I said, “Don’t you want to know the Princes?”
She said, “Not particularly. They’re not like real people. And anyway, I’ll bet Wally’s going to seat me way down the table. I hope so. I’ll probably get the truck man.”
Bernie Cavett made his fortune in road freight, apparently.
30th April 1933
To Bryanston Court, to help with the finishing touches. The menu is decided: avocado ice cream, curried chicken, apple fritters.
Ernest has cold sores. He’s anxious about Wally’s idea of serving beer and keeps bringing out bottles of his cherished claret to try and persuade her, but, as she says, the Prince of Wales has access to the finest cellars in the world and anyway, he’s no great wine drinker. He’ll much prefer the novelty of beer.
One thing Ernest doesn’t need to worry about this time is the expense. Funny how an overture of caviars was deemed necessary to reel in Thelma Furness, but the Prince of Wales is getting something more akin to a porch brunch.
3rd May 1933
Last evening I danced with two princes, three if you count an exile, which I think I do. More, anyway, than Nora Sedley Cordle will do if she lives to be a hundred, and I shall make sure she hears about it from Randolph Putnam.
The two Princes are very different. Wales fidgets a lot and allows his gaze to wander when he’s in conversation. Prince George seems more assured, much more attentive as a dinner partner, and an excellent dancer. Freddie Crosbie had described him as “lavender-toned,” but he looked perfectly healthy to me.
And Prince Louis Ferdinand is delightful. He’s been living in Michigan, helping out Mr. Ford at his automobile factory, and adores our American way of life, but he may soon have to give it all up, because his elder brother has chosen to marry a commoner, which places Louis next in line should the Germans bring back Royalties. His mother wants him to go home and find a suitable bride.
Zita Cavett said, “Why go home? Why not choose a gorgeous American girl?”
He said, “A wonderful idea, but your husband got there first.”
They all pant after Zita. It’s her legs. Bernie Cavett found her in the chorus at the Chicago Majestic. A showgirl at a dinner for the Prince of Wales, and with seats at a premium! Hattie Erlanger would be furious if she knew.
There was no withdrawing. Boss and Ernest lingered over their cigars. The rest of us rolled back the rugs and played Thelma’s latest hoochie-koochie records on my gramophone. It was the greatest fun. The Royalties didn’t leave till midnight and were effusive in their thanks. Ernest was quite pink with pleasure, but Wally was as composed as ever. All that dancing and not a hair out of place. The whole thing an undoubted success. I must hand it to her.
The trouble with such an exceptional evening is what to do the day after. Ida Coote is between men and wanted lunch, but I’m going to remain in bed, place a few telephone calls, and recover my strength.
4th May 1933
Wally got flowers from all three royalties, and Ernest is overcome with pride.
I said, “Well, what next?”
“Nothing in particular,” she said. “We’re just very happy to have David’s friendship.”
Well, if a day comes when Minnehaha doesn’t have a scheme, it’ll be the first.
5th May 1933
Lunch with Pips. From what she saw at Wally’s dinner, she thinks Prince George is the star of the royal Princes; funny, gossipy, good-looking. They say Bertie York and Prince Harry are both dull, and Pips doesn’t rate Wales’s looks at all.
She said, “He’s like a schoolboy, only with lines on his face. Small fry. I don’t think I could ever take him seriously as king. And he’s not very bright. I heard him agree with two completely opposite opinions in the space of five minutes. But I know exactly what Wally’s after. She’s playing the long game, hoping to hang in there till King David and Queen Thelma are on the throne.”
That could be a long wait. The King may look old, but he’s only sixty-eight.
8th May 1933
Penelope Blythe says everyone is talking about Wally and Ernest as “the awful American couple who served the Prince of Wales beer in a bottle.”
This can only have come from Hattie Erlanger, still aggrieved about not being invited. But how quickly the facts get distorted. Wally served the beer in lead-crystal chalices. I should know. I helped pay for them. But Pips must have given half a story to Hattie, who never listens anyway, and before you know it, Wally and Ernest’s names are being dragged through the London mud.
