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The Relationship Deepens
T
HE YEAR
1935 was to mark the major turning point in Wallis’s life. Her relationship with the Prince accelerated at the same time as her marriage to Ernest began to fade away. Her position as the Prince’s new favorite was fast being recognized by members of society; no word as yet leaked out in the British press, but those in the Royal Family, the court, and the aristocracy were aware. That Christmas, the Prince had asked Wallis to help select the hundreds of presents his staff would receive for the holidays. When word of this got back to them, many of these retainers were openly resentful that this American upstart should be exercising such intimate control over the household of the heir to the throne. But the Prince himself was pleased and rewarded Wallis with a cairn terrier puppy she called Slipper; in time, due to her inability to house-train him, Wallis would also call him Mr. Loo.
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The Prince had grown so fond of Wallis that he now telephoned every day if he could not visit her in person. The deeper the friendship between her and the Prince grew, the less Ernest seemed to be included. However, with Wallis’s assurances, he had felt confident that there was no threat to the marriage. Indeed, Wallis had no plans at all to end it. Ernest represented emotional and financial security, while the Prince was simply a glamorous and exciting interlude.
Ernest continued to be just as enthusiastic over the royal favor and enjoyed the social doors which had opened to him and Wallis. The Prince was free with both his money and his entertainments, and for Ernest, conscious of class and position, spending weekends with the heir to the throne and his titled friends in the intimate surroundings of the fort was itself a reward for whatever dignity may have been lost in the process. Among the upper class, there had always been a certain amount of social cachet to be found in complacent acceptance of such royal favor, and Ernest, bound by convention, made little fuss. Soon enough, however, he began to find excuses to disappear when the Prince called or reasons to remain behind at Bryanston Court, working on business, when Wallis went to the fort. Increasingly, he referred to the Prince, somewhat bitterly, as “Peter Pan.”
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Jokes began to be made at his expense. One of the most popular alleged that he was to write a play called
The Unimportance of Being Ernest,
in which the hero cries out, “My only regret is that I have but one wife to lay down for my King.”
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At the beginning of February, the Prince invited the Simpsons to join him on a ski holiday in Kitzbühel, Austria. Wallis eagerly accepted the invitation in both of their names. But when she told Ernest, he declared that he had absolutely no interest in skiing. Over dinner he asked Wallis if she would still accompany the Prince.
“Why not?” she replied. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Ernest stood up, pushed his chair in, and said quietly, “I rather thought that we might have gone to New York together. I see now that I was wrong.” He walked out of the dining room and disappeared into his dressing room, slamming the door loudly behind him.
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Wallis had no intention of giving up the trip. Although Ernest was clearly upset at the prospect, she refused to reconsider. Her stubborn determination to do as she wished, coupled with an undeniable selfishness, would increasingly drive a wedge between her and her husband. Wallis felt there was no reason why she should deprive herself of such an opportunity or why her husband might feel differently. Throughout 1935 the Simpson marriage disintegrated.
In contrast, the holiday in Kitzbühel proved idyllic. She and the Prince took the
Simplon Express
from Paris to Kitzbühel, arriving in the midst of a terrible storm on February 5. They were greeted by the mayor and a host of officials, and the Prince responded warmly to their welcome in fluent German. Wallis had never before been on skis and could progress no further than the simplest of slopes. She enjoyed the Grand Hotel, where the royal party stayed, sitting before a blazing fire in the afternoon and sipping hot cocoa or dining in the small local cafes to the music of mountain folk songs played on an accordion or zither.
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Among their party was Dudley Forwood, who would later play an important role in their lives. This handsome, dark-haired, and mustachioed twenty-three-year-old former Guards officer was junior attaché to Sir Walford Selby, the British envoy in Vienna, and had been dispatched by his office to attend the Prince. He was immediately struck by the Prince’s “incredible charisma. When His Royal Highness came into a room, all conversation stopped. His presence was overwhelming.” He also got to know Wallis rather well. He found her “riveting. She was a very nice, very American, aristocratic woman. She was prepared to treat me very well.”
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Forwood had never before been in attendance to a member of the Royal Family and was uncertain of his duties. He recalls one afternoon particularly well:
His Royal Highness was never great physically at sports. His Royal Highness loved to play golf, but he was not a great golfer. He loved to ride point-to-points, but he wasn’t a great horseman. He wasn’t a great skier. So he was on the nursery slopes, and there were two very smart, very typically French, ladies there, who everytime they saw him said in loud voices,
“O, c‘est le Prince de Galles, comme ils elegant, comme ils charmant, O, Mon Dieu!,”
at the top of their voices. His Royal Highness was embarrassed and irritated. He suddenly, on the nursery slopes, in the midst of these ladies, lost control of his skis and rushed headlong into a kind of pile of snow at the base of the slope. And the two French ladies, I’m afraid, saw their chance and aimed their skis at the snow drift. So that we had the Prince of Wales, and two French ladies of great elegance, floundering about in the snow drift. I wasn’t sure what my duties were, but I realized I had to get my Prince out of the drift. I ran there and extricated His Royal Highness and took off his skis. He was not pleased with himself, and infuriated with the French ladies, who were making foolish noises in the snowdrift. I was young, and amazed that I was so bold and presumptuous, but I said, “Oh, Sir, is that the first time Great Britain has been raped by France?” Fortunately, His Royal Highness thought that this was funny, and he called over to Mrs. Simpson, who was not a great sportswoman, and who was standing at the side of the snowdrift, and shouted, “Oh, Wallis! Dudley says I’ve been raped by France! Isn’t that fine?”
