A door on the left side of the bed led to Wallis’s dressing room, a long, narrow space lined with closets whose doors were mirrored. The end of the room, before the window, widened into an oval whose white walls rose to a shallow dome, resting on slim columns and whose ceiling had been painted with a trompe l’oeil sky.
22
Two red George III japanned étagères filled with various souvenirs, photographs, and pieces of porcelain stood in the corners. This, in turn, led to Wallis’s bathroom, a piece of pure fantasy designed by Boudin to resemble the interior of a tent. The sloped ceiling was painted in alternating white-and-blue trompe l’oeil striped cloth, which continued down the walls in hanging tassels and strings of blue, white, and yellow lilacs, the work of theatrical designer Dimitri Bouchene. The wall above the bathtub was covered with a large mirror against which hung Cecil Beaton’s gouache of Wallis, done during his visit to her flat at Cumberland Terrace in London in 1936.
The villa in Paris satisfied the Duchess. It proved a welcome outlet for her talents and gave her an admirable setting in which to conduct her and the Duke’s life in a proper style. But the Duke still longed for a house in the country surrounded by a garden in which he could happily toil. In June 1952 they discovered that their friend, painter Etienne Drian, had put his country estate up for sale; one day the Duke and Duchess drove the forty miles from Paris to the small village of Gif-sur-Yvette, situated in the Chevreuse Valley, and eagerly inspected the property. Called the Moulin de la Tuilerie, or the Mill, the estate consisted of twenty-six acres, sliced in half by the River Merantaise. Four stone buildings, including an old, medieval millhouse, had been converted by Drian into lodgings. Wallis immediately fell in love with “this enchanting spot.”
23
She and David paid several further visits to the property before making their decision: in July the Duke paid $80,000 for the estate.
24
It was to be the only house the Duke and Duchess ever owned outright during their marriage.
The actual millhouse was the largest of the existing buildings; although the nearly two foot thick stone walls and low, beamed ceilings lent great character, Wallis was also determined to install modern conveniences; the cobbled courtyard was dug up, and a new septic system was buried beneath the stones. Other buildings—the old barn, servants’ quarters, and farm buildings—were modernized. Steel girders and support beams, trusses, and arches were carefully inserted between walls and floors, adding support and reinforcement. The Windsors hired a builder from Châteaufort and engaged local craftsmen to carry out the project.
25
The Mill stood secluded behind high stone walls and a massive oak gate. A narrow drive ran parallel to a long, two-storied stone building which housed both the gatekeeper and rooms for guests and opened to the large, cobbled courtyard at the center of the complex. The walls of the buildings were overgrown with wisteria, honeysuckle, and ivy; old roses climbed lattice arbors to the steeply pitched slate roofs; and stone terraces sloped from French doors to the rolling green lawns and river beyond.
Wallis asked Nancy Lancaster and John Fowler to assist both her and Stephane Boudin in decorating the Mill. Most of the furnishings came from storage, where they had been waiting for use since the Windsors sold La Croë; Nancy Lancaster was disheartened to see so many pieces by Syrie Maugham, but the Duchess was sentimentally attached and insisted on using them.
26
Because most of the ceilings in the Mill were so low, Wallis decided to paint nearly all of the rooms white; to counter this effect, Wallis deliberately choose extravagant accents. “I wanted to have a fling with rich bright colors,” she declared. “In the past I’d always leaned to soft pastels but The Mill was my chance to do something different.”
27
Work on the Mill progressed quickly, and by the spring of 1953 the Windsors were able to take up residence in their new home. Contrary to what has often been written, Nancy Lancaster recalled that the Windsors “not only paid on the dot, but we each had the most marvelous personal letters of appreciation.”
28
From the cobbled courtyard, a massive oak door opened to the lower story of the millhouse. A small entrance hall was filled with reminders of the Windsors’ lives: A red-and-gold Louis XV chest from Wallis’s Bryanston Court flat stood against one wall; above this hung the gilded sunburst clock from the vestibule of the house on boulevard Suchet in Paris. Two old Irish leather chairs stood to either side, originally from David’s apartments at York House, St. James’s Palace.
29
Thick posts, supporting the beamed ceiling, separated the entrance hall from the big hall, which Wallis considered her favorite room—“so cheery and comfortable,” she called it.
30
The floor here was original, composed of sixteenth-century gravestones. The uneven surface was covered with a red, black, and white carpet sewn with floral motifs. A large, open fireplace stood against one wall; ranged around it were comfortable overstuffed sofas and chairs covered with bright English chintz. French doors, curtained in a matching chintz fabric, opened to the courtyard beyond.
