Vivien Leigh Page 7

  The Happy Hypocrite was Novello’s departure from that pattern. In it he played a bloated, fat, dissolute, raucous-voiced rake, who by the miracle of finding true love (Vivien) reverses both his looks and his personality. The production was marked by good taste, and the reviews were laudatory. (James Agate, Vivien’s former severest critic, even wrote, “Miss Vivien Leigh as Jenny might have stepped out of a poem by Tom Moore. She is artless without artifice, and no simper mars this freshness and this charm.”) But The Happy Hypocrite was Novello’s least successful play since he had become a star, and in three months it closed.

  Vivien then accepted an offer of Sydney Carroll’s to appear as Anne Boleyn in a production of Henry VIII in Regent’s Park. It was a particularly soggy month of June and she had to walk back and forth on the thick wet grass to go from her dressing room to the stage. A few days after the production ended and during which she had felt ill, she came down with a bad case of influenza. Leigh and Gertrude and Ernest were all concerned about her health. She was rail-thin at the time and she was left with a cough that seemed to hang on. Still she continued to smoke incessantly, using a long black ebony holder.

  Korda arranged a meeting with her one afternoon and warned her about the way she was destroying her health. A man who overindulged, smoked to excess, and took no exercise himself, he believed strongly in a sensible regime for others. But what was really on his mind was her film career. They talked about many things that day, and Olivier was one of them. “He’s married and apparently very happy,” Korda warned her. A few days later he rang to tell her he was starting work on Fire Over England with Flora Robson starred as Queen Elizabeth, Leslie Banks as the Earl of Leicester, and Vivien and Larry as the two young lovers—Michael Ingolby and Lady Cynthia.

  Vivien and Larry were now thrown into daily contact and began spending all the time between takes in each other’s company away from cast and crew. It did not go unobserved by Korda, who was often on the set to see how things were progressing. But he did not interfere. European film makers took a more realistic view of the private lives of their players than their American colleagues.

  On August 21, during the filming of the picture, Jill gave birth to a son, whom they named Tarquin. It was a curious name to bestow on a child. Years later, as explanation of the choice of such an unusual name, Tarquin was told that shortly before his birth his father and mother had been entertaining luncheon guests in their home in Cheyne Walk, and as Olivier carved the meat, he sliced the air with the knife dramatically and said, apropos of nothing in particular, “I am going to have a son and call him Tarquin!” Tarquin was the name of an Etruscan family which ruled Rome circa 600 b.c. The name translated from Etruscan meant “Lord.” The first Tarquin subdued the Sabines, laid out the Circus Maximus, and built the Forum where the first gladiatorial games were held. His reign was splendid, but he was murdered after thirty-eight years and all the other Tarquins who followed were despots and finally rooted out. The last and most infamous Tarquin (and the one Jill and Olivier would have known best) was the Tarquin immortalized by Shakespeare in The Rape ofLucrece.

  After the fourteen weeks it had taken to shoot Fire Over England, Olivier and Vivien had become dependent upon each other. He had never before met a woman quite like her. She was the extreme opposite of Jill, who was cool and calm at all times, dispassionate, a good friend more than a lover. Vivien was exciting, unpredictable. She had a great sense of humor, was daring, intensely passionate, and at the same time thoughtful, loving, and considerate. She made him feel he was her entire world, that she lived for him. Yet she was the most intelligent woman he had personally known, far brighter by his own admission and better-read than he. And he was certain she was one of the most beautiful women in the world.

  Shortly after Tarquin’s birth Vivien once again came down with the flu, and when Oswald Frewen came by to see how she was, he found Olivier at the house ministering to her. It was the first time Frewen had seen them together. Olivier suggested some hot rum as a cure.

  Olivier opined rum [Frewen writes], and I popped over to the Pitt’s Head and amused them by asking them to give me some in the tumbler I brought with me ... we pumped it into the Vivling with hot water added and sugar and she hated it. . . . Larry was amusing. He couldn’t make out what I was doing in the house . . . nor least of all why I should sit on her bed and propose to “talk her to sleep” after he was gone. He tried and tried and tried again to establish the fact that we both leave her. I said I had a voice calculated to put anyone to sleep in 10 minutes; Vivling agreed (with a seraphic smile), Larry was not amused.

  It was a difficult time for Olivier. He had fallen in love with a married woman, meeting her at home while her husband was in chambers and her young daughter in the care of a silent but disapproving staff. Personally he liked Leigh, though the two men shared little in common. And Jill, who could not be accused of any wifely indiscretion, had just gone through a pregnancy which had brought her own career to a standstill to present him with the son he had wanted. The fact was that until the filming of Fire Over England he had considered himself a happy man. He now was in a terrible quandary. To deliberately hurt Jill, whom he greatly admired and respected, was unthinkable. To turn away from Vivien, who made him feel so wondrously alive, was equally impossible.

