Tony converted the basement of the new house into a room for himself and a giant office. One morning, he didn’t appear for breakfast, and we went down to check on him. Thank God we did; the pilot light in the old water heater had gone out, and carbon monoxide had been leaking into Tony’s room. Seeing that he was unconscious from the fumes, we quickly called a doctor, and moved him to a different location, where he soon recovered.
We acquired a black Scottish terrier named Haggis, an Abyssinian cat, and a canary. Despite my best efforts and those of everyone else, Haggis never became house-trained, and she relieved herself everywhere. Somehow, in the midst of this chaos, I rehearsed and recorded a Christmas album with Ian. Though incongruous to be singing Christmas songs in August, it was lovely to be working with a full orchestra again, and Ian’s arrangements were beautiful. I’ve always had a fondness for Christmas music, especially my dad’s favorite carol—“In the Bleak Midwinter.”
There’s a tradition among orchestral musicians that after a piece concludes, if they like what a soloist has done, they tap their music stands with their bows or the floor with their feet. I could sense when we began recording that the London studio orchestra musicians we were working with were curious as to how Hollywood might have affected me, or whether I could still cut the mustard vocally. It made me very proud to receive that special tapping accolade after I’d sung something they appreciated. As always, it was a pleasure working with Ian. By now we had developed such an easy rapport—almost a communion of sorts. Whatever vocal choices I made, he was right there with me musically. Sometimes, when we’d completed a song, we’d share a smile of mutual respect and admiration, and no words were needed.
WHEN THE TAMARIND SEED finally wrapped, Geoff, Tony, Blake, and I escaped to Gstaad, where we spent the better part of August. Jenny joined us there. I reveled in the smell of hay, the flowers, the clouds tumbling over the mountaintops, the sound of cowbells in the fields. I loved walking out on the balcony first thing in the morning, taking great lungfuls of fresh air, and watching the crows fly home to roost in the evenings. It felt like paradise.
BLAKE AND I began to talk about having a child together. Up to this point, our relationship had been consumed by work and making a combined family of our existing children. Now, with nearly four years of marriage behind us, and the prospect of a new life in Europe together, it seemed the right moment to consider growing our family. I was soon to be thirty-eight, and Blake was fifty-one, so we knew time was of the essence.
We fantasized what a child of ours might look like.
Blake joked, “With our luck, it’ll have my bat-wing ears and your bandy legs!”
“We’ll love it anyway,” I countered.
Our existing children, meanwhile, were still adapting to our relocation. Jenny returned to Patty in Los Angeles after her summer holiday in order to graduate from the high school she had been attending there. Geoff and Emma were to attend the American School in London in the fall.
ONCE BACK IN London, looping, dubbing, and scoring began on The Tamarind Seed. I saw a rough cut of the film, and was struck yet again by the three separate aspects of my husband’s talent—writing, directing, and editing. He always claimed he was a writer first and foremost, but when directing or editing his work, he had no problem “killing his darlings.” His editing for The Tamarind Seed was tight, stylish, and enhanced the complicated story. It seemed that the break from Hollywood had done him good.
Emma and Geoff started school, and Emma made friends with an American girl her age who lived on the opposite side of Chester Square. The two spent many happy evenings playing together in the central fenced-in garden. Then, to Emma’s great delight, Tony, Gen, and Bridget came to live in London for several months, while Tony worked on Sidney Lumet’s film adaptation of Murder on the Orient Express. Bridget enrolled in Emma’s class at the American School. It was the first time Emma had had her entire family in the same city for any length of time. She began to spend weeknights with Blake and me, and weekends with the other side of her family. She was the happiest I’d seen her in a while. Geoff was finding the rigors of the new school challenging, but he, too, made friends and enjoyed being in the school play.
I FILMED THE first two of the British TV specials for Sir Lew almost back to back: Julie on Sesame Street, with Perry Como and the Muppets, and Julie’s Christmas Special, with Peggy Lee and Peter Ustinov.
During the taping of the Christmas special, Blake went back to L.A. for two weeks on business, and the exact date of his return to London kept changing. One day, I was standing in mounds of fake snow singing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” when I suddenly spotted him behind the camera. I was in the middle of a take, and unsure what to do. I longed to hug him, but didn’t want to break the shot, which was going well. I teared up; he teared up. When I finished the song, I ran into his arms with such force that I just about knocked him flat.
BETWEEN THE TWO specials, I gave a concert at the Royal Albert Hall with André Previn conducting the London Symphony Orchestra and the London Symphony Chorus. The program was entirely Christmas music, and André combined orchestrations from an album we’d made together years ago and my more recent one with Ian Fraser. The concert felt very important to me, because I’d never sung with the London Symphony before, nor appeared at Albert Hall. I was very nervous and I wanted to sing better than I ever had before. I had been vocalizing daily throughout my time in Gstaad to get in shape, and André and I worked hard in the weeks leading up to the concert itself.