On one side of the big hall were the pantry and the kitchen, with the dining room on the other. Wallis wanted something whimsical in this last room, and she eventually asked John Fowler to paint the white walls with trompe l’oeil trelliswork, vines, and bullrushes. To accent these touches, the windows were curtained in green-and-cream-colored taffeta, and the Italian table and chairs were painted in green as well; the floor was covered with rush matting to add to the illusion of dining out of doors. In the corners stood tall metal cranes, peculiar pieces Wallis had discovered in an antique shop on the Left Bank and instinctively purchased without the vaguest idea of how she would use them. At the Mill, she decided they would make perfect lamps and had them painted green, wired for electricity, and set against her make-believe garden on the walls.
31
A narrow wooden staircase rose from a corner of the big hall to the drawing room. The largest room in the millhouse, it rose one and a half stories to an open, arched, and beamed ceiling whose white color only seemed to increase its height. Because the millhouse itself was built against the side of a hill, the second floor facing the courtyard was actually at garden level at the rear. French doors opened to a large stone terrace overlooking the river and gardens. The drawing room was dominated by the massive fireplace which stood against one wall, above which hung an elaborate ten-foot-high Baroque mirror. The furnishings were an eclectic mixture of English chintzes and French antiques in bright yellows, reds, greens, and blues; in one corner stood a grand piano. White was the only cohesive color in the entire room: The carpet was a bold tartan pattern, the curtains a bright mixture of yellow and red, and the odd corner under the eaves had been painted by Drian in a colorful trompe l’oeil screen.
32
Through a low door was a room the Windsors called the Bahamas Bar, a nook adorned with souvenirs from their days in Nassau.
33
On one wall hung a replica of the old mill wheel, emblazoned with the slogan “I’m not the Miller’s Daughter, but I’ve Been Through the Mill.”
34
David’s bedroom was perched beneath the eaves of the roof. The only way Wallis could find enough space for both his bedroom as well as a dressing room and bathroom was to place them one above the other; to reach the bedroom, one had to walk through his bathroom, which also doubled as his dressing room. To disguise this fact, all of the fixtures were concealed beneath retractable tops or behind sliding doors. A staircase in the corner of the room connected with the Duke’s bedroom, where he slept on a simple bed hidden behind a screen. The walls of the staircase and bedroom were hung with prints showing uniforms of the Grenadier Guards Regiment; the military motif was carried on in the drum table David had brought with him from Fort Belvedere.
35
From his dormer windows, David enjoyed feeding the pigeons that congregated on the slate roof outside.
36
Wallis’s bedroom was contained in a long wing which stretched at an angle to the drawing room and enclosed one side of the upper terrace. Like the Duke’s room, it was tucked away under the eaves; a window at the far end of the room overlooked the millstream. The colors here were yellow, pink, blue, and green, repeated in the striped taffeta curtains and the harlequin bedspread. One personal touch was her grandmother Anna Emory Warfield’s rocking chair, set at the side of the fireplace; another reminder of days past were the chest of drawers and dressing table from La Croë, painted with souvenirs of Wallis’s life and love affair with the Prince of Wales.
37
Across the courtyard was the old barn, which Wallis converted into a study for David. This enormous room, forty feet long and half as high, boasted two massive fireplaces against either short wall that could each take five-foot logs. Above one hung a huge map of the world showing the travels of the Duke when Prince of Wales. Scattered across the green carpet were overstuffed sofas and chairs in green and red velvet and corduroy. Drums from the Grenadier Guards Regiment were used as sidetables, and stacked with framed photographs of the Royal Family. Tall French doors along the rear opened to the walled garden; before them stood the abdication desk, piled with photographs, books, and souvenirs. Bookshelves held regimental trophies and awards, presentation swords, foreign orders and decorations, and other regalia from David’s days as Prince of Wales and king.
38
“This room represents the Duke’s life,” Wallis told visiting author James Pope-Hennessy.
39
An open breezeway at the side of the barn contained a small, rustic fountain crowned with a half shell. Wallis stacked clay pots filled with flowers along the flagstone walls and over the rough, cobbled floor to brighten the space, which led to a covered porch. Here she created an outdoor dining area, with brightly painted green furniture scattered across the flagstone floor. The open windows and doors were hung with bright yellow sailcloth awnings to protect the diners from wind and rain.
