Life’s a Scream

Duty Free did great business in the provinces and we had theatres vying for dates and offering wonderful guarantees. Even the mighty Moss Empires wanted us. Louis Benjamin, their boss, badgered Tone to bring the play to London but Tonio didn’t think he had enough experience to take on the West End. When Moss Empires were persistent, however, he began to waver. He discussed the idea over lunch with John Pact, his business manager. John was a theatre junkie and the thought of coming into London excited him. They left the restaurant, walked immediately to Coutts Bank in Cavendish Square, and successfully buttonholed the manager.

We had to pay penalties to provincial theatres for abandoning the rest of our tour, remodelled our wonderful sets to West End standards, changed the name from Duty Free to Don’t Bother to Dress, papered the house . . . and got lousy reviews.

On the opening night I had planned a small party at the Embassy Club after the show. In my excitement I ended up inviting over fifty people. Bill Kenwright took me aside and told me that he gave the play three weeks. He was wrong. It lasted five weeks and was a constant haemorrhage on the bank account. At last we were forced to face the fact that the coach parties Moss Empires had predicted weren’t going to materialise. There was no miracle in the offing. Traditionally and legally, you have to put up notice to quit two weeks in advance. We intended to put it up on Saturday but Tonio talked to the managing director of Durex, the condom manufacturers, and persuaded him that it would be a capital idea to underwrite a play in the West End: ‘Durex presents: Don’t Bother to Dress.’ The publicity would be breath-taking.

Tonio put the plan to Moss Empires, who did not seem to have a problem with it so he rushed around, had a fresh sign made for the marquee, set a printer to designing a new programme and the PR agent to writing a press release. He estimated the change-over would take a couple of weeks.

On Monday we were told that Louis Benjamin wanted a word. It sounded ominous. Benjamin announced that he didn’t like his theatre being used to advertise French letters. Tonio told him that it was our only chance of survival but Benjamin was adamant. Durex were disappointed but there was nothing they could do.

We were still in a terrible fix for money. Tone rang his best friend and fellow pilot, Joe Khan, and told him his problem. Joe wasn’t interested in investing in the play but he proved what a good friend he was by instantly offering to lend us money to get out of the West End. Tonio gratefully accepted. We got the play off two weeks later. It had eaten up the reserve we had built up on tour, the loan we had from Coutts and another chunk of the house. It was time to go back to the mortgage company to ask for more money.

We decided to take another play on tour. Woman of Straw, a wonderful story about greed, had been a movie with Gina Lollobrigida and Sean Connery. Tonio again sought commercial sponsorship and went to British Caledonian who, to my surprise, agreed. We got the sets built, the tour signed up and Harry Hitchcock, boss of British Caledonian, came to the première. It went well, we made a small profit and I loved the play.

Meanwhile, my book was being prepared for publication. My editor’s husband, Ian Chapman, published Alistair MacLean and asked him to read the manuscript of Cuckoo Run. Perhaps he would be prepared to write a line or two which they could use to push the book? Alistair, one of the kindest men I’ve ever met, rang Ian Chapman and said, ‘I love it! Tell Ingrid, bloody well done.’ Sadly, he died soon afterwards so didn’t get to write anything on the cover of Cuckoo Run but what he said to Ian meant a lot to me. The book was such a success that it sold out its entire print run in eight weeks.

One day Tonio and I were watching John Wayne in True Grit on TV when the broadcast was interrupted to bring live action from the SAS assault on the Iranian Embassy. It was nail-biting stuff that had us on the edge of our seats Euan Lloyd, a first-class producer who has a string of action hits to his credit, lived right around the corner from the Iranian Embassy and watched the entire nightmare. Never one to hang around, he was the first producer to register the film of the siege with the title Who Dares Wins, the motto of the SAS. I heard about it, rang him immediately and asked him round for lunch. It was a marvellous summer day, the garden a kaleidoscope of colour and I had bought some great T-bone steaks. In spite of all that, I couldn’t get Tonio away from the television. When Euan arrived I tried to take him through to the garden but he wasn’t interested.

‘You have got television?’ Euan asked, seriously concerned. I nodded and pointed to where Tonio was crouching on the sofa in semi-darkness. It was the day that Botham did the impossible and dragged England to victory over Australia by 129 runs. I accepted defeat. There was going to be no glorious asado on the sun-drenched terrace. No artful to-ing and fro-ing while I angled for a chance to suggest his film could not but be enhanced by my presence on the screen.