On performance day, we rehearsed in the huge hall, which seats more than five thousand. The Symphony Chorus was in attendance, and it is almost impossible to describe my thrill in hearing their massed voices, about one hundred and fifty of them in all. At times, they sang in the quietest whisper; at other times, they expanded into full-throated glory. Singing with so many consummate musicians, one cannot help but strive to be better than one’s best. Once I was onstage among them, my nerves were replaced by intense concentration and the sheer pleasure of singing with such an esteemed orchestra and choir.
We finished the concert with André’s arrangement of “Jingle Bells,” which at one point required me to sing in 4/4 time while the accompaniment was in 6/8—something I had seldom attempted. I ended the song by climbing to a high, quiet note, which I sustained for as long as possible. It was followed by a decisive closing chord from the orchestra, and the sold-out audience gave it a rousing ovation. I felt it was one of the best evenings of song that I’d ever given.
THE CHILDREN WERE to spend the first part of the winter holidays with their other parents, so we invited the grandparents to join us in Gstaad: Blake’s mother and stepfather, my dad and Win, and Blake’s sweet aged aunt Thyrza. Hilarious scenes ensued.
“Okay, everybody, into the car!” we’d yell, followed by slow-motion shuffles that took forever. At one point, when Thyrza was taking an especially long time, my dad teased, “For God’s sake, Thyrza, stop leaping about!”
There was competition between the older men. They bickered over the chocolate dish, each blaming the other when it was empty. But they also swam together in the local public pool, and generally enjoyed themselves and each other.
In the New Year, we headed back to London to tape the next television special, Julie and Dick at Covent Garden, which brought Dick Van Dyke and me back together for the first time since Mary Poppins. Carl Reiner was to costar, and Blake directed this special. Working with Dick again was lovely, and we fell back into an easy rapport. However, the underlying concept for the show was ill-conceived and the production was fraught with problems, not the least of which were union issues having to do with Blake being American. The end result was disappointing, and we got less than stellar reviews.
SADLY, BLAKE AND I were having no luck conceiving a baby. After five months of temperature-taking and dashed hopes, I threw the thermometer away. We knew that André Previn and his new wife, Mia Farrow, had recently adopted a daughter from Vietnam, and w
e began discussing the possibility of adoption ourselves. Mia told us what an easy process it had been for them, and how quickly they had received their child. We would have welcomed a child from anywhere in the world, but André and Mia’s experience felt propitious. I drafted a letter to their contact in Saigon, conveying our interest.
By now, Blake was busy writing the second film for Sir Lew, a remake of a charming movie originally called Rachel and the Stranger, which had starred William Holden and Loretta Young, and in which I would play a leading role. He was also in discussions for a possible television series based on the Pink Panther films. In addition, we were in preproduction for the fourth and final special for Sir Lew, Julie and Jackie: How Sweet It Is, starring Jackie Gleason.
The house was full of children and production staff, all needing answers, and our business manager was urging us to pare back on expenses. Blake’s employment status was suddenly in jeopardy due to the new Labour government changing its position on noncitizens working in the UK. Americans were fleeing the country left and right, and we were warned that we, too, might have to leave England temporarily, at least until the new fiscal year began.
Blake began to work himself into a state about all this. His back was bothering him, and the tension made us both so ratty that I finally snapped. For only the second time in our marriage—the first being my attempt to cancel the TV series—I threw down the gauntlet.
“This madness has to stop!” I said. “I don’t want to do this film. I want to move to Gstaad as we planned. We have to simplify our lives!”
Blake looked at me for a beat.
“You’re right,” he said. Then, in typical fashion, he turned on a dime. “I have an idea. Don’t do a thing until I get back. I need to see Sir Lew.”
While he was gone, Ian came over to rehearse songs with me. I was still in a frazzled state when the doorbell rang. I flung it open testily, only to discover a lady from the adoption agency, who had arrived unannounced to screen us as prospective parents. It was my turn to do an about-face.
“Oh! Do come in, how lovely that you’re here!” I gushed with as much charm as I could muster.
I made cups of tea and chatted nonstop, trying desperately to convey how well run my house was and what good parents we would be. I must have gotten away with it, for she seemed fairly satisfied when she left.
When Blake returned, he was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“You’re off the hook!” he said. “Sir Lew wasn’t thrilled with Rachel anyway, so I told him I could persuade you to forgo it. I pitched a new Pink Panther film instead of the TV series. We’re going into production immediately.”
This was not exactly what I’d had in mind. Although I was grateful to be relieved of my obligation, I had been hoping that we’d move to Gstaad for a time of peace and quiet and reassessment. I did know, however, that we badly needed the financial boost. So the London house remained home base, and the chaos escalated.
Per the new government regulations, we did leave the country for a few days, and for a couple of weeks after that we were not allowed an “official” residence in London. Jenny was visiting, so we moved into a hotel with fifty suitcases, three children, and the canary. Emma went to the Hampstead Heath Fair with her dad and returned with a bowlful of goldfish. Blake began writing the screenplay for The Return of the Pink Panther, which would star Peter Sellers, as had the original film. Tony Adams was promoted to associate producer.
Finally, we were given permission to move back to the depressing Chester Square house. Since our lease was ending soon, we decided to search for a more suitable place to live once Blake’s film concluded shooting in September.
