Grace of Monaco
Page 31
Before long Caroline’s mom and I drifted off into a corner of the room, the two of us sitting Indian style on the floor. We talked of many things—of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and Hollywood.
“It was very different in those days,” she said. “Not like it is today. It was a much gentler place then.”
“With gentler people?” I wondered. “Hitchcock never struck me as being particularly gentle.”
“Hitch was wonderful. He was very secretive and mysterious. He was naturally shy so he was always playing hide and seek with everybody.”
“But he was known to be very demanding.”
“He had to be. Movies were an expensive business, even if they didn’t cost anywhere near what they do today.”
“He was at Paramount, wasn’t he?”
“Well, Rear Window was at Paramount and so was To Catch a Thief. But Dial M for Murder, which was the first film we did together, was at Warner Brothers. Moving around like that always presented problems because I was on a salary at Metro. Whenever Hitch wanted me for a film he had to get me from them. MGM kept renting me out to other studios. And they made a lot of money doing it. Unfortunately I didn’t. I think I actually made more money modeling in New York than I did acting in Hollywood.”
“Do you miss Hollywood?”
“I miss some of the people, yes, because I was lucky enough to work with some fabulous people, like Hitch. But I never much cared for California and never really lived out there. Everything in Hollywood seems to be affected by the exaggerated importance of money. I worked out there but I always came back to New York when I wasn’t working.”
“Except that you worked out there a lot.”
She shook her head. “I only made eleven films and don’t forget I made six of the eleven in a little over a year between 1953 and 1954. And then, only one of those six was for MGM.”
“Did you have the right to turn stuff down?”
“Not really.” She began to giggle. “In fact, I once even got suspended for it. You could only say no when they let you say no. A director once wanted to cast me as Elizabeth Barrett Browning in a production of The Barretts of Wimpole Street. I was about 25 at the time and in the movie she would have been in her early 40s. He thought I’d be marvelous in the role. I told him I was much too young. And he said, ‘No problem. We’ll make her younger.’ I couldn’t believe it. I tried to explain to him that the whole beauty of her story lies in the fact that she was 40 when she had this great romance. Luckily the project was dropped. In the mean time, my reputation as a difficult young actress was greatly enhanced.”
“Were you difficult?”
“Who me?” She grinned broadly. “Well, MGM thought so.”
“Do you still get fan mail?”
“Yes. And I’ll have you know that every letter gets an answer.”
“Are the letters ever still addressed to Grace Kelly or is everything Princess Grace?”
“Of course, most of my mail is addressed to Princess Grace but, yes, I still get letters from people who say they’ve just seen one of my movies on television. Or they say that their mother and father were fans and ask if they could have my autograph for them. Or they ask for photos or recipes. So we send them a photo of the family or some of my favorite recipes, you know, local dishes that are cooked in Monaco. Or they ask for advice.”
“What kind of advice?”
“All sorts of advice. I get questions on just about everything, from raising children to how to get into the movies. Although I stopped giving advice about how to get into the movies in about 1949 or 1950.”
“Why?”
“Elia Kazan called me one afternoon to ask if I’d like to help a young actor rehearse for an audition. I said sure. I remember that the guy came up to our apartment on a Sunday afternoon. He explained that he lived somewhere outside New York, in the suburbs, and couldn’t rehearse with me during the week because he was married and had a young family and had to work for his father. But he said he really wanted to be an actor. Well, the girls I lived with were home that afternoon and they had dates over and the record player was going, so the only place we could rehearse was the kitchen. Of course, it was one of those really tiny New York City kitchens so we were very cramped. He read okay. But he wasn’t great. And when he asked me what I thought, I tried to find a kind way of letting him know that he wasn’t going to make it. I explained how difficult it was to get work and reminded him that most actors in New York were hungry most of the time. I advised him to keep his job so that he could support his wife and child and maybe act as a hobby in amateur productions. I tried to convince him as nicely as possible to forget acting as a career.”
She stopped right there and stared at me.
“Okay,” I asked, “Who was it?”
And she answered, “Paul Newman.”
GqH
We each have our special memories.
Mine of Rainier is that late summer afternoon sitting in his office in the Palace, the day he spoke to me about Grace’s death.
He came around the side of his desk and sat next to me in a straight chair facing the coffee table. My first thought was that he seemed tired. He said he felt all right, but added that it was impossible for him to ever really get away from his job.
“I soldier on because that’s the only thing I can do.”
“But why do you do it alone?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, enough time has passed for any widower to bring someone else into his life without eyebrows being raised.” He didn’t answer, so I asked, “Are there any ladies in your life?”
He said he didn’t want to speak about that. “I live in a fishbowl. It complicates life and puts you off doing a lot of things. I have to be extremely discreet.”
Although he quickly added that, at least most of the time, he didn’t worry anymore about what other people thought or what the press wrote. “Anyway, I don’t interest the media so much anymore because I don’t do enough that would interest them.”
Except when ladies were mentioned.
He’d been hounded by a photographer in New York and made headlines, taking a page out of Frank Sinatra’s book, throwing a punch at photographers.