Penelope said, “I find Wally Simpson rather direct, don’t you? I hope she didn’t ask the Royalties any impertinent questions.”
Not at all. Wally just likes to draw people out, and I, for one, found it fascinating to hear that if Prince George didn’t have to be a prince, what he’d most like in the world is to do something with fabrics.
Marthe Bibesco was seated a few tables away, face heavily powdered. We exchanged waves. Penelope said, “How do you know that old harridan?”
I said, “She was at Philip Sassoon’s at Easter. I believe she’s a connoisseur of ceilings.”
“Maybell!” she said. “What a hoot! I’ve heard it called some things.”
According to Penelope, Marthe Bibesco is a pensioned-off trollop who’s made deposed royals her speciality.
“Willy Hohenzollern and Fonso Spain, to name two and omit hundreds,” she said. “Connoisseur of ceilings! I shall repeat that.”
13th May 1933
Flora has been removed from Miss Hildred’s. When I called in at Carlton Gardens today, she was confined to the nursery and told me proudly, “I don’t go to school anymore. Miss Hildred said I was a little wild animal.”
Violet says she’ll just have to stay at home now until September. She has two charity balls and then Royal Ascot, as well as her usual workload, so the last thing she has time for is trailing around, interviewing schools.
16th May 1933
Judson and Hattie Erlanger have been invited to Fort Belvedere for the weekend. Wally says Thelma’s only done it because she knows how disappointed they were not to attend the dinner at Bryanston Court, but even so! I’d have thought I was a far worthier candidate. The problem is, people think only in terms of couples.
It takes a host of Philip Sassoon’s imagination to think of inviting a lone woman. And now the summer is looming. I’m sure Violet’s assuming I’ll go to Drumcanna, but I absolutely cannot. A whole month of midges and Jane Habberley.
Wally and Ernest are going to Lily Drax-Pfaffenhof’s. I know Lily would have me, too.
18th May 1933
Lunch with Ida. She has a vague offer of a villa at San Sebastian, but I’ve heard that kind of talk from Ida before. Dinner at the Crosbies.
20th May 1933
Freddie and Pips won’t hear of me going to the Tyrol with the Simpsons. Pips says I spend far too much time around Wally as it is. “And not just time,” she said. “Money, too. I’ve seen you. You’re too generous, Maybell. You must come to Italy with us. We pay our own way.”
The only drawback to this is Gladys Trilling, who I can take in small, lunch-sized doses, but a whole month? Hattie Erlanger is more bearable. She’s careful around me, mindful that Judson and I have a history, but Gladys! Well, perhaps she and Gladys will stick together.
21st May 1933
Penelope Blythe’s friend Cimmie Mosley has passed away. She was married to Tom Mosley, who some call Oswald and some call Kit in that confusing English way. Why not just call him Sir Mosley and be done with it? Anyway, Tom-Oswald-Kit and poor Cimmie were both in Parliament as Socialists until they visited with Mr. Mussolini and decided to get up their own party instead. Well, her politicking days are done. She died after having her appendix removed. So young. How fragile life is.
To Monsieur Jules for a tint.
25th May 1933
Thelma Furness has obtained her divorce. Wally says it merely frees Marmaduke Furness to marry his new sweetie and will make no dif
ference to Thelma’s end of things.
27th May 1933
According to Padmore’s Daily Sketch, the Prince of Wales has been seen several times in the company of Mrs. Amelia Earhart, the aviatrix. Perhaps Thelma’s days as Special Friend are numbered. That would be bad news for Wally and Ernest. Bad news for all of us really, just when everything is going along so nicely.
28th May 1933
To Carlton Gardens for tea. Lightfoot was there.
I mentioned the story about Wales and Mrs. Earhart. Lightfoot said, “Yes, everyone’s talking about it.”