The basement became a production office once again. Haggis the dog had been with the vet for house-training, and she returned, only to desecrate the carpet immediately. Because the dog was back, the cat developed nervous gastroenteritis. I began rehearsals and taping for the last television special, while Blake cast his film, traveled to France to scout locations, and took endless production meetings—during which time he also came down with a cold and broke his toe. So much for simplifying our lives.
IN THE MIDDLE of all this madness, we received some exciting news: we had been approved as adoptive parents by the orphanage in Vietnam. I was beyond thrilled; our baby would be arriving in a few months’ time!
When we broke the news to the children, they were mostly generous in their support, although Emma, not yet twelve, was a little anxious about the prospect of having yet another sibling. It occurred to me that it might help for her to meet the Previns’ daughter, Lark. Mia and André very kindly agreed to a visit at their home in the country village of Leigh.
I picked Emma up early from school. In the car on the way to the Previns’ house, she was irritable, saying she thought the day would be a waste of time. But within an hour of our arrival, she was helping to make Lark a snack and pushing her around in the pram. I was greatly relieved. The following day, Blake and I settled on the name “Amy Leigh” for our new daughter. (In her mid-teens, however, Amy decided she preferred to be called Amelia, which she has been called ever since.)
Our elation was short-lived, for word arrived from Saigon that little Amelia had contracted viral pneumonia and was in an oxygen tent. We were warned that she might not survive, and that even if she did pull through, her arrival would be delayed until she was well enough to travel. After yearning for this baby for so long, it was unimaginable that we might lose her, and with the war still escalating, we couldn’t fly to Vietnam to visit her. We felt so helpless, and so very far away. Blake suggested that the entire family focus healing energy in Amelia’s direction. She was in our thoughts, day and night.
A week later, Blake, Emma, Geoff, and I traveled to Casablanca. The new Panther film was to be shot on location there, as well as in Marrakech, France, and Switzerland.
Casablanca in 1974 was not as I’d imagined. No Bogart, no Bergman—nothing romantic at all, in fact. Every time we ate a meal, we prayed that the dreaded “tourista” would pass us by, but members of the film company began to drop like ninepins, including Geoff, and of course, Blake. Somehow, I avoided the worst of it, mostly by eating yogurt, bananas, and peanut butter for weeks on end. Emma escaped it altogether by leaving to spend the rest of the summer with Tony, Gen, and Bridget on Long Island.
Marrakech was more lush and pleasant, although it was difficult to reconcile the incredible wealth on display in our hotel with the extreme poverty outside. The heat was tremendous, and filming was slow and arduous, particularly when a huge sandstorm brought everything to a halt.
While the company was in Marrakech, I traveled to New York and Washington, DC, for three days to do publicity for The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, which had finally been published. The initial reviews were not entirely favorable, but happily the book developed a good word-of-mouth following, and went into subsequent printings. Since its main theme is the power of the imagination, I had made a conscious decision not to have the book illustrated, in the hopes that readers would use their own imaginations to conjure the Whangdoodle and all the other fantastical creatures for themselves. I am always moved when I receive letters from children with marvelous renderings of the characters, or maps of Whangdoodleland that have been class projects.
At last, it was time for Blake’s film company to move on to Switzerland. They would be shooting in Gstaad for a week, and it was heavenly to be there again. Blake and Peter Sellers were having a ball, often reducing each other to helpless giggles over the scenes they were creating together.
The final leg of location shooting was in Nice, France. While I hated to leave Gstaad, I could not have anticipated the lovely month that lay in store. The film called for a few scenes to be shot aboard a yacht, the Hidalgo, and Blake had decided we should stay on board in lieu of a hotel. I felt guilty about the fact that my husband had to work so hard every day while I lounged about, but I sensed he was not unhappy. The Tamarind Seed had opened to mixed reviews,
but they were favorable enough to ensure a decent run, and the Panther film was progressing well. The work was stimulating, and the weather was excellent, which kept the company on schedule. I finally had all the rest and peace of mind I had ever wanted, and I wallowed in it.
In the evenings, we motored out to the little bay of Villefranche, and enjoyed being gently rocked on the after-dinner journey back to Nice. My dad and Win joined us for eight days, and we made an overnight trip to Corsica, engaging in long philosophical discussions on the way. They took walks, wrote postcards, and swam daily. One afternoon, the motorized dinghy we used to get to shore wouldn’t start, so Dad and our captain rowed to the harbor to collect Blake. I was reminded of the days when Dad took Johnny and me rowing on the Thames, and it was grand to see him in such good form.
To our immense relief, we received word that little Amelia’s health was improving, though it would still be a while before she would be well enough to travel. Blake also received a telegram from Jennifer, revealing that she was in a serious relationship with Tom Bleecker, the man who had been Geoff’s karate teacher and had subsequently worked as Blake’s personal assistant. The relationship between Blake and Tom had not ended well, and this new situation with Jennifer worried Blake dreadfully, especially given that Jenny was only seventeen and Tom was eleven years her senior. Blake asked Jenny to come to Nice so they could discuss the matter in person. When she arrived, she was initially defensive, but eventually, with what we sensed might be some relief, she promised she would wait at least a year before moving in with, or marrying, Tom.
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