It was the night he’d gone to see Cats with the wife of an American friend. Photographers swarmed him coming out of the theatre, insinuating that the “unidentified” lady on his arm might become the next Princess of Monaco.
First he asked them to leave him alone. Then he shouted at one of them. Then he let his Mediterranean temper get the better of him and hit the guy.
More photographers showed up the next day at his hotel and he took a swing at one of them.
It was clearly an episode he didn’t want to discuss, so we spoke for a time about all sorts of other things, until I could bring the conversation back to him.
Now the sun began to set.
Because no lights were on in his office, the room grew darker.
He spoke about the morning of the accident, and how he’d rushed to Grace and Stephanie, and how he learned that his wife was too far gone to ever come back, and how he and Caroline and Albert had gone to say goodbye, and how then, the life support machine was turned off.
His voice grew more quiet as the room grew very dark.
Before long, he was weeping.
Tears were coming down my face, too.
After a very long time, he regained his composure and started speaking of other things, as if the moment we’d just shared was too personal.
He talked about Monaco and about pollution of the seas and the United Nations and international diplomacy. And when he’d run out of those topics, when he felt he’d moved far enough away from Grace’s death, I asked him again about himself.
“Would you ever remarry?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see the necessity for marrying again. I find it very difficult to even imagine. I enjoy the company of women, sure. But at this point in my life there are no thoug
hts of marriage. Anyway, second marriages are things I don’t necessarily understand. If a marriage ends because you can’t stand your wife or she can’t stand you, so you split up, you separate, and go your own way. Then perhaps if you meet someone who can make you happy you might want to try again. But as it happens for me ...”
He paused for a moment. “I have a wonderful family and I had a wonderful marriage. And everywhere I go is so filled with memories of Grace. We lived here together for 26 years. She’s still everywhere. I couldn’t have another woman here. I see Grace wherever I go. Anyway, I couldn’t do it because it would be very difficult for my children. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”
He paused again and in his pitch dark office said softly, “So I won’t.”
It was a promise to her, and he kept it.
GqH
In July 2011, Albert finally married.
His bride Charlene Wittstock—now Her Serene Highness Princess Charlene of Monaco—is a tall, blond, beautiful South African woman, 20 years his junior. She’d been an Olympic swimmer and they’d met at a swimming event in Monaco in 2000, although they didn’t start dating until 2006.
As of November 2013, the couple had not yet produced an heir.
Although, shortly after Rainier’s death, a news story broke that Albert had an illegitimate child with a former Air France stewardess. Albert’s lawyer confirmed that the story was true, acknowledging that Éric Alexandre Stéphane Coste had been born in August 2003.
A statement from the Palace quickly noted that Monaco’s constitution specifies “only direct and legitimate” descendants can assume the throne.
And while his father has participated in the boy’s life, spending time with him and supporting him, Alexandre is not in line for succession.
Nor is Jazmin Grace Grimaldi, Albert’s daughter, born in 1992 after a liaison with a California woman.
Here, too, Albert has supported his daughter and spent time with her.
Many years before, Albert told me he wasn’t sure how, when he took over as reigning prince, he could ever live up to the reputation of his parents.
I hope, by now, he understands he doesn’t have to.
His sister, Stephanie, lives quietly, raising her children.
His sister, Caroline, and her third husband, Ernst, have split up.
GqH
We each have our special memories.
September 12, 1982 was an overcast and sometimes-drizzling Sunday in London, England.
All these years later it seems like only a few months ago.
My future wife, Aline, was flying out to Nice, France, on a late afternoon flight. My old pal, Caroline Grimaldi, was flying in for a week’s stay at the Forest Mere health spa in Hampshire, arriving on the same plane that would take Aline back.
So I drove Aline to Heathrow Airport, said goodbye to her at Departures, walked upstairs to Arrivals, and waited for Caroline.
On the drive into London, Caroline was happy and relaxed and looking forward to her week of pampering.
“What’s the food like?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, then made a face. “British, I presume.”
That wasn’t particularly encouraging, so when I dropped her at Waterloo Station for the train to Hampshire, I suggested, “If the food’s any good, I’ll come and have a meal with you. If it’s terrible, I’ll smuggle good food in.”
We decided that was a plan.
On Monday afternoon, Aline phoned from France to say she’d just heard on the radio that Princess Grace had been involved in a bad car accident.
I immediately rang Caroline. It took a while to get through, but when I finally did, I told her, “I’ll pick you up right away and get you to the airport.”
She said she’d spoken to her father, that, “Mommy had some broken ribs and lacerations and Stephie was hurt, too,” and that she’d already made arrangements to fly home the next day.
Tuesday, September 14, sometime just before midnight, my phone rang. A friend woke me with the words, “I just heard that Princess Grace is dead.”
These being prehistoric days before email and cellphones, I wrote Caroline immediately. Understandably, it took a long time to hear back from her. She’d moved into Stephanie’s hospital room to be with her, and sat stunned and weeping next to her father, comforting him, at her mother’s funeral. Then, as soon as they could, Rainier and his three children left Monaco for a long trip, to mourn, to convalesce, and like any close knit family, to help each other get through this.
