By now the duke had left Enzesfeld to stay at the Landhaus Appesbach, a small hotel near Ischgl, in the Austrian Tyrol, where Fruity wrote to him on March 27:
I had a dull and boring trip home with plenty of time to think over these last months, which you allowed me to spend with you. I cannot tell you how much they have meant to me, and how happy I have been. I loved every minute of my stay and never will I forget your kindness to me, Sir. I really feel awfully lonely, and miss you more than I can say, and this is true. You are a marvellous host and nothing is too much trouble for you to do for anyone you like. You have certainly proved that to me and believe me, I am awfully grateful.
Today I went to Ascot to see David [his son, almost ten] and went into The Fort on my way back. I did not see the gardener but Willis took me round. The daffodils are just coming out and the tulips are going to be very good, also the rhodos. The grass bank behind the tennis court had given way after the heavy snow but is being repaired. I went into the house but it looked so sad, all empty, that I did not stay long. I must say, every care is being taken of the place and the gardens are in perfect condition.
If there is anything at all you want done here, please make use of me. Goodbye for the present, the best of good luck and once more very many thanks for a grand time.
In mid-April Irene was asked to a large dinner party given for the duke and duchess of Kent. The duke (formerly Prince George), youngest and favorite brother of the duke of Windsor, talked to her for a long time about Fruity, the duke of Windsor, Emerald Cunard and the rest of the circle who had formerly surrounded the ex-king. Fruity’s straightforward devotion and immense loyalty to his brother were exceptional and did him immense credit, said the duke of Kent (on whom Fruity had called several times with various messages and commissions from the duke of Windsor).
Three days later, Tom made a surprise visit to his children at Denham. For once, sixteen-year-old Vivien was able to bask in his approval as he read her prize-winning essay on Capri and went over the exam papers in which she had done so well.
Irene was still cramming her days with activity: a speech at the annual dinner of the British Women’s Symphony Orchestra at the Savoy on April 20, a visit to the Maginot Line at Strasbourg on April 22, where she saw the pillboxes in which humans could supposedly live for two years underground. “There among the fresh green grass were coils and coils of murderous barbed wire, ready to unroll. Are we all insane that we go on like this?” Then it was on through the Vosges, to look at châteaus and churches, and back to Croydon airport on Wednesday evening, down to Denham on April 30 and back to London on the evening of May 2.
She returned to pandemonium—David with a raging temperature and Fruity in a melancholic heap going off to dine alone even though Baba was back from her motoring tour. Nanny had found David motionless while Baba was on the telephone, thought he looked ill and discovered that he had a temperature of 102. “Of course he had to be brought to me as Baba had no cook or servants there.” None of this put Baba off her evening plans and Irene had to take her sister to the theater where Baba was meeting friends.
Irene had begun to view her sister as irremediably selfish. The moment the coronation (on May 12, 1937) was over, Baba had whisked away Cim’s tiara from her and then requested Cim’s superb pearls without asking if Irene wanted either of them. This was maddening—but not nearly as ominous as a remark made by her adored nephew, Mick. Diana Guinness had visited Denham for two nights before his fifth birthday and after her departure the little boy, sitting in his bath, had asked Nanny if she was still there and then had suddenly added: “I believe in the end Daddy will marry Mrs. Guinness.”
In France, preparations for the wedding of the duke of Windsor and Wallis Simpson were well under way. Wallis had moved from Cannes to the Château de Candé in Touraine, generously loaned to her (through her friend Herman Rogers) by the American multimillionaire Charles Bedaux as a place to stay until her wedding, now arranged for June 3. It would also be a refuge from the press: at Candé, surrounded by land owned by Bedaux, it would be much easier to obtain seclusion than in the Cannes home of the Rogerses.
Although neither the duke nor Wallis had ever met Charles Bedaux or his wife, Fern, they had no hesitation in accepting the loan of his house for their wedding. The most obvious first consequence was the financial cost to Bedaux. Fortunately Bedaux, as the originator of time-and-motion studies, had made an immense fortune by his methods of improving efficiency in industry.
