MARY COULDN’T STOP CRYING AS THE TUGS PULLED Ernest’s ship away from the pier and out into the fast-flowing East River. She stood and watched as it disappeared towards the ocean, already missing him with a great ache in her soul. They had agreed she could write care of his London office, and as soon as she got home she began a letter, telling him how empty her life was without him and how much she hoped they could be together soon. She reread it, then tore it up and wrote another, a chatty letter about the new Hemingway book she had just started, Green Hills of Africa, which was about the author’s travels on that continent.
I do wish I could travel more, she confided. I’ve never even been to the West Coast of America, and the only European cities I know are London and Paris. One day I should love to visit Rome and Venice.
As soon as Ernest arrived in England, he mailed her a letter several pages long that he had written on the ship. He wrote with great charm, describing the quirks of the other passengers, the food served in first class, the dolphins that followed them one day, cavorting in the ship’s wake as if showing off to entertain the passengers. There was no word of love, no hopes for the future, but he closed by saying: My warmest thanks for making the summer so joyous. You are always in my thoughts.
Mary hugged herself. The sentiments were lovely but she yearned to hear his voice. If only she could pick up the telephone and ring him. For now, letters would have to suffice.
Wallis wrote from London with amusing stories of life in the Prince’s circle. The Duchess of York, wife to David’s brother Bertie, had walked into the room while Wallis was doing an impression of her, and as a result had refused ever to meet her again.
David and I call her ‘Cookie’, she wrote, because she has the common air – and the plumpness – of a member of the kitchen staff who samples too many of her own wares. She told Mary that the Prince continued to buy her jewellery, including some ‘pretty nice stones’, but that when she begged him to give her an evening’s peace from time to time, asking him to consider her position with Ernest, he turned a deaf ear. It puts me under the most enormous strain, she wrote. Ernest is an angel but he does get cross that he must do without a wife. We’ve had fearful rows about it. But David is a child, who never thinks of the consequences of his actions.
Such sentiments pricked Mary’s conscience. She had betrayed this friend who trusted her implicitly. If only Wallis was in love with the Prince, Mary could feel there was some justification for her betrayal, some possibility of a happy outcome – but it was clear she was not. She liked the fact that he was rich as mud, she loved the expensive clothes and jewels he paid for and the generous allowance he now gave her, she liked the fact that everyone in London wanted to be her friend – but she was paying a very high price for it all.
Just after the New Year of 1936, Ernest returned to New York for a two-week visit, and straight away he and Mary were lovers again. He spent every evening with her, slept every night in her house, woke up with her every morning. They were running the risk that her maid and cook might gossip to friends and word would get out. Mary gave them bonuses with their wages in the hope that it would encourage them to hold their tongues – but, she thought in a devil-may-care moment, hang the consequences if not. His visit was so brief that she couldn’t bear to miss out on a second of it. She loved the easy intimacy of listening to him hum while shaving, of chatting about the newspaper headlines over breakfast, of remembering that he liked devilled kidneys and asking the cook to prepare them for him.
‘Come to London in the spring,’ he suggested on his departure. ‘Wallis would love to see you.’
They looked at each other, and Mary felt stricken. Here in New York she could pretend Ernest was hers, but in London there would be no such luxury. She would not be able to kiss him when she wished, or straighten his tie or brush lint from his jacket, because that would be Wallis’s role. Would she be capable of dissembling? Would Wallis sense the charged atmosphere between them? She was very sharp about other people’s affairs.
Just three days after Ernest left New York, Mary was wakened by her maid bringing a tray of tea with the morning paper. As soon as the drapes were opened, she saw the front-page headline: King George V had died. That meant the Prince of Wales must now become king.
Mary was gripped with anxiety. Surely Wallis would not be able to continue her current relationship with the King of England? He would be forced to find someone younger, someone who could sit beside him as queen. And if Wallis were no longer occupied with the Prince, she would no doubt turn her attention to her long-neglected husband. It was an unmitigated disaster.
Mary rose, pulled on her tea gown and hurried to her writing desk to compose separate letters to Wallis and Ernest. She asked Wallis to offer her condolences to the Prince, and wondered when he would ascend to the throne. She was largely ignorant of royal protocol. Would it mean they had less time together? Was Wallis sad about this? To Ernest she wrote asking, What now? Where does this leave us?
She gave her maid the letters, asking her to mail them immediately, then she paced her apartment trying to imagine the ramifications. No matter how she looked at it, no good could come of the situation.
David’s accession as Edward VIII was proclaimed from the balcony at St James’s Palace the day after his father’s death, Wallis wrote in reply.
There was a fanfare of gun salutes and trumpets playing the national anthem and the Garter King of Arms proclaiming in solemn tones while soldiers marched around. David is quiet and sad, as you would expect. Already he must spend hours each day on some mysterious red dispatch boxes containing notice of affairs of state. He does not enjoy it and I have to nag him to finish . . . My own company is even more in demand than before, with society hostesses clamouring to swear undying friendship, but I do not flatter myself that it has anything to do with whatever small charms I may possess.
She did not address the question of where the accession might leave her, and Mary guessed she was as much in the dark as the rest of them. The letter finished: I hope he will be a modern king, who will update many of the ancient, outmoded customs of the institution he was born into. He could be a great monarch for this new era.
