The Courtaulds followed him out of the hall. There was something dreamy about it, peaceful and dreamy. The long straight avenue of limes to the south almost had the air of a cathedral close and the fifteenth-century bridge still crossed the moat. They stood on the old ivy-covered bridge, watching ducks bobbing on the water and admiring the camellia tree blooming thickly beside it, and wondered how many people had walked over the bridge through the years.
It was a clear day with plenty of sunshine and a snap in the air. Stephen brought a spyglass out of his pocket and they took turns looking through it. They were close enough to London that they could see the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral rising into the sky.
‘This must have been the perfect vantage-point for royalty,’ he said, ‘Far enough from the pressures of the city that the king could think about his problems and plan his strategy, yet close enough to reappear quickly and take control when necessary.’
Ginie smiled inwardly, thinking that exactly the same could be said of her if they ended up living here. He tucked the glass back in his pocket and turned to face her.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think we can make something of it,’ she replied, without hesitation.
A broad smile spread over Stephen’s face. ‘I think so too.’
The Crown Estates gave the Courtaulds permission to build their dream house on the site, on the condition that they also restored the Hall. It was a grand plan and they threw themselves into it with passion. Here was a chance to create their own beautiful world. They were in such a hurry to make it perfect that they begrudged every daylight hour that didn’t see the work progressing.
They began by renovating the hall. Stephen came into his own; he had done his research, and his imagination was fired by the kings and queens who had dined under its roof. Snapshots lodged in his mind: Henry IV entertaining the Byzantine Emperor, Manuel II Palaeologus, at Christmas with hunting and feasting, carols and mumming, or Henry VIII and Queen Catherine of Aragon discussing Thomas Wolsey’s plans for founding Christ Church, Oxford over supper.
The Courtaulds added a minstrels’ gallery and stained glass windows commemorating kings who had lived here. Antique chairs, coffers, and a twenty-one foot long oak refectory table were bought to fill it. Tapestry was hung along the walls and on the south bay window, an inscription in Latin read:
THIS HALL, WHICH THE GREAT KING EDWARD BUILT IN FORMER DAYS, HAVING FALLEN INTO INCREASING RUIN, HAS NOW BEEN RESTORED THROUGH THE CARE OF VIRGINIA AND STEPHEN.
They then turned their attention to the new house, building an ultra modern extension onto the medieval remains. Its English Renaissance-style exterior of soft coloured brick and Clipsham stone was designed to blend in with the hall, yet there was a modern, municipal feel to it because Stephen had visited and liked the Stockholm City Hall – a place of pilgrimage for architecture devotees. The modern, eleven-bedroom section consisted of two ‘L’ shaped double-storey wings, the southern wing joined to the Great Hall. Most rooms had views of the moat, and an indoor squash court and underground billiard room were added.
The sheer glamour of the interior was pure art deco. The Courtaulds hired the world’s finest contemporary furniture makers and decorators: Gilbert Ledward, Charles Jagger, Marion Dorn. No expense was spared. Walls were lined with native and exotic woods or painted in pale colours, and the furniture was designed with clean lines.
Besides its aesthetic pleasures, Eltham Palace was a hotbed of high technology. Every bedroom had built-in furniture and an ensuite bathroom. There were concealed ceilings and under floor heating, synchronised electric wall clocks, loudspeakers all over the house for music, a centralised vacuum-cleaning system, and a custom-made internal telephone system. All the time they were building, Ginie dreamed of the grand parties she would give, and the conquests she would make. Having been snubbed at court, there was a special satisfaction in making a royal palace her home.
What wasn’t obvious to the naked eye was that the restoration of Eltham Palace was shaped by Stephen’s war. While he and Ginie were planning and building, the European situation was getting tense once more and rumours of war were rife. Stephen was more aware than most of what another war might bring and he felt angry, anguished and incredulous. He had known that it was only a matter of time before the Germans tried to get their own back for Versailles, but no one wanted to hear such views. No one listened to Churchill either, he was derided and shut out.