From early February onward, Herman Rogers had been writing constantly on behalf of Wallis and her requirements to the Bedaux butler, James Hale, who was handling the logistics of the visit. She wanted an important chef—the one who had been working for the American ambassador in Paris was mooted—two night watchmen, one for the château and one for its grounds, accommodation for a man from the Sûreté and one from Scotland Yard, rooms for her maid, chauffeur and Mrs. Rogers’s maid, a safe for her priceless jewelry, and arrangements for her truckful of luggage.
Charles and Fern Bedaux, who lived in considerable style, already had twenty-four indoor servants, grooms, gardeners, gamekeepers and a separate laundry staff. Visitors were received by a butler and two footmen, but Wallis wanted more: a pastry cook, sous chef and scullery boy, a second butler and footman, four maids and two charwomen, five laundrywomen, more gardeners, an extra chauffeur, a telephonist, a number of golf-course workers and a gatekeeper.
All this was arranged in immense secrecy. Hale (who later went to work for the Windsors) posted his letter from Amsterdam in order to avoid any connection between the Château de Candé and Wallis Simpson. On February 20 he was able to report that he had engaged the highly qualified chef requested by Wallis for two thousand francs a month. This was Alphonse Diot, chef to the duke of Alba, who was leaving his service after fourteen years because the duke’s palace had been destroyed. Hale also assured Rogers that the rest of the extra servants requested would be arriving in two days’ time.
On May 3 Wallis’s decree nisi arrived at Candé. Next day the duke arrived to join her. “Mike [Wardell] is leaving here to fly to you tomorrow so I thought I’d send you a line,” wrote Fruity to the duke on May 8. “Thank God those awful weeks of waiting are over now. It is marvellous to see you looking so happy in your photos.” Once again, telegrams, telephone calls and letters flew back and forth, in a confusion aided by Wallis’s sudden and inexplicable changing of her name by deed poll from Simpson to her maiden name, Warfield, on May 12.
The duke had hoped to have at least one of his brothers as a supporter at his wedding, although in this he was to be disappointed. The Church of England, of which the king was head, did not recognize the marriage of divorced persons and none of the royal family would want to be seen to flout its teachings at such a delicate time for the monarchy. Once again, the duke turned to the old friend on whom he knew he could rely. On May 17 he sent Fruity a typewritten letter:
Dear Fruity,
First of all, Wallis and I hope that you and Baba will come here to stop for our wedding on Thursday 3 June. We suggest you arriving on Monday, 1 June, and I enclose a list of the trains from Paris in case you don’t fly. The trains underlined in red are more for the information of guests who are only invited for the day.
Secondly, I want to say that I hope you will be my Best Man, so that even if Baba is unable to get away that week, you will anyway come yourself and play this important part at the ceremony.
It was nice of you to write by Mike Wardle [sic] and I can still hardly believe that the terrible months of separation are over. It seems too good to be true. Our plans are working themselves out gradually despite the withholding of a single helping hand from England, not that we ever expected one. But the behaviour of some people is utterly amazing.
Write and tell me soon that you will be my best man, and looking forward to seeing you on 1 June.
Yours sincerely,
Edward
A handwritten PS followed. “We shall be w
earing tailcoats at the wedding. I shall personally wear a black coat and striped trousers but a gray tailcoat suit would be all right for you if you prefer that. E.”
Fruity accepted with alacrity, but not everyone thought he had made the right decision. One of the duke’s oldest friends, Lord Sefton, foolishly made disparaging remarks about the Metcalfes’ acceptance of the Windsor wedding invitation in front of Irene, who told him forcefully what the duke of Kent had said about Fruity’s marvelous loyalty to his brother.
The Château de Candé stood on high ground, with a view over miles of green countryside dotted with groups of tall poplars and willows. Parts of it were sixteenth century, with high towers, pointed turrets, heavily embellished Gothic doorways and huge underground vaults. The estate covered a thousand acres and included one of the best private golf courses in France; here the duke played nearly every day of his stay and, if not, kept fit by scything the grass in the meadow.
