The Riviera Set

by Mary S. Lovell

  It was the Churchills’ silver wedding anniversary in September 1933, and with arrangements made for a suitable family celebration at home, they had accepted Maxine’s invitations to spend a few weeks with her in August, together with nineteen-year-old Sarah. Winston’s letters from the Château de l’Horizon, including one to his cousin Lord Ivor Spencer Churchill recorded that he and Clementine were having a delightful time, bathing three or four times a day, and that he was painting hard. Clementine was not very delighted, in fact; she played a lot of tennis with Sarah but was necessarily thrown into the company of Doris and other women whose company she could not bring herself to enjoy. She worried quietly about Winston’s reputation being affected by these fast women and she disliked sitting around listening to the social chatter that Maxine enjoyed. Furthermore, she especially did not wish to hear the stories (which she already knew) on people’s lips concerning her son, nor did she wish Sarah to hear them.

  One scandalous event still being discussed ad nauseam in 1933 had taken place in Venice the previous summer, and most people in this cliquey little world who mattered had been involved: among them Randolph Churchill; Diana Mitford and her husband Bryan Guinness; Tom and Cimmie Mosley; Tom Mitford; Bob Boothby; Emerald Cunard’s lover Sir Thomas Beecham; Edward James and his wife Tilly Losch (with whom Tom Mitford was in love); Doris Castlerosse; Winston’s great favourite Brendan Bracken;§§§ Chips Channon; Cecil Beaton; Evelyn Waugh; Oliver Messel; Sir Richard Sykes; and the Lucky Strike heiress Doris Duke, who the papers usually called the richest girl in the world.

  The on dit, as they had all assembled in the various palazzos and hotels along the Grand Canal, was that Diana Guinness and Tom Mosley were together. Everyone knew about it; not that the lovers tried hard to hide it from the others, including their respective spouses. They gazed into each other’s eyes at table, vanished for hours between luncheon and dinner, and Mosley once loudly commandeered Bob Boothby’s room between midnight and 4 a.m., insisting that Boothby could sleep on the beach at the Lido. The cuckolded spouses, Bryan Guinness and Cimmie Mosley, could only pretend not to notice the scandalous behaviour and hope that by the end of the holiday the affair would have run its course. Cimmie cried a great deal.

  There were so many romantic entanglements within this small group that it was hardly surprising that the atmosphere became overheated, and as Diana Mitford wrote in her autobiography, ‘Our countrymen were not on their best behaviour’.11 The Rubicon was crossed during a group outing when Sir Philip Sykes – angry at Doris Duke for ordering her chauffeur to turn him out of her car on a lonely road in the hills after he made a pass at her – began an argument with Miss Duke and burned the back of her hand with his cigarette. Randolph Churchill sprang to Miss Duke’s defence and hurled himself at Sykes. Suddenly most of the men, who had been drinking like fish for several hours, were up and brawling with each other. Cecil Beaton and Bob Boothby – two most unlikely brawlers – were ‘fighting like bears’, while wives vainly attempted to hold on to their husbands to prevent them joining in the melee. Michael Parsons, the Earl of Rosse, was flung into the canal by a group of gondoliers. Diana recalled that the following morning she and many of the women received bouquets of tuberoses by way of apology.¶¶¶

  Various versions of this outrageous behaviour were retold in England, appeared in gossip columns and were recounted over coffee tables. It was considered very shocking; reprehensible for Englishmen abroad to let the side down when the country was still in grave recession and unemployment was at its highest-ever level. It set such a bad example, and it is hardly surprising that Clementine did not wish to be associated with this raffish crowd, even though a number of them were kinsmen or close friends who were personae gratae at Chartwell. Her fastidiousness made her disapprove of the way Maxine and her guests sat around and gossiped about their peers. There were a few diversions for her when Maxine’s great friend the Duchess of Sutherland came for a few days with her husband, who had served in the Cabinet with Winston during the last Conservative administration, as well as Viscount Ratendone, former Governor-General of Canada. Clementine could see that both appreciated Winston’s after-dinner talk, which earned her approval. But usually the others returned to the same gossipy subjects – and there was plenty to discuss.