Ernest wrote with some startling news in February, his tone matter-of-fact and the content anything but:
The new King invited me to dine at York House last night. Wallis would not be there, he told me, so I decided this was the occasion on which we must clarify our mutual positions. Perhaps he had the same idea. I took my friend Bernie Rickatson-Hatt with me, as a witness of sorts. During the meal, conversation was all perfectly general, about politics and such like, but over the brandy and cigars I broached the subject on all our minds by asking about the King’s intentions towards my wife. ‘Do you plan to marry her?’ I asked, straight out. The King rose from his chair and said, ‘Do you really think I could be crowned without Wallis by my side?’ There was some toing and froing after which I said that if he would promise to look after her, then I was prepared to end my marriage.
Mary’s first emotion was jubilation: Ernest would be free and they could be together. But almost immediately, this was tempered by doubts: what would Wallis say? Mary sensed she would be furious to have her fate decided by these two men without them so much as consulting her.
The next letter she received from Wallis did not mention it. Are you still planning to visit in spring? she asked. I’m dying to see you. I must be in Paris in the last week of March for some dress fittings, but why not come at the very end of the month?
It was going to be excruciating to see Wallis and Ernest together, but Mary reasoned that if she met him on his own first, it might be easier to come to terms with the situation, so she booked a crossing that arrived on 24 March. He met her at Waterloo, giving her a warm hug and a tender kiss before taking her arm to lead her to his car.
‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ he breathed, holding her hand and gazing at her. ‘I wish we could be together tonight, but I fear the servants at Bryanston Court would not prove as biddable as yours in Manhattan. One of them would be bound to let the cat out of the bag.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said, although she was secretly disappointed. She longed to hold him in her arms, and had hoped he might visit her in the circular guest bed once the servants were asleep. But he was a gentleman of principle and would not be unfaithful to his wife in her own home.
During Wallis’s absence they dined together, drank whisky – for which Mary had developed a taste – and talked every evening. Predictably, the subject often turned to Wallis and the King.
‘She doesn’t know of my conversation with Peter Pan,’ Ernest said. ‘There is a complication in that, as head of the Church of England, he is not supposed to marry a divorcee. But I am sure he will find a way around it.’
‘What about an heir?’
Ernest shrugged. ‘To be frank, I think it is the least of his concerns. He just wants to be with Wallis. If they don’t have children, the succession will pass to his brother Bertie, and then to Bertie’s elder daughter Lilibet.’
‘Is that what Wallis wants? Have you asked her?’
Ernest shook his head. ‘I told you: we never see each other on our own. She is the queen of London society and seldom spends an evening at Bryanston Court. There is no more KT hour here, because she mixes her KTs at York House. A lot has changed since your last visit.’
Wallis arrived back in London on Saturday the 28th and swept into the drawing room in a haze of expensive perfume, stopping short when she saw Mary. ‘What a surprise! You’re here already. I was expecting you next week.’
‘Hello, Wallie.’ Mary rose to embrace her. ‘I got a cheap first-class berth on an earlier sailing. Of course I’d forgotten all about your trip to Paris. You look divine. Is that new?’
Wallis was wearing a blue wool suit with chalk stripes and a matching trilby. It could have been a man’s office wear but for the tiny waist, the padded shoulders, the long slim skirt and the jaunty angle of the hat.
‘Charles Creed. I do like his tailoring.’ Wallis smoothed her skirt.
‘And that’s a stunning brooch.’ Three diamond-studded feathers curled out of a gold crown. ‘A gift from the King, perhaps?’
‘The Prince of Wales feathers,’ Wallis agreed. ‘I guess I should stop wearing it now he’s been promoted to the top job.’ She flung herself into a chair, removed her hat and kicked off her shoes. ‘Oh Mary, I hope you have brought your Baltimore common sense with you, because I am in a complete tizzy. My entire life is unmanageable. You will tell me what to do, won’t you?’
‘You might not like the answer,’ Mary teased.
Wallis rang the bell set into the wall by her chair, and when a maid came she said, ‘Two martinis, please,’ and sighed heavily. ‘Thank God for alcohol. I swear it’s my only refuge.’
She looked utterly worn out, and Mary felt a surge of compassion. ‘You need a vacation. Can’t you go away somewhere without the King, and have some time alone to contemplate your situation?’
‘He wouldn’t let me. It was all I could do to stop him following me to Paris this week.’
Mary gave her a rueful smile. ‘Do you remember saying to me once that you weren’t lovable; that I was the lovable one of the pair of us? Well, it seems you’ve found someone who will love you to the ends of the earth and back.’
‘It’s not love.’ Wallis shook her head wearily. ‘It’s need. It’s obsession. He says he can’t live without me. He begs me to marry him twenty times a day and won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Do you love him?’ Mary scarcely dared ask, because the answer meant so much to her. It could change the entire course of her life, either setting Ernest free or keeping him from her for ever.
Wallis didn’t answer straight away. The maid came in with their drinks, picked up Wallis’s shoes and hat, straightened some cushions and left again.
Wallis took a sip of her martini, then put it down on the table. ‘I care about him a lot,’ she said. ‘But at the end of the day, I’m not sure if that’s enough.’