The Bedaux had spent a fortune on refurbishing the château to the highest standards of 1930s comfort. There was American plumbing, huge refrigerators and a bar, originally the old sixteenth-century kitchen, its hooks for meat, game and hams still in place, in one of the underground vaults. In another was the dining room, its walls covered with ancient Cordoba leather. The big drawing room was still decorated in its Victorian red damask and the chapel in Victorian High Gothic. The Bedaux, neither of whom was Catholic, maintained this for the people on the estate but it was far too small for a wedding.
Instead, the Windsor nuptials were to take place in the pretty music room, used by Fern Bedaux as her sitting room. This had Louis Seize paneling drag-painted in pale green with lavish yellow silk curtains and an Aubusson carpet patterned with circlets of flowers and cherries. For the wedding, the piano had to be lifted out of the window so that the altar could be put in its place.
As well as all the extra servants, the duke took it for granted that his host would defray all incidental expenses. His mail was enormous and if he wanted a hundred letters put in the post, which arrived and left the château at 9 a.m., he would simply hand them over to be stamped and collected. His telephone bills continued to be colossal, and if the party lunched out or visited a place of interest it was invariably Charles Bedaux who picked up the bills and tipped. The butler, Hale, had also ordered the New York Herald, the Continental Daily Mail, Le Figaro, the Daily Express, Daily Mirror, Daily Sketch and News Chronicle, all in the name of his employer. Perhaps because she believed Wallis was inciting the duke to take advantage of her husband’s generosity, there was little love lost between Fern Bedaux and Wallis.
In contrast with the duke’s stinginess, Wallis spent freely—on herself. In the month before her wedding, she ordered sixty-six dresses. Every weekend her favorite manicurist came from Paris, for a fee of ten shillings plus traveling expenses, to give her a pedicure and manicure, using only the palest of nail varnish so as not to draw attention to the large, ugly hands Wallis so disliked. For the same reason, the only gap in her otherwise magnificent collection of jewelry was rings; the exception was her platinum engagement ring with its huge rectangular emerald.
The day before the wedding, Cecil Beaton arrived at the château to take photographs, a day-long session interrupted by lunch—curried eggs, rice and kidneys—under the trees. The duke, Beaton noticed, ate only strawberries and cream. Baba, who had arrived the night before, told Beaton at tea that she was amazed at his high spirits. Dudley Forwood knew better: he told Beaton how hurt the duke was that so many of his friends had not come to his wedding.
From the moment of her arrival, Baba kept a diary of those historic two days.
I came here on Tuesday evening at six o’clock. I have never dreaded an arrival or visit more and would have given my fortune for the train never to stop. We were met by Ladbroke and an army of photographers. The arrival here was even more dispiriting and the castle is a rather ordinary and ugly example in quite nice grounds. Mr. Bedaux met us and we were shot down a spiral staircase with one very small bedroom, entirely Empire furniture. My heart sank and I wanted to scream and break everything.
Fruity, as best man, was put next to the duke on the ground floor, in a small suite that included a double bedroom with sitting room (occupied by the duke) with, beyond, a shared bathroom and Fruity’s room.
Wallis appeared before long [continues Baba’s diary]. Not having seen her for so long I had forgotten how unattractive her voice and manner of speaking are. Her looks ensure that in any room of only moderately pretty women she would always be by far the ugliest and her figure is thin, with absolutely no line . . . Wallis lost no time in explaining to me that she lived at the other end of the chateau to the Duke and he called it W1 and W2.
The rest of the party, Mrs. Merriman—Aunt Bessie—harmless old girl who must have had a stroke as half of her face doesn’t function and her mouth is squidgways on. Mrs. Rogers—common, ordinary large-boned American. Herman, nice, quiet, efficient but unknowledgeable about what to give to the press, obviously knows nothing of England and world opinion. Mr. Bedaux and Mme. Bedaux are infinitely better than I expected. She is like a borzoi and is not at all common and he is brilliant and very articulate but unattractive. They are very retiring and might be guests. Wallis is paying the cheques. Dudley Forward [sic], the equerry very loyal to HRH and Wallis. We sat around and chatted in the library till HRH came in in his shirtsleeves from the office where he was competing with letters, telegrams and presents. He could not look better or be in better spirits. Outwardly he appears just the same as when I last saw him a year ago as King at the Fort.