  Although withheld from British newspapers, it was already common knowledge by the summer of 1933 that the Prince of Wales was involved with an American divorcee, Wallis Simpson, and also that Diana Guinness, having run away from her ‘nice’ husband that spring, was now living in a flat off Eaton Square with her small sons as the mistress of Tom Mosley. Valentine Castlerosse and Randolph Churchill had attacked each other in print, Castlerosse witheringly dismissing Randolph as ‘a little London peacock’ living on his father’s reputation, while Randolph accused his persecutor of ‘ridiculous jealousy of any success his juniors might gain’. Most people in their circle knew the real reason for this extraordinary public quarrel.

  Another matter still on everyone’s lips that summer followed the sensational King and Country debate at the Oxford Union some months earlier when the motion, that ‘this House will in no circumstances fight for its King and Country’, was carried by 275 votes to 153. It is one of the most famous and notorious debates conducted at the Union, and was described by newspapers of the day as ‘a tour de force of pacifist rhetoric’. Winston described the result as ‘abject, squalid and shameless’. However, even he could not excuse his son’s subsequent behaviour when, having tried and failed to reverse the decision by debate, Randolph marched into the Union and tore out the page which recorded the transaction. Such behaviour by her son was unfailingly agonising to Clementine.

  So there was plenty to gossip about, and the other guests were somewhat wary when Valentine Castlerosse showed up without an invitation to see what Doris was getting up to. For a change the Castlerosses behaved beautifully, no quarrels were reported and Valentine spent most of his time playing bezique with Winston under a shady awning. The strain of behaving well was probably too much for him; after three days he left for Paris, but was taken ill on the train with violent stomach pains. After a few days in hospital he had himself removed by stretcher and taken to his usual room at the Ritz to recover. Beaverbrook was very anxious about him for these few days and he cabled Doris who, although they were legally separated, was still fond of Valentine. She was just leaving for Biarritz, so she wired Valentine to join her there to convalesce – which he did.

  As soon as he was up and about he was taken over the border to a bullfight, which he loathed. That evening he went to a party at a casino where their Spanish host placed a fond arm around Doris. Valentine took a glass of sticky sherry and threw the contents in the man’s face, saying that Spain was a barbarous country and should be reported to the RSPCA for the manner in which they treated their horses. Doris was reported to have hooted with laughter as Valentine was physically thrown out of the casino – possibly she was the only one present who had noticed Valentine’s extreme horror and anger at the bullfight. Next day, Valentine departed for London. One friend said, ‘These two understood each other – and forgave each other, so long as they were not together ... the trouble was that, fond as they were, they just could not live with each other.’12

  Perhaps one of Maxine’s most welcome local guests in 1933, and one who was approved of by Clementine, was the Aga Khan, who owned a house in Antibes. His full title was His Highness Sir Sultan Mohammed Shar, Aga Khan III, but to most people in British society he was always simply known as the Aga. Not only were he and Winston old acquaintances, but they knew many of the people from the old days at Hartsbourne, such as Lloyd George and Lord Curzon. Maxine knew that this courteous man could be relied upon to engage Winston in the sort of conversation Winston relished, for India had been in the news for the past three years.

  Few men knew as much about Indian politics as the Aga Khan and Winston may have gained a good deal from their conversations for, some months later, when he gave evid
ence at the India Joint Select Committee, Winston was congratulated by sympathisers on both sides of the question under debate### for the scope of his information.

  * This line is also the main line between Marseilles and the Italian border.

  † It remains today the only road bridge across this stretch of railway line.

  ‡ Two of the leading ‘Bright Young Things’ in the Twenties.

  § The iconic restaurant and bar, with a swimming pool and terrace, situated on a rocky outcrop adjoining the famous Hôtel du Cap at Antibes.

  ¶ By now the 1st Earl of Birkenhead.

  # Years later, when asked by Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, why he had never married Gertrude, Astley replied that it was because she was ‘pure Clapham’.