Violet said, “No George, only silly people are talking about it, and it’s of no consequence anyway, because he’s about to announce his engagement.”
Lightfoot said, “Who? Not Princess Ingrid? Don’t tell me they’ve sold him Ingrid of Sweden!”
Violet was shaking her head, lips sealed, refusing to say more, but Doopie was nodding wildly.
Lightfoot said, “Ingrid of Sweden! I don’t believe it. He won’t marry her.”
Violet said, “It’s his duty to marry, therefore he will marry and soon. Even Wales understands that.”
30th May 1933
Wally says the Amelia Earhart story is a spiteful fabrication and that HRH is as in love as ever with Thelma. She says when they’re at the Fort, the King telephones all the time, wanting to know who he’s got there and what they’re up to that’s so fascinating he can’t spare a little time to go visit with his mother like Bertie York does. She says Bertie York is the blue-eyed boy in that family, and poor David Wales can’t do anything right.
Wondering what to do about Philip Sassoon. He seems to need encouragement.
2nd June 1933
Lunch with George Lightfoot. He says Flora has made a bridal veil for Melhuish’s terrier and renamed it Princess Ingrid. Advises me against making any claims on Philip Sassoon. He said, “He’s a particular type, Maybell. Do you understand? A dynamo of a man and a superb host, but an elusive friend. And not cut out for romance. I think they missed that piece out when they were making him.”
And Lightfoot still sees that Belinda, but isn’t “seeing her,” whatever that means. What is wrong with these Englishmen? Well, whatever, I’m going to have Sir Philip over for drinks. A little pre-Ascot cockers, as Hattie would call it. But not when Wally’s around. She’d be sure to mug up on Chippendale porcelain and all kinds of subjects just to get her foot in his door.
5th June 1933
Lunch with Connie Thaw and Ethel Croker. They’re planning a surprise birthday party for Wally, and my mission will be to waylay her and bring her to Quaglino’s. Hattie Erlanger and Gladys Trilling saw us and invited themselves to join us for dessert.
Hattie said, “Ethel, tell us about Wally in China. We hear there was talk.”
Ethel said, “There’s always talk among expats. They’ve nothing better to do. She was young, that’s all. Young and lonely and she liked gambling. She was good at it. Baccarat, blackjack. She used to make herself quite a bit of pin money.”
Hattie said, “No, but something else. Connie, do you know? Something she told Thelma? Tricks she learned to do for men?”
Connie said, “Sort of. She knows this thing you can do, to slow a man down, if he’s one of those hair-trigger operators. I don’t know if that was China though, was it?”
Hattie said, “Hong Kong. Ask Thelma. I heard she learned it in a whorehouse. It’s called Ching Chong or Fong Wing or something like that. Ethel, you must know.”
Ethel said, “Well, I never went to any whorehouses and I don’t think Wally did, either. There was a place at Repulse Bay she reckoned she went to once, a singsong house, but I didn’t believe her. Even Wally wouldn’t have been that crazy.”
I agree with Ethel. And what on earth is a hair-trigger operator? Something else beyond the scope of Harrold’s Lending Library, you may be sure.
6th June 1933
Philip Sassoon has accepted for drinks on Friday. Also George Lightfoot, Boss and Ethel Croker, and Pips and Freddie. I’m not inviting any person who refers to Philip as “the Babylonian,” and Wally will be gone, so he’ll be safe from her attentions. She and Ernest are going with Lady Thelma and HRH to the Perry Brownlows for the weekend. They have a grand pile in Lincolnshire and a thousand acres. More bracing walks for Wally. What a country girl she’s become.
7th June 1933
A wire from Randolph Putnam, whose boat is about to dock. Dinner on Saturday? Does he think I’m sitting around with nothing in my appointment book? I shall go to Leake Priory and weekend with the Blythes. Penelope Blythe has been pestering me for long enough.