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At the end of their stay, the Prince suddenly decided that he would like to visit Vienna, declaring that he wished to waltz.
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”This,” recalls Forwood, “caused all sorts of problems. The Prince of Wales simply couldn’t go anywhere he wished on the spur of the moment. We had to make telephone calls, talk to embassies, speak to the Foreign Office, ring local officials—all in a matter of hours.”
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They left on the midnight express on February 16, traveled through the snowy Alps, and ensconced themselves in the Bristol Hotel, where they took over an entire floor. They spent their evenings dancing and visiting the local coffeehouses. While Wallis shopped, the Prince garnered favorable attention among the locals by visiting several housing projects and mixing with their inhabitants. Waltzing in Vienna, however, was soon displaced by the Prince’s sudden desire to hear Hungarian Gypsies; the next morning, they were off on a train to Budapest, where they wandered up and down the old, cobbled backstreets in search of the most authentic nightspots.
When Wallis had left for Austria, the tension between her and Ernest had been real. He had not wanted her to go and was upset that she had apparently made a decision to choose both the Prince and her own interests over his clearly expressed feelings. Wallis, in turn, had left England angered over what she believed to be his unreasonable stance. Having repeatedly told Ernest that there was no threat to their marriage, she found it impossible to reconcile his natural jealousy and humiliation with what she, in her own mind, knew to be only a passing attachment.
These circumstances colored the Austrian trip. Until this time, it is doubtful that Wallis and David were lovers. Certainly the Prince himself had expressed strong feelings for her, but Wallis—whatever her feelings—had been reluctant to jeopardize her marriage. Now, however, alone with David in the romantic surroundings of Kitzbühel, Vienna, and Budapest, it seems likely that Wallis made a decision which would seal her fate.
Several years later, after the abdication, the Duke repeatedly and vehemently denied that he and Wallis had been lovers before their marriage. He successfully sued author Geoffrey Dennis for suggesting in his book
Coronation Commentary
that Wallis had been his mistress. Indeed, for the rest of their lives, neither the Duke nor the Duchess would ever admit that their relations had been anything but absolutely proper.
It is impossible to say precisely when the pair crossed the fine line defining their unique romantic friendship and became lovers. There has been endless speculation as to the exact nature of the sexual relationship between Wallis and David. All manner of peculiar rumor and innuendo has, in the absence of hard fact, effaced truth, leaving a tangle of sexual flotsam which is nearly impenetrable. However, somewhere beyond the unsubstantiated gossip lies the source of Wallis’s seemingly inexplicable hold over David.
Among the most persistent of all rumors is that David was homosexual. Twenty years after the abdication, an obscure little book was published called
Lese Majesty
in which much space was devoted to a discussion of the Duke’s sexual preference. Although the author produced little in the way of evidence, the allegations stuck.
A more thoughtful analysis was put forth by author Christopher Warwick in his book
Abdication.
Warwick argues that David might have spent his life living as a repressed homosexual, only vaguely understanding the latent tendencies within.
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To this end, he mentions David’s desire to be dominated; his vehement declarations against homosexuality; and the possibility that he drove himself so hard in his sports activities as a young man in an attempt to prove his manhood. In the somewhat masculine Wallis, Warwick suggests, he may have found not only a mother figure but also an acceptable substitute for a male lover.
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David’s sexual appetites, however, were well known. He maintained a rather successful record of conquests, all female. There never seemed to be any doubt whatsoever as to his own inclinations among those who knew him well. Certainly no member of his household or staff—those best in a position to learn his intimate secrets—ever suggested that he enjoyed anything other than heterosexual affairs.
In complete contradiction to this, it has long been rumored that David was impotent. According to this theory, it was only on bedding Wallis that he managed to find sexual fulfillment. But this is a curious charge to make. As Frances Donaldson rightly notes: “It might be true to say that during the whole of his youth the Prince was criticized for over-indulgence in the sexual act, while ever since he was believed incapable of it until he met his wife.”
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Thelma Furness would later claim that the Prince was an inadequate lover.
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According to at least one source, she declared that he suffered from premature ejaculation.
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It has long been assumed that Wallis, having allegedly mastered various sexual arts during her time in China, was able to put them into practice on David, controlling their lovemaking with a skill which managed to bring him to orgasm.
The idea that only Wallis was able to finally provide David with the sexual satisfaction thus far missing in his life is rather difficult to accept. Not only do allegations of her alleged sexual techniques rest on the infamous China Dossier—a document which almost certainly never existed—but the Prince had enjoyed numerous relationships with various women before Wallis came along. He had never been unable to fulfill his sexual urges.
There have also been suggestions that David was a masochist who took sexual pleasure in being beaten and whipped.
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Author Anne Edwards has alluded to these stories and even speculated that such desires might have stemmed from his experiences in childhood with Mary Peters, his abusive nanny.
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This has been an appealing explanation to many, including Philip Ziegler. “That Wallis Simpson provoked in him profound sexual excitement is self-evident,” Ziegler writes. “That such excitement may have had some kind of sadomasochistic trimmings is possible, even likely.”
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Not only is this an incredibly simplistic view of the relationship between Wallis and David, it is also entirely speculative. This, in spite of Ziegler’s own warning in his book two pages earlier: “No one knows what happens behind a bedroom door except those who are inside.”
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