  ** Early biographers hinted that Gertrude Lawrence was lesbian, and it is possible that she was bisexual for Daphne du Maurier claimed she slept with Gertrude, but there is no evidence of any other homosexual affairs. Conversely, Gertrude’s daughter lists numerous male lovers from the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) to Gerald du Maurier (father of Daphne) and Yul Brynner, and she is on record as stating that Gertrude’s appetite for men ‘verged on nymphomania’.

  †† Literally ‘luxury hen’; colloquially, a rich mans toy.

  ‡‡ The English socialite Vicomtesse Phyllis de Janzé (née Boyd).

  §§ ‘The Londoner’s Log’ did not only appeal to those who wished to read gossip about the upper classes, it was so popular with those likely to appear in the column that the wise hostess of a house party would ensure a copy of the Sunday Express was delivered for each lady guest so that no one had to wait to read ‘the Log’.

  ¶¶ Worth about £180,000 today.

  ## Sir Alfred Beit, Bt (1903-94) inherited a large fortune and was a well-known art collector and philanthropist. In 1931 he became a Conservative politician, and later married Clementine Mitford, a first cousin of the Mitford sisters and Clementine Churchill.

  *** Born Marguerite Séverine Philippine Decazes de Glücksberg. Her husband died in the great influenza pandemic of 1918, though it was rumoured he committed suicide when he was exposed as a homosexual.

  ††† Daisy married Reggie Fellowes later the same year.

  ‡‡‡ Today she would be described as a fashionista.

  §§§ There was a persistent rumour that Bracken was Winston’s illegitimate son, which to Randolph’s fury Bracken ‘refused to dignify with a denial’.

  ¶¶¶ Sixty years later, when I interviewed Diana for a biography of the Mitford sisters, she chuckled when she told me that she could never smell tuberoses without recalling the fight on the beach.

  ### The method of bringing Indian princes into a federation.

  6

  Winston

  Maxine was delighted when Winston returned to the villa in August 1934. Clementine had chosen to holiday in Scotland with their daughters Sarah and Mary, so, he wrote, he would be coming alone. Alone, that is, but for a secretary, Miss Violet Pearman, who was needed to take several hours of dictation each day; his butler Inches; a large collection of boxes and suitcases; his painting kit; and his son. Winston arrived fresh for his holiday thrilled at the ease in which he had travelled: he had stayed with Sir Philip Sassoon at his luxurious house in Lympne, Kent, following which Sassoon had flown him to Paris in his private De Havilland Leopard Moth, which took only an hour and forty-five minutes. He was then met at the Ritz by Randolph (they were now on speaking terms) and after lunch the party caught the Blue Train* overnight to Antibes and from there were ferried to the Chateau de l’Horizon by Maxine’s driver.

  Winston’s good spirits flowered in the hot sun, and Maxine ensured that the house revolved around him. He was soon ensconced in the best guest suite, where he was visited each morning by Maxine’s latest pet – a lemur called Kiki, which guests referred to as ‘the monkey’. This little primate, the latest in a long chain of beloved pets of Maxine’s, had the run of the house in the way a cat would have, and while it was charming to see it hanging by its tail from the trees on the terrace, or the glass door leading from the salon, it was a cause of great consternation to some guests, especially when it leapt from the trees to land on the dining table. Female guests were especially nervous of it, and if it nipped anyone with its sharp needle-like teeth Maxine would brush off complaints and call for iodine. Elsie de Wolfe was nipped in a vulnerable spot one day while standing on her head beside the swimming pool. She complained loudly to Maxine and said it was her or the monkey. Maxine (whose own hands were often covered in small red bites) responded that it would have to be the monkey, although she did eventually agree to have the vet rasp the animal’s teeth to make them less sharp. Winston, who loved all animals, mentioned that the monkey came into his bed sometimes in the mornings while he was working, and would caress him gently, but one day it misbehaved and left behind its ‘calling card... on the bed!’1 he wrote with semi-amused irritation.