It was several months before I finally spoke to Caroline again.
I found her at home. I wanted her to know that Aline and I had not stopped thinking about her and her mother and her father and her sister and her brother, and how saddened and sorry we still were that this tragedy had happened. But I never got a chance.
“Hi,” she came on the line. “You know what?”
I asked, “What?”
And my old pal Caroline ... typical Caroline, forever wonderful Caroline ... announced, “Actually, the food wasn’t so bad.”
Acknowledgments
This book was based, almost entirely, on first hand interviews. For their help and assistance with this project I wish to thank Rupert Allan, Daniel Aubry, Pierre Berenguier, Michel Boeri, John Carroll, Dario Dell’Antonia, Julian and Phyllis Earl, Ken and Bonnie Feld, Gant Gaither, Virginia Gallico, Wilfred Groote, Robert Hausman, Khalil el Khoury, Mary Wells Lawrence, Regis L’Ecuyer, John Lehman, Andre Levasseur, Luisette Levy-Soussan, George Lukonski, Judith Mann, Francis and Josiane Merino, Jean Marie Moll, Stirling Moss, Ricardo Orizio, Richard Pasco, Prince Louis de Polignac, Francis Rosset, Marquis Livio Ruffo, Andre Saint Mleux, Francine Siri, Robert Sobra, Jackie Stewart, Clare Sychrava, Robert and Maureen Wood, and John Westbrook.
I am especially indebted to Nadia Lacoste for her kindness, affection, guidance, assistance, and so many years of friendship.
My thanks, as well, to Ruth Fecych, Christine Marra, and Amanda Murray for their work on this edition.
And, as always, La Benayoun.
However, this book could never have been written—at least not by me—without the cooperation of four very special people.
I will be forever grateful to Prince Albert, Princess Caroline, and Princess Stephanie for their time, their recollections, their secrets, their trust, and their friendship.
But I am most appreciative of all to His Serene Highness Prince Rainier III. He not only gave me his blessings to write this book, he also opened his heart to me.
I could never forget Rainier.
Nor, could I ever forget Grace.
I have been deeply touched by both of them.
Index
Acting/Grace Kelly
Academy Award, 23, 227
acting school, 17–18
beginnings, 16–17, 19–20
career end, 10, 158
Grace on, 9–10, 317–320
MGM contract, 5, 9, 22, 23, 24, 162, 318
MGM suspending/reinstating, 24, 29, 36, 40
scandal press and, 160–161
screen test/effects (1950), 5, 19, 21, 22
television, 20
See also specific movies/plays
Adventures of Quentin Outward, The (movie), 23–24
Agnelli, Gianni, 105, 287
Alben I, 191
Albert I, Prince of Monaco, 56, 65, 85–87, 88
Albert II, Prince of Monaco
accident/mother’s death and, 245, 268, 269–270, 271, 272, 280
ascension timing, 233, 248–250, 306
as bachelor/matchmaking and, 245–246
banking/marketing work, 248, 311
birth/title, 120
childhood, 7–8, 14, 80, 121, 122, 123, 126, 127, 211, 212–214, 252
children, 322–323
education, 121, 148, 198, 247, 248, 311
father’s death and, 312
film/acting and, 212
on friends/friendship, 215, 244
languages and, 7–8, 128–129
Albert II, Prince of Monaco (continued)
military, 247–248
office of, 282–283
personality, 121, 153, 212, 245, 252, 253, 305
press/paparazzi, 142, 143, 148–149, 211, 246, 247
role/responsibilities and balance, 79–80
as sovereign-in-waiting, 210–211, 213, 215, 248, 250–251, 282–283, 291, 306, 311
speech problem, 121
sports and, 128, 210, 213, 214, 250, 251–253
on Stephanie/press, 281–282
US road trip, 148–149
wedding/marriage, 322
women/wife and, 245–247
Alexander (play), 21
Allan, Rupert
handling press, 134–136
relationship with Grace, 31, 32, 33–34, 35–37, 39, 40–41, 70, 71, 133, 204
American Academy of Dramatic Arts, 17, 18
American Bicentennial (1976) celebrations, 165–166
Antoinette, Princess, 88, 89, 96, 97, 243, 301–302
Atwood, Bill, 40
Aumont, Jean-Pierre, 33, 161
Austin, Russell/Edith, 43–44
Avenue Princess Grace, 1
Bacharach, Burt, 189
Baker, Josephine, 189
Barbizon, 17, 18
Baroque Music Festival, 239
Barretts of Wimpole Street, The (film project), 318
Basehart, Richard, 20
Bel Geddes, Barbara, 20
Belmondo, Jean Paul, 218
Belmondo, Paul, 218, 219, 272
Berenger, Tom, 212
Bergman, Ingrid, 6, 8, 207, 295
Bidets, 195
Birthday party
family dog, 177
Shah of Iran, 177–179
Bloom, Ron, 254–256
Blum, Phyllis, 130–131, 153, 175–176, 265
Bobsledding, 251–253
Bohan, Marc, 218, 219
Brando, Marlon, 6
Bridges at Toko-Ri (movie), 23
British BBC, 113