When the game was finally won, Euan suddenly remembered he had work to do, jumped up, practically kissed Tonio for sharing such a wonderful experience with him, and made for the door. I was seething but managed to paint a suggestion of a smile on my face. Euan kissed me, stepped out of the door, turned and said shortly, ‘If you want the part of Helga, it’s yours. Second lead, great part. I’ll send you a script.’ And he was gone.

The film – and making it – was great. The SAS guys impressed me to the bone. It was Lewis Collins’s best film. I thought he was totally brilliant as Captain Peter Skellen of the SAS. The only sad bit was that Euan was determined to use Judy Davis when he could have had Jane Fonda for the main lead. The Americans didn’t like an Australian imitating a Yankee terrorist and the film didn’t do all that well in America, where it was called The Final Option.

After Who Dares Wins I worked on Smiley’s People for the BBC. I had a fun cameo part. Alec Guinness would bring Fortnum & Mason biscuits to lighten up rehearsals. He was the most caring and generous actor I have ever worked with and would give close-ups to me that he could have had for himself. Curt Jurgens played my lover. I’d known Curt since Eagles and we’d chat about old times with Alec.

Through Chris Chrisafis – Euan Lloyd’s co-producer – I landed a part in Wild Geese 2, a feature film about breaking Hess out of Spandau where he had been imprisoned since the war. Laurence Olivier was to play Hess and Richard Burton the mercenary sent in to spirit him away and deliver him to the West, where he could impart some great secrets.

I flew to Berlin, where the film was to be shot, the day before filming started. I was very excited at the prospect of working with Richard again so when some American friends asked me out to a polo match I judged it a distraction. Later that evening I was in my room when one of the Yanks phoned to ask me if I had heard the news: Richard Burton had just died. I was shocked and wandered downstairs where I ran into Euan and babbled out the bad news. Euan turned ashen and hurried to his room. Later that night he flew back to London to sign another actor and make sure the funding was still forthcoming from EMI.

Edward Fox took over Richard’s part and shooting continued on Wild Geese 2. To be in Berlin was horrific for me. We were filming near the border and I was paranoid. I felt binoculars were trained on me, rifles aimed at me, I even imagined I could hear gunfire. I was jumpy and nervous and tried to stay in my hotel room as much as possible. I wondered if the tormenting images imprinted on my brain in my youth would ever fade and leave me in peace. I longed to return home.

At London Airport Tone and Steffanie picked me up and took me to the VIP lounge since the news they had to tell me couldn’t wait until we got home. It was fantastic: Thames TV were going to make The Peróns into a series. Tonio and I had written the book some time before and it had been published by Methuen in 1982. John Frankau wanted Hugh Whitemore to write the scripts. The news of getting a TV series off the ground and some dosh at last was so great that after considerable celebrations Tonio and I agreed to let Steffanie go to boarding-school. My father had always said that the one thing parents owe their children for bringing them into the world is to give them a proper education. What you have between your ears will give you a chance for a better life. Tonio insisted that she would have the best, whether or not we could afford it, and we chose Hampden House in Amersham. She went at once and I missed her so much that while our agent and John Frankau sorted out the contract for The Peróns, we motored down to Steffi’s school and took her out to lunch, dinner or even brought her home for the weekends. Tone threw in driving lessons on the school estate since Steffanie was car-mad.

At last we got our contract backed up by some much needed cash. Then the TV technicians went on strike. What did we care? We were actually paid more money because Thames was closed down while they were out. We were going to work on the project with Hugh Whitemore, who was not an expert on the subject matter. He seemed to love the whole idea. But he had to finish the script of Return of a Soldier, a film for Alan Bates and Glenda Jackson. Then something else delayed him. I offered to write the scripts with Tone but John Frankau was determined to have Whitemore. Without warning we learned that Frankau had been replaced by Verity Lambert. By this time we were under the impression that Hugh’s work was coming along like a house on fire. Production, scheduled originally for November, was put forward to the spring of the following year. Verity asked to see the scripts and Hugh had to admit that he hadn’t even started. She cancelled the project. We were paid off and that was the end of yet another dream. Disappointment wasn’t the word for it.

I called Lew Grade. He was receptive and asked to read the book. We had a number of meetings. Then I was invited to breakfast. His breakfast meetings were legendary. I sauntered into his sumptuous office suite, we discussed the series over croissants and coffee, and he was excited. It was all going my way when he got a telephone call. It was unbelievable. I was about to agree my contract with the customary handshake but I knew from the way Lew reacted on the phone that I was in trouble. His face just folded over. When he hung up he shook his head and stood up. I was stunned. He told me that Faye Dunaway was playing Evita and Robert Mitchum Perón – in Hollywood. I thought I would throw up all over the table. In the end, Mitchum backed out and the whole thing was a disaster. But not as great a disaster as it was for us.