up for themselves.
Gone With the Windsors Page 41