40
At the other end of the old barn, Wallis converted the former cattle stalls into guest rooms, which she called
Les Celibataires
, or the bachelors’ quarters. Beyond the stone walls, covered with flowering purple clematis and honeysuckle, were two oddly shaped rooms. One was a five-sided chamber, painted white, with a green daybed and prints of the coronation of George IV hung on the walls. The other was done in black-and-white floral wallpaper, with peach-colored furnishings. Other guests could be accommodated in a small, converted farm building across the cobbled courtyard. Only a single room wide, this building held two guest rooms separated by a small sitting room and a bathroom.
41
“There was so much furniture in those little rooms,” recalls Fruity Metcalfe’s daughter Linda Mortimer, “that you had to snake round it to get from one side of the room to the other. It wasn’t terribly convenient not being in the Mill itself; one had to cross the courtyard for dinner, which could be difficult at times. Rain made the cobbles unsteady, and Lady Monckton always had to have a footman dispatched to help her so that she wouldn’t slip.”
42
The gardens and grounds at the Mill were David’s particular pleasure. The estate nestled along the banks of the two smaller branches of the River Merantaise, surrounded by the sheltering belt of forest along the valley walls, with open vistas across the pastures to the steeple of the local church in the distance. Crumbling stone walls marked out what had once been a formal garden, and David quickly imagined that he could do here what he had once done at Fort Belvedere, creating herbaceous borders and rock gardens next to the stream.
David asked noted landscape architect Russell Page to help him lay out the gardens. Together they envisioned a series of informal flower gardens, alternating with stretches of lawn trimmed with colorful borders and surrounded by a rock garden as the floor of the valley began to rise into the hills. In what had formerly been a chicken run, he created a series of water pools, bricked walks, and flagged terraces surrounded by lush plantings of dahlias, sweet peas, delphinium, and roses. To one side, along a low hill, he installed a rock garden with a splashing cascade which spilled over a slope planted with Alpine flowers. The borders were planted with chrysanthemums, asters, and other flowers. An Alsatian gardener assisted the Duke in the construction and upkeep.
43
David wrote that he could “garden as one should, in old clothes, with one’s hands, among familiar plants.”
44
,
45
,
46
,
47
,
48
,
48
,
49
,
50
,
51
Here, in these tranquil surroundings, the Windsors spent the happiest years of their marriage, living not as Duke and Duchess but as middle-aged husband and wife.
40
A Woman of Style
M
Y HUSBAND
gave up everything for me,” Wallis once told Elsa Maxwell. “I am not a beautiful woman. I’m nothing to look at, so the only thing I can do is dress better than anyone else. If everyone looks at me when I enter a room, my husband can feel proud of me. That’s my chief responsibility.”
1
The Duchess of Windsor was one of the twentieth century’s most stylish and elegant women. Along with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Diana, Princess of Wales, she became one of the most celebrated fashion icons of her age. Wallis was named to the world’s best-dressed list for over four decades, a singular accomplishment equaled by no other woman. “She elevated sobriety to an art form,” declared the French magazine
Elle
upon her death in 1986.
2
She had always stood apart from members of her husband’s family, and nowhere was this more evident than in her appearance. Wallis took pride in knowing that she set styles, was named to best-dressed lists, and maintained her figure into her seventies, accomplishments which stood in great contrast to her sister-in-law Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother. “She has the most
awful
taste,” Wallis confided to a friend. “With her shape, it’s no wonder she wears those hanging tents and frumpy hats—she has to do something to distract attention. Every time I see pictures of her, I have to laugh—I think it can’t get worse—but then it does.”
3
Wallis had always taken great care with her appearance. Even as a girl, when her friends sported brand-new store-bought fashions and she had been forced to wear handmade dresses, Wallis was always immaculately turned out. It was a trait she carefully nursed throughout her life. Lady Diana Cooper, writing of Wallis in the 1930s, declared: “She was always correctly dressed, never funny, never slouchy, never don’t care, always right and wearing pearls.”
4
“The royalty stuff is very demanding on clothes,” Wallis confessed to her aunt Bessie in the midst of her relationship with the Prince of Wales.
5
Even on Ernest’s limited income, she managed to cultivate a certain elegant chic, restrained yet exotic, from which she rarely deviated. Though she inevitably favored the simplest of clothes, they were always of the best materials, of the most flattering cut, and somehow worn with a self-confidence which made them all the more attractive. “I began with my own personal ideas about style,” the Duchess told Fleur Cowles in 1966. “I’ve never again felt correct in anything but the severe look I developed then.”
