WHEN MARY’S SHIP DOCKED AT SOUTHAMPTON, SHE was standing on deck with some friends she had made during the crossing, watching as tugs manoeuvred the huge liner into an unfeasibly narrow space. They all cheered at the skill of the feat. When she returned to her cabin, she found a radiogram from Wallis, left by a steward: SORRY CAN’T MEET YOU SOUTHAMPTON STOP CATCH 11 A.M. TRAIN TO WATERLOO STOP WILL BE STANDING ON PLATFORM WAVING STARS AND STRIPES.
Mary felt a momentary twinge of panic. She had never been to England before. Where would she catch the train? Jacques had always made the arrangements when they travelled, but now, after much soul-searching, she had decided on a separation. His drinking had gone from bad to worse and communication between them had dwindled to nought, as he went out with his friends every night and staggered home in the early hours. She had crossed the Atlantic on her own to clear her head while she contemplated the unthinkable: a divorce, followed by life as a single woman.
She looked out of the cabin door and a passing steward promised to organise a taxi to the station for her. It all worked seamlessly, with a porter buying her ticket, wheeling her trunk on his trolley and loading it onto the train. She handed him a shilling as a tip, which he seemed pleased with.
The English countryside was resplendent, the greens so vivid they made her eyes ache. It was thrilling to be there, alone, starting a new adventure. She hadn’t slept well on the ship, with a bout of seasickness and a mattress that was too firm for comfort, so she nodded off for a while, lulled by the rhythmic chuntering, and only wakened when the locomotive braked as it pulled into its destination.
Waterloo station was a vast iron and glass pavilion, and glancing out, she feared getting lost in the milling crowds, but as soon as she alighted, there was Wallis, wearing a sharp blue suit and a jaunty cloche hat.
‘Mary! You made it!’ She hugged her. ‘It’s so good to see you. I have a taxicab waiting. We’re off to lunch with Consuelo and Benny Thaw. She’s one of the Vanderbilt sisters; he’s first secretary at the Embassy.’
Mary felt dizzy. ‘Couldn’t I go back to yours to change first? I look rather dishevelled.’
Wallis eyed her up and down, smoothed her lapel. ‘You’re fine, dear. They’re expecting us any moment. I’ll get the driver to take your trunk home.’
She hurried Mary out of the station to a black Austin taxicab with a luggage rack on the roof. As Mary handed the porter a shilling tip, Wallis hissed, ‘That’s too much,’ but it was too late to retract.
Mary looked around in wonder as the taxi nudged its way into the London traffic. All the buildings were centuries older than those in New York, with fancy stonework and impressively tall windows. As they drove over a bridge and past the Palace of Westminster, she was awestruck by the intricacy of the sand-coloured stone carvings; her mouth actually fell open. She turned to Wallis to comment, but her friend seemed immune to their splendour.
‘We saw the Prince of Wales again last week,’ Wallis confided, clutching Mary’s gloved hand. ‘That’s three times now. He’s quite the character.’
Wallis had written with great excitement about her first meeting with the Prince the previous January, at a house party given by her friend Thelma Furness. She said she had been surprised by how natural and informal he was in person. Mary was glad that Wallis appeared to have found an entrée into London society in the two years since they last met. She had been worried the English might be too stuffy to appreciate her sharp sense of humour, but it appeared not.
‘You said your friend Thelma is the Prince’s mistress. Doesn’t her husband mind?’
Wallis laughed. ‘I’m sure he would mind if she was hopping into bed with the butler, but since her lover is heir to the throne, there’s a certain cachet. Perhaps you’ll meet him during your visit. Remember back at school you used to have a crush on him? Well, he’s still unmarried, so you never know your luck.’
‘He may be single, but I’m not,’ Mary said gloomily, then turned to gaze out of the window.
Mary’s brains felt scrambled that first afternoon in London. She was still on American time so it felt like first thing in the morning when wine was served with lunch at the Thaws’. They played bridge all afternoon then went directly to the home of another friend, Ethel Lewis, for what Wallis called a ‘KT’. There was an extraordinary array of liquor on display in a miniature bar in Ethel’s drawing room, and a butler made their cocktails of choice in a shaker before pouring them into martini glasses. Mary chose a Tom Collins because she’d heard of it but had never tried one; she found it to be a refreshing concoction of gin, lemon and club soda.