8th June 1933
Penelope can be so infuriating. She has begged me and begged me to go to their place in the country, and now, when it’s convenient to me, she and Fergus are going to Hampshire for polo. Freddie and Pips have to go to his constituency on Saturday, to press the flesh of his voters and keep them sweet. Lightfoot is going to the Hon. Belinda’s, and even Ida Coote has commitments. Dog-walking commitments, more than likely, or Buddhism. That’s her latest thing. Well, I’m sure Buddha wouldn’t mind her helping out a friend and having dinner on Saturday.
9th June 1933
Still at my breakfast tray, and I’ve received the inevitable call. Randolph Putnam. “Surprise, surprise!” Not really. I know far more than I need to of his movements while he’s in London. I’ve agreed to dinner tomorrow. May as well get it over and done with. I suppose he’s feeling rather lost and overwhelmed, his first time away from the United States. His feet kept him out of the war, or possibly his mother. When one has traveled and forged a new life, one easily forgets how limited some people’s worlds are. Well, charity, Maybell. Christian charity.
This evening, an elegant little coterie from my new world. Daiquiris, shrimp toasts, prunes in bacon, knackwurst and pickles.
10th June 1933
Randolph Putnam pretty much ruined my party. Philip Sassoon was the last to arrive, and when he was shown in, he had Putnam at his side. He said, “I found your friend outside.” Randolph, bright-eyed and annoying as ever, said, “Didn’t intend crashing in, Maybell, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”
He fairly took over, yarning with Boss Croker as though he’d known him all his life, attempting to stroll down memory lane with Pips. After three daiquiris, Pips Crosbie misremembers every story about me. And to top it all, Randolph gave Philip the distinct impression that he has some kind of claim on me. I heard him say, “She’s a wild one. I’ve had to chase her halfway across the world. But she looks younger and more darling every time I see her.”
If it hadn’t been my own party, I’d have fled. Ethel Croker squeezing my elbow.
George Lightfoot raising his eyebrow. Tonight Randolph Putnam has to be told, straight.
11th June 1933
Randolph Putnam is impossible. He proposed marriage and appeared not to notice the firmness of my refusal. He said, “I’m a patient man, Maybell.”
He envisions us living out our days together at Sweet Air, me in a rocking chair, no doubt, while he goes around winding all his clocks.
I said, “My life’s in London now.”
“Yes,” he said, “I see that. But times change, and they say wanderers eventually return to the place they started out.”
I believe the end of the world would have to be nigh for me to think of going back to America. He wanted to know if am I seeing anyone.
I said, “I see lots of people. You were lucky to find me at home.”
“Well,” he said, “London’s gain is Baltimore’s loss.”
He seemed to be under the impression that crayfish are an aphrodisiac. Au contraire. Butter on his chin.
14th June 1933
At the Shim-Sham till dawn. Hattie Erlanger turned her ankle trying to find the powder room in the dark. Whitlow Trilling got very tight on vermouth. Gladys was livid. Saw Marthe Bibesco smoking a cigar.
Shopping with Wally this afternoon. We need gay umbrellas
for Ascot, and Wally is due a birthday gift.
15th June 1933
Wally chose a silver punch bowl. Pips says it was too much. She said, “You’re a fool, Maybell. You should have ushered her toward the embroidered handkerchiefs. Well, I’m afraid all she’s getting from us is a box of crystallized fruits.”
We wonder whether she’ll get something from Thelma and the Prince. Pips doubts he sends birthday cards. She thinks he’d get the Lord Chamberlain to do it. I am commanded by His Royal Highness to send you hugs and kisses!
She said, “Did Ethel say anything to you?”
I said, “What about?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”
What can that be about? Ethel Croker had better not be about to bump me from their Ascot party.
19th June 1933
Wally had guessed something was afoot, but she allowed me to kidnap her and take her to Quag’s, and she very obligingly feigned surprise. And she did get a birthday gift from Thelma and HRH. The Prince is at Windsor, but Thelma had brought along a twig in a terra-cotta pot. Ernest says it’s a rare orchid.
Gone With the Windsors Page 11