If we are a race that cannot learn, what hope is there? Stephen thought, despairingly. What will become of us?
He hid ammunition and firearms at Eltham. If the Germans invaded, he intended to put up one a hell of a fight. There was an air raid siren on the roof and air purification units in the cellar, in case of a gas attack. The basement, which was protected by reinforced concrete, could be sealed off and made airtight. He had been gassed before and would never forget how it felt.
The modern part of the house looked like an ordinary brick building, but it was all made of concrete. The entire roof, over two and a half feet on the ground floor and slightly less on the first floor. It was a house that was designed for survival.
Stephen had longed desperately, continuously for children – it had taken years to relinquish the hope that one day he would live on through the generations. He put his grief to rest in creating. If he couldn’t have grandchildren, he would leave behind a grand house.
21
The Courtaulds, Eltham, 1930s
Caesar the Great Dane moved into Eltham Palace with the Courtalds. As they had so much space and thought that Caesar needed company, they bought two more dogs; a highly strung Afghan hound called Kais and Solfo, a giant poodle.
Stephen also bought Ginie a baby lemur from Harrods. She fell in love with him instantly and decided to call him Mah-Jongg. They built him a heated cage on the first floor, decorated with wallpaper depicting the Madagascan jungle and crafted a tiny bamboo ladder down into the Garden Room below.
Caesar, Kais and Solfo had a marvellous time roaming the grounds. The grounds included lawns, shrubberies, a sunken rose garden, glasshouses for Stephen’s orchids and a rock garden built from great slabs of weathered limestone, which was large and steep enough for him to have an alpine ramble up before breakfast. The dogs wreaked havoc by digging up bulbs, tearing hedges apart and trampling rose beds. Afterwards, they would come and find Ginie as though seeking praise for a job well done.
Caesar took to jumping over the wall and running away. He would trot onto Eltham High Street and steal sausages from the butcher, who sent Ginie the bills.
‘I’m not paying,’ Ginie would laugh, ‘my dog wouldn’t hurt anybody, they should have fought him for it.’
But Caesar was enormous and most people were afraid of him. One day, he fell asleep on the tram tracks and held up traffic for half an hour, until some brave soul gave him a nudge with his boot and told him to run along home.
While on a summer holiday in Canada, Lil Courtauld fell down some steps and developed an agonizing pain in her side. But when she had an exploratory operation on her return to London, it revealed the existence of several large tumours. Her doctors admitted that there was nothing they could do for her, except attempt to make her as comfortable as possible.
Sam tried to hide the news from everyone, but Stephen guessed from her wasted appearance and the pain she couldn’t hide, that something was dreadfully wrong. Though Lil bore it with courage and stoicism, the end came with shocking speed and she passed away on Christmas Day. It was a great blow to Stephen, who was fond of his sister-in-law, despite the cold reception she had given Ginie.
Sam was devastated and though his public work and benefactions continued, he virtually stopped collecting art and became increasingly introspective. He spent more time at his country house at Gatcombe Park and began to write, embarking on a painful search for self-knowledge and spirituality through poems, essays and autobiographical snippets, some of which he shared with Step
hen.
With these changes in the family, Eltham Palace became a gathering place for the Courtauld clan, as well as for London society. Divorce was becoming increasingly acceptable in all circles. Moreover, Stephen’s wealth and philanthropy, combined with Eltham’s splendour, more than compensated for Ginie’s unconventional behaviour. They became known as one of London’s most glamorous couples, renowned for their stylish and extravagant entertaining.
Some months after they settled in, they hosted a ball in the great hall with a fireworks display on the grounds. Eltham bustled with activity for days beforehand: a small army of servants arrived to clean and dust and polish each room until it sparkled, enormous bouquets of lilies and orchids from the greenhouses were carried into the house, fires were lit in every hearth.