By the time they returned to Wallis’s home in Bryanston Court, Mary was almost sleepwalking, and that helped her to get over the awkwardness of seeing Ernest for the first time since his marriage to Wallis. He was waiting for them in the drawing room, dressed for dinner in white tie, and looking very suave. He took Mary’s hand and bowed.
‘I’m delighted to welcome you to our London abode. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other.’
‘Thank you for the invitation. I’ve already seen a lot of the city in one afternoon.’ She smiled. ‘It’s been a whirlwind introduction.’
While Wallis was out of the room, changing her shoes, Ernest said: ‘I’m terribly sorry to hear about your marital problems. If you and Jackie can’t work it out, there’s no hope for any of us.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, pursing her lips. She didn’t want to talk about Jacques, not yet. She was on vacation and planned to enjoy it to the full – once she had caught up on sleep.
‘You look exhausted, my dear. The journey must have taken it out of you.’ His concern was touching.
Coming back into the room, Wallis overheard. ‘Why don’t we change into tea gowns for an informal dinner? Then you can fall straight into bed afterwards.’
‘Won’t it look incongruous, with Ernest in white tie and us in tea gowns?’
‘Nonsense. We don’t stand on ceremony,’ Ernest assured her.
The maid had already unpacked Mary’s clothes and she found her tea gown and changed. She ate dinner quickly, while Wallis toyed with her food and relayed to Ernest some gossip she had heard that afternoon.
As soon as the dessert dishes had been cleared, Mary made her excuses. She blinked when she contemplated the bed in the guest room: a circular white satin one with rose-pink sheets. But the mattress was comfortable and she was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.
Next morning, Wallis came to sit on Mary’s bed as she sipped a cup of tea brought by the maid.
‘It’s wonderful to have you here. It feels just like the old days when I stayed over at your folks’ house and we chatted in our pyjamas about boys and decided what we were looking for in our ideal husbands.’
‘Did you find all the qualities you wanted in husband number two?’ Mary asked.
‘Isn’t he a dear?’ Wallis smiled. ‘Such an English eccentric. I do love his funny ways. You’ll see him in the evenings and at weekends, but I have a hectic schedule lined up for our days: lunch at the Ritz today, then KTs are at ours tonight. I do like hosting cocktail hour.’
She got up and opened the wardrobe door to look through the clothes Mary had brought. ‘Do you only have three evening gowns? We’ll have to get you more.’
‘I was hoping not to spend too much, Wallie.’ Jacques had taken a job in real estate after his insurance business went bust in the Wall Street Crash, but people weren’t buying many new properties in the uncertain times. ‘I’m on a shoestring.’
Wallis was looking critically at her suits. ‘They wear a different silhouette here: slim on the hips with a long slender jacket.’
Mary, whose hips were decidedly not slim, asked, ‘Does it really matter? All your friends know I’m a hick from hicksville.’
‘Of course not. I’ll swallow my pride and appear in public with you all the same,’ Wallis teased. ‘Actually, I’m jealous that you don’t have the slightest hint of a wrinkle and not a single grey hair. You are positively blooming. We’ll be fighting off the men when they hear you are free.’
‘Why bother fighting?’ Mary retorted blithely.
Suddenly Wallis flung herself on the bed and pulled Mary in for a tight hug. ‘I can’t describe how glad I am that you’re here.’
‘Why? Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ Wallis assured her. ‘Not that. It’s just that you ground me. Now Mother’s gone, I think you are the only person in the world who knows who I really am.’
‘I’m sure Ernest has a pretty good idea.’ Mary stroked Wallis’s hair, feeling a rush of love for her. ‘Now I had better get dressed before the morning is over – I want to treasure every day that I’m here.’
In the Ritz that lunchtime, Mary glanced around and realised that Wallis was right: the length and shape of her suit were old-fashioned. It was warm outdoors but several women wore furs in a loop round their necks, with the poor creatures’ heads slipped through openings in their tails. Most wore hats as well, and did not take them off indoors. She imagined they must be stifling.
Wallis had always dressed well; even when she was reliant on stingy Uncle Sol for cash she had a knack for putting elegant outfits together. Now, with Ernest’s salary to spend, she had discovered a style that truly suited her: slinky tea dresses that accentuated her slim figure, and tailored skirt suits with wasp waists, accessorised with a striking brooch. Her hair was more severely styled than ever: she wore the same centre parting but pulled each strand tightly into a bun. It had the effect of focusing all your attention on her strong-boned face with those incredible sapphire eyes. Truly she had never looked better. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, Mary thought, watching her, but by God she was striking. And so alive!