6
This look, adopted during her time in London, followed the fashion trends of the day: slinky gowns of lamé, crepe, and satin, cut on the bias and draped seductively around her petite frame, emphasizing her waiflike figure. In the thirties, her favorite designers were Mainbocher and Schiaparelli. Mainbocher produced plain, almost austere clothes that served as admirable backgrounds to Wallis’s dazzling collection of jewels. She also favored clean lines for another reason: Wallis knew that with her angular face and boyish figure, plain clothing was likely to complement rather than contrast. “In my opinion,” she wrote, “there is only one important rule about clothes: it is that they should be so simple and unobtrusive as to seem unimportant. Simplicity of line, relieved from plainness by richness of fabric and elegance of detail, is my golden rule.”
7
The impression was almost always favorable. In June 1944,
American Mercury
magazine reported:
The Duchess gives the impression of terrific neatness, not a hair out of place, not a line awry. Her nose never shines. Her slip never shows. She looks like a period room done by a furniture house, a room in which nobody lives comfortably. Figuratively speaking, there are no ashes on her rugs, no papers lying around, no blinds askew. To give a real picture of the Duchess, I must describe her clothes. In them—it sounds harsh, but it is true—a large part of her personality resides. And she spares no effort to put it there. She has lost none of her flair for style. It has become one of her prime passions. She is proud to be called the best-dressed woman in the world. It is a profession with her. She enjoys setting the style. She has launched many fashions. The vogue for high-necked evening gowns, for example, may be traced directly to her—she wears them because of her flat-chested and boyish figure.
8
Throughout her forty years in the public eye, Wallis continually kept up with the latest fashion trends and designers. In the 1950s, once the Windsors had comfortably settled in Paris, the Duchess turned to Christian Dior, Balenciaga, and Chanel. Hubert de Givenchy became a favorite in the sixties, as did Marc Bohan at Dior, Valentino, Madame Grès, and Emilio Pucci, with his vibrant, colorful prints. Some of these fashions worked well on Wallis, while others—notably the full-skirted New Look dresses from Dior in the mid-1950s—did not. But Wallis never gave up her taste for experimentation, whether it led to a brief dalliance with pants suits in the late 1950s or miniskirts in the 1960s.
Wallis usually devoted several weeks each spring and fall to the Paris couture collections. “It takes me a while to come to final decisions,” she explained. “I return to the various showings at least three and often four times, and therefore, I have the advantage of seeing not only the clothes but sharply contrasting audiences.”
9
There were also frequent visits to her favorite designers. Wallis would spend hours at the couture houses; her chef usually packed a small hamper, which contained the Duchess’s lunch: fried chicken, soup in a thermos, and a few sandwiches. Occasionally, if she ran into a friend, she would open the hamper and share her meal between showings or fittings.
10
“It was somehow always an event when she came to the salon,” recalled Hubert de Givenchy. “But not a solemn occasion, because she was always smiling and joking.“
11
Once she arrived, Wallis reviewed designs, suggesting alternatives, and shared ideas. “My favourite couturier simply can’t start with a blank board each time,” she explained. “The individuals he dresses must regularly inspire his first ideas. I nearly always recognize the dress designed with me in mind.”
12
Wallis was not a difficult client, as Mainbocher recalled: “She has always been a joy to fit. She can take a longer fitting at one sitting than most. She has fabulous energy and concentrates on what she’s doing. She’s cooperative. She stands so quietly. She doesn’t intrude until the fitters finish their work. Then she says what she wants. With so many women their reactions can’t wait, and it disconcerts the fitters. She’s also a joy because she takes time to choose, sometimes seeing a collection twice. And she has a fabulous figure, because she’s not that scrawny. She’s what is known as false-thin-slim, but not with a starvation body.”
13
Each season, Wallis would select perhaps two or three day suits, two or three day dresses, and several evening gowns. But her rumored extravagance where clothing was concerned is something of a canard: She rarely ordered more than a dozen items each season, alternating her favorite houses according to that year’s collection. Nor did Wallis ever ask for discounts; designers often cut their prices for her, recognizing that publicity from dressing the Duchess of Windsor was worth far more than any income lost. In return, Wallis was always appreciative, dispatching thank-you letters and cards to both designers and staff, along with gold cuff links, tie pins, brooches, and bracelets on holidays.
14
Wallis favored blue and black color schemes; occasionally, she wore gray or beige and, for dramatic impact, brilliant reds. In summer, she preferred pale pastels, especially blues, yellows, and lilacs. She disliked tweeds, which she considered too heavy to be comfortable. For a country look, she adopted her husband’s favored tartan patterns: Dior made several long skirts for her in the Royal Family’s Balmoral tartan, Stuart dress tartan, and Stuart old tartan.