On the evening of the party, Ginie was applying makeup at the dressing table in her bathroom: a sumptuous space, with onyx-lined walls and a marble bath set in a Byzantine recess of gold mosaic. Caesar was leaning his big head on her thigh. The other dogs lay on the floor, a sharp, earthy smell from the garden clinging to their fur. The quacking of ducks from the moat sounded loudly.
Stephen knocked on her door, handsome in his dinner jacket. Without saying anything, he handed her a gift-wrapped box from Cartier. She tore off the dark red ribbons, inside were two brooches in gold, decorated with diamond and enamel.
‘They’re copies of Edward IV’s badges,’ explained Stephen, ‘The Falcon and Fetterlock and the Rose en Soleil. I had them made for tonight.’
She gazed at them, speechless. The gleam of the stones sent currents of pleasure through her.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’
Her eyes smarted with sudden tears. ‘Oh, darling.’
‘Don’t you like them?’
‘They’re absolutely exquisite. You are too good to me.’
He helped her pin them to her long black dress and then he pulled her against him. She leaned her cheek on his jacket and breathed him in, feeling guilt cut into her, razor-sharp.
As the years went on, the lie she had told him about being pregnant had come to weigh heavily on her mind. It was at moments like this, when his goodness and generosity were so apparent, that it hit her hardest. He had been full of hope about being a father and she had watched that hope drain away month by month, year by year. The truth was locked in her mouth, hardened to stone. She was afraid of what it would do if she let it out. Stephen had an uncanny ability to sense her mood.
‘What’s wrong?’
She swallowed. ‘I’m just nervous about the party.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve worked so hard, it’s going to be a huge success.’
She allowed herself to be warmed by his reassurance. They could hear the crunch of tyres on gravel as cars began to pull into the circular drive below. Arm in arm, they went to greet their guests.
The great hall was aglow from an enormous candelabra and towering vases of lilies and orchids. The refectory table was covered with damask and the Courtauld family silver. The royal confectioners, Gunter & Co., were supplying an elaborate and delicious supper, while Lew Stone’s celebrated dance band played from the minstrels’ gallery.
The guests of honour were the recently crowned Edward VIII and his lover, Wallis Simpson. The Courtaulds had met them at Covent Garden when he was still Prince of Wales and he had expressed an interest in seeing the renovations at Eltham Palace. It didn’t matter why he had accepted their invitation; to have the privilege of entertaining him was a glory in itself. He was not merely at the crest of society, he was the crest. Ginie was ecstatic.
The hall filled. The Courtaulds walked round with Wallis and the King, showing them the restoration work and greeting their guests. The King, who was known to friends by his Christian name, David, was marvellously handsome with thick, tow-coloured hair and pale blue eyes. He looked boyish and vulnerable.
‘Extraordinary to have all this history under your noses!’ he exclaimed. ‘I love how you have attended to the historical detail, yet you have also added your own stamp.’ He gestured towards the animals the Courtaulds had carved into the ceiling bosses and the initials SC and VC on the wall, alongside those of John Seeley and Paul Paget.
‘I hope you don’t find it irreverent, Your Highness,’ Ginie said, meekly. ‘We wanted to show respect, but also to lighten it with a bit of humour.’
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ he said, with a warm smile. He managed to convey great enthusiasm and understanding in a way that surprised her. He asked Stephen about Eltham’s gardens – both men were keen horticulturalists – and they began to talk about Fort Belvedere, a castellated eighteenth century folly in Windsor Great Park that David had made home.
‘Gardening is a mood,’ he said. ‘And my mood is one of intimacy, not grandeur.’
Wallis turned to Ginie and said in her rasping Baltimore drawl, ‘David’s at his happiest in old clothes, pottering about on his land.’
‘Stephen is exactly the same,’ Ginie said, affectionately.
They grinned at each other. Ginie felt a kinship with Wallis that she hoped was mutual. Wallis was a divorcee with two ex-husbands and like Ginie, she had managed to triumph over her past through a combination of personal magnetism and style. It was partly because of David’s love for Wallis that attitudes to divorce had softened.
