Laurie Graham - Gone With the Windsors

Hattie said, “The idea is beyond bizarre. She doesn’t even ride. And why would any man look at her twice? She always looks so … corseted. And that frightful, grimacing mouth. I mean, she’s quite fun, but really … Anyway, no one important ever goes to the Furness house. One simply sniggers about it.”

According to the maid, Wally and my sable have gone direct from the country to The Cedars, for mud baths and facials. She might have asked.

Tonight to the Yugoslavs. I shall have to wear my mink.

Wally says The Cedars wasn’t her idea. She got dragged along by Thelma and Connie but is glad she went, because she feels greatly rejuvenated. She described the weekend as low-key and cozy. She’d met some new people, the Bernie Cavetts from New Jersey, Humphrey Butler, who equerries for fun-loving Prince George, and the Perry Brownlows, who have a house near Thelma’s. And the Prince of Wales had joined her by the fireside and chatted to her for half an hour at least. She says she wasn’t a bit nervous.

She said, “I didn’t even think about it. I was just myself, Maybell. I just treated him like I would any other interesting man.”

I bet she didn’t.

She said, “Strictly between you and me, I think he finds Thelma rather limited. She’s sweet, but she doesn’t have any conversation, and His Royal Highness has a wide-ranging mind. He wants to know about the lives of ordinary people, and who better to enlighten him on that subject than me.”

She’d even told him about her mother’s boardinghouse.

She said, “He was fascinated. He’s never met anyone like me before, not socially. He found it refreshing.”

Perhaps so, but I don’t think Ernest will thank her for making such a feature of her regrettable background.

Philip Sassoon’s sister has invited me to a musical soiree.

To tea at Carlton Gardens. Fish-paste sandwiches and seed cake. Bertie York’s wife, Elizabeth, was there with Ena Spain and a couple of Greek princesses who never smile. Only Ena could perspire in February. Flora was allowed down briefly to say “good day.” She doesn’t appear to be using her new hairbrush.

To Sibyl Chumley’s, spelled Cholmondeley , nota bene. Her husband, Rock, was present, charming and dashingly handsome but impatient to get away, it seemed. He kept popping open his Hunter to check the time. And dear Philip wasn’t able to attend, being horribly busy with something called Air Estimates. Lucky Philip. It was such a long program and then, as if we hadn’t had quite enough, one of Sybil’s cronies asked Mr. Rubinstein for an encore, as if he needed any further encouragement. It didn’t seem to occur to them that some of us had had a strenuous day and still weren’t finished. I had the Erlangers and the Trillings waiting for me at the Paradise Club.

The German Parliament has been burned down by Red agitators. Boss and Ethel Croker are taking a house for Royal Ascot this year and I am invited, as are Wally and Ernest. I’ll just keep the information up my sleeve until Violet starts talking about squeezing me into Lady Desborough’s attic. Ernest is expected home at any moment, and the sooner the better. Wally’s in a flap about ordering gowns. I’m thinking pale lavender and the softest camellia pink. Wally says hats are absolutely de rigueur, a great shame for a natural blonde like myself.

Lunch with George Lightfoot. He was at the Century Club last night and saw Wally and Ernest at the Prince of Wales’s table. Poor Ernest. He’s not a night person at the best of times, and he’s only been back on dry land for five minutes.

Five hours of shopping. We’ve decided on midcalf bias-cut for summer, which we’ll follow with a shorter, more tailored look for the fall. Wally is so particular. She examines linings and seams practically with a magnifying glass. She says if she had my money, she’d have everything hand-finished. Our needs are different, of course. Curves like mine may not be the height of fashion right now, but let’s face it, I’d look good in a sugar sack, whereas Wally has to rely on good window dressing to cover all those bones and angles.

At any rate, Ernest is so thrilled by their growing closeness to the Prince of Wales that he’s lifted the latch on his cash box and told Wally to buy whatever she needs.

We didn’t even stop for lunch, and then she dashed away in a cab. She’s suddenly very assiduous about being at home with a welcoming drinks’ tray when Ernest comes in from business. That’s the deal, I suppose. She’s paying for her Ascot gowns with wifely attention.

Called in at Carlton Gardens. Violet was running out to a Soup Kitchen committee. She said, “You should come with me. Do something useful. This has been a hard winter, Maybell. People are cold and hungry.”

Well, I was in no condition. I’d been on my feet since ten o’clock.

I said, “I’ll write you a check. I’m going up to the nursery to have tea with Flora and Doopie.”

She said, “Then be aware that Flora is being punished. She stuck out her tongue at Lady Londonderry, so be stern with her and please don’t give her candy.”

I must say, Flora seemed to have forgotten she was in disgrace. We found some chocolate in my purse and made chocolate sandwiches, and then she and Doopie danced Giselle for me in their bedroom slippers. I don’t think chocolate counts as candy. Chocolate is chocolate.

Dinner at Judson and Hattie Erlanger’s. According to Pips, Hattie’s family owns much of Eccleston Square. All the more regrettable then that she doesn’t invest some of her wealth in getting her teeth straightened. And why don’t the English keep their diamonds clean?

The talk turned to Wally. I only mentioned that she longs to be presented at Court, and Gladys Trilling practically leaped out of her seat. She said, “Oh but that can never happen. Surely Wally and Ernest are both divorced?”

According to Gloria and Hattie, divorce is death to any Court ambitions.

I said, “But what about Thelma Furness? She’s about to get her second divorce, but that doesn’t seem to deter the Prince of Wales.”

Hattie said, “There’s all the difference in the world between sharing Wales’s bed and being brought into the presence of Their Majesties, and I’m sure Thelma Furness has always understood her position.”

If that’s the case, I’m surprised she hasn’t explained it to Wally. They’re such friends these days, they must surely commiserate with each other about the taint of divorce. How frustrating. A youthful error with Win Spencer and now Wally’s greatest desire is forever beyond her reach. Well, I’m not going to be the one who tells her.

Philip Sassoon has invited me to his house by the ocean for Easter. A fête champêtre at Port Lympne! Whatever it is, I can’t wait.

The most extraordinary thing. I was with Wally at Bryanston Court early last evening, when the door opened and in walked the Prince of Wales. He said, “You didn’t invite me, but here I am anyway.”

Wally didn’t miss a beat. She said, “Why sir! I hope you know you’re welcome anytime. We’re very informal tonight, just an old school friend, Maybell Brumby.”

She was pulling faces at me behind his back, reminding me to curtsy. She doesn’t understand that when I was at Carlton Gardens, Violet had royalties trooping through on an almost daily basis.