That evening dinner (I sat between Alan the solicitor [George Allen, the Duke’s solicitor] and HRH) went off very easily but one has no feeling of being at a unique occurrence or witnessing a page of history. I feel I’m passing the weekend in an ugly chateau with people (with the exception of HRH) who are unattractive and completely ignorant of what is happening and who I never want to see again. HRH is in marvellous form, obviously happy, much easier to talk to, has made not one allusion to England, family, staff or friends. Walter [Monckton] and he disappeared after dinner with Alan and we carried on desultory conversation till we went to bed. The telephone goes a lot and Herman makes dates to interview the press.
The list of presents is rather pathetic so far, only the Duke of Kent and one or two well-known names. He sees through Wallis’s eyes, hears through her ears and speaks through her mouth. So far Kent and Gloucester are the only members of the family who have sent presents or letters.
(The Metcalfes had given the duchess an evening bag and the duke a St. Christopher medallion from Cartier. On the wedding day itself Fruity gave him a Cartier watch.)
This morning [June 2] the parson arrived, a gallant fellow called Jardine from Darlington. He wrote and offered to come as he felt that the way the marriage was being treated by the Church, bishops etc was appalling. HRH is so pleased to be having a religious ceremony. We found a chest suitable for an altar, put a lamé and lawn tablecloth of Wallis’s round it and with the aid of Mrs. Spry’s flowers it looked quite pretty. Cecil Beaton arrived to take photos. Herman Rogers was going to give a list of present givers to the press. Fruity got him to give up the idea. Bedaux, Aunt Bessie, Mrs. Rogers, Fruity and I went to lunch at Sembeaucy, a gargantuan meal. I like the Bedaux more and more, they have done fascinating trips and are very interesting. We fetched a cross for the altar from a local church.
The Reverend Robert Anderson Jardine, vicar of the village of Darlington, near Durham, had volunteered to take the service when he saw the headline: “No religious ceremony for the Duke of Windsor.”
At teatime Walter Monckton arrived; Baba found him charming. What her diary does not mention is that Monckton brought with him a letter from the king saying that although the duke, notwithstanding his Act of Abdication, was entitled to the style and title of His Royal Highness, his wife was not. Monckton had argued against this but, as the king had reminded Baldwin, once a person has be
come a Royal Highness there is no means of removing the title—and the royal family knew little of Mrs. Simpson save that this was her third marriage.
The duke was shattered. Although the words with which he received the news were temperate (“This is a nice wedding present”) it was a wound that festered for the rest of his life and, more than anything else, poisoned his relationship with his family—in part because he simply could not understand that abdication meant the complete renunciation of former powers and privileges.
Letters and telegrams pour in [continues Baba’s diary]. Both Wallis and HRH appear very unrattled. She curtseys to him and calls him “Sir” and rises slightly when he comes into a room. I gather he understood fairly well his staff, Joey etc not coming but took Perry’s [Lord Brownlow, one of the duke’s oldest friends] backout the worst. Her not being made HRH was much the worst blow. At dinner last night they implied that a visit to America was in the offing and Dudley mentioned Paris in the autumn. Both would be mad.
I’ve never seen him happier or less nervous but try with all one’s might and main when looking at her one can’t register that she can be the cause of the whole unbelievable story. One almost begins to think there is nothing incredible, unique or magic about it as they are so blind to it all. Except for the press which one does not see as they are only allowed as far as the gates one might be attending the wedding of any ordinary couple.
The bitterness is there all right in both of them. He had an outburst to Fruity while dressing for dinner. The family he is through with, he will be loyal to the Crown but never to the man (the King). He blames him for weakness in everything. The friends, staff and Perry have also been awful. He intends to fight the HRH business as legally the King has no right to stop the courtesy title being assumed by his wife. Monckton and Allen agree there but let’s hope he does nothing.
The Viceroy's Daughters Page 30