Wallis was not classically beautiful; she was small and slight with smoothly-parted dark hair, a wide jaw and deep blue eyes. She was dressed with absolute simplicity, yet her gown was easily the most striking in the room: a column of white bias-cut crepe with a sparkling peacock-blue sash. On her right arm a heavy bracelet glowed, set with sapphires and emeralds and curving like a snail shell.
‘Could I ask you something?’ she said to Ginie.
‘Go ahead.’
‘That marvellous snake on your ankle. What made you choose the design?’ She hesitated and added quickly, ‘I hope you don’t mind my being so inquisitive.’
‘No, not at all! I’m glad you like it. It was inspired by the Snake Goddess in Minoan culture.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, I liked her mystery and power, not to mention her ability to change her skin.’
‘I love that!’ Wallis exclaimed. ‘I always wanted a tattoo. When I lived in China, I thought of getting a small dragon on my shoulder, but I wasn’t brave enough.’ Her laugh rang out, discordant, yet infectious. She was completely natural. Ginie suspected that was what David loved about her. She was probably the only woman in the world who didn’t feel obliged to behave slightly differently in his presence.
At dinner, Stephen and Ginie sat David and Wallis on their table with Stephen’s cousin, August Courtauld, and his wife, Mollie. David asked for the candles to be moved so he could see Wallis at all times. He was mesmerised by her, but there was something sad about him, under all his glamour and charm.
Wallis was a southerner with exquisite manners and a particular talent for understanding people. She found out about the interests of her neighbour, August, in no time at all and while they ate roast beef sliced and interleaved with foie gras, she had him telling everyone about his part in the famous Arctic Air Route Expedition to Greenland.
Ginie was extremely fond of August. He was brave, modest and handsome as a film star, with chiselled features and thick, brown hair swept to the side.
‘We were trying to map a shorter route to fly the Atlantic,’ he explained. ‘We also wanted to maintain a weather station on the summit of the ice cap through the year. I volunteered to stay on the ice cap on my own and keep the weather station going, while the others went back to base camp to replenish supplies and equipment. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was to remain alone in a small tent for five months because of terrible weather.’
Wallis’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, my word,’ she said softly.
‘How did you keep occupied for all that time?’ asked David.
‘Well, every four hours, I dressed up a
nd crawled out to read the weather instruments,’ said August. ‘In the tent I read, played chess against myself, and designed my dream yacht.’
‘And you thought about me,’ Mollie added, with calm good humour. She had a thin, sweet face, thoughtful eyes and short hair cut in the latest style. Though despite her dainty looks, she had enough steel in her soul to meet the challenges of being an explorer’s wife. She had spent their honeymoon on a camel in the Sudan, sailed off the Scottish and Norwegian coasts in August’s tiny yacht and had climbed mountains in Greenland with him.
‘Of course I did, darling.’ August smiled. ‘Without you in my mind, it would have been intolerable.’
Ginie could not conceive what unspoken urge had lain behind August’s decision to stay on the ice cap alone. To her, being cut off from every sign of life in a frozen world, without even a blade of grass or a fly to look at, the only sound your own blood pounding in your ears. . . It would have been a fate worse than death. Stephen said that perhaps August had wanted to test himself, to find where his true limit lay. Perhaps he intended it to be a kind of penance for the privilege and wealth he was born into. Stephen had spoken with such certainty that Ginie realised he must have felt the same way in the trenches.
‘It was completely flat all around the station,’ August continued. ‘Everywhere you looked, you saw snow reaching to the horizon. At night, the Northern Lights would wave and shimmer across the sky. They looked like billowing wreaths of smoke, or searchlights. It was quite magical.’ His smile turned to a grimace. ‘But March was disastrous. A gale blew, the snow drifted and the hole I used to crawl out of the tent was covered. There was so much frozen snow on top, I couldn’t dig myself out. I was sealed in and buried alive.’
A shudder went round the table.
‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like,’ said David.
The Dragon Lady Page 11