  During this visit Winston’s fellow house-guest was Kitty de Rothschild,† who was, Winston thought, ’very sprightly’ (she was forty-nine) and made herself most agreeable. Usually this meant someone who was prepared to play cards with Winston whenever he wished, but in Kitty’s case her knowledge of Germany made her an especially interesting person to chat to. A year earlier Hitler had become Chancellor of Germany and – knowing from his own visit there and his further investigations – that the country was secretly re-arming, Winston was increasingly anxious about the adequacy of Britain’s defence policy, having concluded that if Germany was allowed to obtain military parity with France or Poland it would mean another war in Europe. His insight and his warning message went unheard, chiefly because he was at odds with leaders of his own party, but also because the man on the street in Britain was far more concerned that unemployment had reached three million in the depression following the world crash of 1929‡

  Winston was above tittle-tattle over drinks around the pool, so this generally took place while he was off painting; Maxine always made sure that whenever Winston was around the conversation was more appropriate. She had noticed how he came alive and delivered his most memorable lines when matters of politics, history and literature were discussed, but if the conversation sank to trivialities he lapsed into a bored silence. When irritated, his wit could be pitiless, such as when a fellow guest asked if Winston had read his latest book. ‘No,’ Churchill replied, ‘I only read for pleasure or profit.’2

  Although he never appeared before noon, unlike other guests at the villa Winston was not having a holiday lie-in for he woke at eight o’clock each morning and immediately sent for his secretary. He sat propped up with pillows in a bed littered with letters, papers and books, while he dictated at a furious pace. No single secretary could have coped with Winston’s daily output at home, where he had a number of shorthand typists who worked in shifts from 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. But when on holiday he usually managed with one overworked female secretary, often Miss Pearman, who worked harder at the Mediterranean villa than at Chartwell (when Winston had finished three or four hours’ dictation he rose, showered and dressed for lunch, and her work had only just begun). Everything had to be typed, letter perfect, for signature before dinner. Any corrections meant a total retype.

  Another of Winston’s secretaries, Phyllis Moir, recalled how he dictated pages of his book without hesitation until his mind was emptied and he could move on to the next section of his research, while he reeled his letters off ‘to men and women in English political and social life ... more formal letters to members of government... letters to statesmen in India, Africa and Australia, letters to his secretary [at home] with whom he corresponded almost daily; orders and instructions to his estate manager, his lawyers, his political secretary in London ... ’ To Winston, she wrote, a secretary is a completely impersonal adjunct, a machine that must have no personal needs ... somebody who must be on call whenever he wants them ... perfectly efficient and completely dedicated to the needs of Winston Churchill.’ ‘Yet
it was difficult,’ she added, ‘not to fall under his spell, despite his terrifying impatience and unpredictable fits of irritability.’ He was not a fearsome person, she recalled. ‘When something amuses him – and he found life in general very entertaining – the corners of his mouth pucker up roguishly ... and his round pink face lights up with an impish grin.’3

  Nor was his book and his correspondence Winston’s only activity that holiday, for by the end of it he was able to write to Clementine that he had painted four pictures, including another of the church of Notre Dame de Vie, which he thought was very luminous and would look good in her bedroom – in fact, he thought it was the best painting he had ever done. There was also a painting of a quiet bay at the Cap d’Antibes, and another portrait of Doris Castlerosse, who was also staying. A small black-and-white photograph exists of Doris lying on a garden chaise wearing her signature short shorts while Winston stands in a dressing gown chatting to her. He used this photograph to paint his second portrait of her.

  Among others at the villa were David Herbert, son of the Earl of Pembroke, and Ralph Milbanke – always called Toby – who worked for a Cuban cigar company. Elsie de Wolfe’s husband, the British diplomat Sir Charles Mendl,§ came in most days from a neighbour’s house to use the swimming pool, and there was a constant stream of luncheon guests, including friends whose yacht had broken down so they had all been found accommodation in nearby villas. Violet Cripps was another guest – in her previous marriage she had been a duchess, wife of Bendor, the fabulously rich Duke of Westminster whom Winston had met in Paris on his journey south. It was a congenial party constructed to guarantee interesting conversation for Winston. Ten days after Winston’s arrival his eldest daughter, Diana, arrived. She had recently parted from her husband after only eighteen months of marriage and was depressed and sad. Winston had mentioned to Maxine that a visit to the Château de l’Horizon might cheer her up and she was immediately invited to join the party.