15
For day wear on the beach and when on the Riviera, she preferred matching bathing gowns and suits, along with colorful wraps, and always coordinated shoes and bathing cap. Wallis rarely wore shorts; instead, there were simple print summer dresses, light, sleeveless designs in pastels, with matching jackets.
16
“You have to wear black, aging or not” she told Fleur Cowles, “because when the little black dress is right, there is nothing else to wear in its place.”
17
But Wallis’s idea of black stretched to include white trims, gold braiding and scallops, and exotic hints of the Far East in Mandarin-inspired detailing. She often picked designs from the
pret a porter
collections and took her chances; occasionally, this resulted in some uncomfortable moments, as when the Duchess, elegantly attired in a blue-and-white-striped Givenchy sheath dress entered a party only to discover eight other women also wearing the same outfit. But Wallis merely laughed and made the women form a conga line through the room and be photographed together.
18
Wallis often wore favorite items from her wardrobe. “You can wear a dress that’s twenty years old,” she explained, “but it must be immaculate. And it cannot have a wrinkle. You must always look like you just stepped out of a bandbox.”
19
She told one fashion writer that her Dior cape was three years old, “and what’s more you’re going to see it for three years more. Prices are frightful in Paris. You have to buy less and wear them longer and more often.”
20
One of her maids, packing for a trip to Palm Beach, informed the Duchess, “Madame, some of these evening dresses have gone to Palm Beach with you three times.” But Wallis answered, “I hope nobody will remember.“
21
No one did, as columnist Suzy Knickerbocker noted: “Everyone in Palm Beach is saying that it is hard to remember when the Duchess of Windsor has ever looked so marvelous. She’s a smash in everything she wears, be it her flowered paper dress or the pale blue caftan from Balenciaga....“
22
Wallis usually went through her wardrobe twice a year, selecting gowns and outfits she no longer wanted. Some were passed along to friends or members of the household or staff, while others were donated to charities in Paris.
23
In the 1960s, Diana Vreeland managed to convince Wallis to donate many of her gowns to the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City; over the next decade, dozens of suits and dresses made their way to New York, including the Duchess’s wedding dress by Mainbocher.
It was with her accessories that Wallis managed to refine the simplest of dresses. She was always immaculately turned out, as her friend Aline, countess of Romanones, recalled: “She always carried an extra pair of white gloves, ‘One pair to go, one pair to come back.’ Her shoes were always shined underneath, on the instep and inside the heel, which can be seen when you cross your legs.”
24
Behind the mirrored doors of Wallis’s dressing room were long, narrow drawers filled with rows of day and evening gloves in doeskin, brushed cotton, and kid leather, often made by Balenciaga or purchased by the Duchess at Saks Fifth Avenue during her trips to New York City.
25
There were shelves of evening bags in leather, velvet, and suede in every conceivable color, pattern, and design, often adorned with gold monograms or ducal coronets.
26
She had hundreds of chiffon, silk, and mousseline scarves, made by Chanel, Hermès, Givenchy, and Marc Bohan for Dior. These were hand-painted with exotic patterns and colors, bore animal prints, or were embellished with her cipher of intertwined Ws. Wallis wore them draped around her neck or shoulders, occasionally slung diagonally across her bodice or twisted around ropes of pearls which were tied around her neck.
27
Although she rarely used them, Wallis had a number of parasols, most in light pastel colors with bone, ivory, or carved wooden handles. Likewise, her fans were either practical, simple items or exotic, hand-painted antiques or plumes of ostrich feathers used for costume balls.
There were belts in leather or suede; sashes of velvet and chiffon; and, later, jeweled belts made by New York designer Kenneth Jay Lane. Wallis had dozens of shoes from which to choose, ranging from suede and leather to satins, velvet, and crocodile skin. She favored designs made by Roger Vivier for Dior, usually with court heels so that she would not tower over her husband.
28
There were also furs, usually purchased from Dior and Maximilian. Although she owned long coats of mink, beaver, fox, and ermine, Wallis disliked their weight and instead favored sable or mink wraps.
29
The Duchess’s elaborate coiffures, created by Alexandre of Paris, were designed to accommodate a variety of hats. Wallis disliked large hats; occasionally, she would sport a wide-brimmed picture hat to match a summer dress, but her tastes veered more to pillboxes and bonnets designed by Chanel, Dior, and Givenchy. She absolutely abhorred the sorts of elaborate concoctions sported by her archrival Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, referring to them as “Cookie’s latest flower basket.”
30