  By the last day of shooting, plagued by indecision and exhaustion, they parted, each planning individual holidays—Larry to Capri, and Vivien with Leigh to the Continent—hoping that this time with their respective mates would ease their inner turmoil and perhaps prove to them that their attraction was not truly love. At the last minute Leigh could not leave chambers. Vivien talked Oswald Frewen into accompanying her on a holiday to Sicily and Capri. (“She was so natural that sex didn’t obtrude and I was never once conscious of a defensive action on her part,” Frewen entered in his diary.) It was also obvious that since she chose Capri she was as desperate for the sight of Olivier as she was for the scenic distractions.

  Their first stop was Taormina, Sicily, and on October 29 Vivien wrote Leigh:

  Darling, I wish you were here—it is a heavenly day and we are sitting out on the balcony overlooking everything—and we think Etna is choking and are hoping for an eruption any minute. But apparently he often smokes for want of something better to do, and it never comes to anything really big.

  Yesterday we had a very funny time—we hired a car and were going to drive up Etna in the beautiful sun. As it happened, half an hour after we started it all clouded over and got freezinger and freezinger and foggier and foggier. We saw nothing and felt frightful but occasnally (no—can’t spell it) thought it quite funny that this was what we had left England for! The lava fields were very interesting at first, but began to pall as we got more miserable. The hotel at the top was nice tho and we drank a lot of red wine and felt rather tight and fortified for our downward trip. The silly ass of a hotel-keeper never told us we would be going up 3,000 feet.

  However—

  Tomorrow we drive to Syracuse and catch the plane to Naples and on to Capri where we’ll be Thursday and Friday. Then one night in Naples or Rome and back to you my darling. I would hate coming back if I didn’t think you were lonely and I want to see you so much. It would be lovely to come back to a warm sunny place like this together some time.

  There was no mention to Leigh of her plans to meet Jill and Larry at the Hotel Quisisana in Capri.

  Oswald Frewen was not yet alerted to the depth of Vivien’s feelings for Olivier and except for that one meeting on Little Stanhope Street had not seen them together. Being a bit of an outsider to film and theatre gossip, rumor had not yet reached him. Surprisingly, it had not reached Jill either.

  Frewen’s description of the meeting of Jill, Larry, and Vivien in the Hotel Quisisana lobby indicates his lack of awareness:

  Larry, on the other side of the hall, cried loudly, “Darling!” and Jill uttered further love-cries, as all three met in the middle of what could only be described as a joint pass
ionate embrace; the while I smiled agedly and with benignity! The three broke away and both Larry and Viv at the same moment made an advance on me and introduced Jill. I was given a room one side of the Oliviers and Viv the other, so we were three in line and all on a communal basis—nobody ever knocked to enter and we all used all three rooms at will and Viv confided to me she thought it was “alright” and that we were not unwelcome. It was a great surprise not because I need have been surprised at Viv behaving like that or her friends, but just because it is rather outside my earlier experience of “the Young.”

  Frewen and Vivien left the Oliviers after a few days and went on to Rome. The Oliviers stopped in Naples, where Larry rang Vivien, creating quite a stir. Frewen begged her to give herself time and not to do anything impetuous.

  Later Vivien would confess to Frewen that it was in Capri that Larry knew he was really in love with her and she knew she was in love with him. Capri was no doubt the point in their relationship where Larry, seeing Vivien and Jill together for an extended time, was able to weigh his emotions. And in Capri Vivien’s fantasy came to an end. Shortly after she had returned to London, Laurence Olivier became—in reality—her lover.

  Chapter Seven

  Leigh Holman was not aware of his wife’s liaison with Olivier. He was not a naive man, nor was he one to probe deeply beneath the surface, and Vivien was an intensely complex woman. The years as a child in India and her life in convent schools had polished and refined the exterior woman so that she possessed exquisite manners. Impoliteness was a cardinal sin, as were vanity and inconsiderateness. She was humble and appreciative of any small service done for her and still showered those close to her with tokens of her affection, Leigh included. Her personal fastidiousness edged on being a fetish. Dozens and dozens of white gloves (at one time about seventy-five pairs), freshly cleaned and individually wrapped in tissue, occupied her top bureau drawer, and she always tucked a clean pair in her purse to avoid having to suffer the embarrassment of wearing one that might be smudged. She carried perfume at all times, using it as a personal deodorant, room deodorant, and breath freshener, fearing she might offend someone with her natural body odors. And each night—if at home, visiting, or in a hotel—she would carefully fold her soiled clothes, place them on a chair, and cover them with a lovely pale peach satin and lace square that she had had specially made.

  She was so burdened by secret guilt that it is surprising she did not falter under the weight. Her defection from the Catholic Church created disturbing confusions. She had been deeply affected by what she felt to be Church hypocrisy at San Remo and no longer attended mass. Yet she was besieged with requests from Catholic charities, which she was never able to refuse.

  Her training had been to please everyone. Why then could she not feel the maternal love for Suzanne, the sexual desire for Leigh, and the religious dedication so important to her mother? Jill and Tarquin had their place in her private guilts as well. She could only accept their presence by continually telling herself (and later all her confidants) that Larry and she were destined for a great love.

  The lovers would meet as often as they could and as discreetly as they were able. They were so wildly in love, so passionate in their need for each other, that they found it impossible to contain their feelings in front of others. Vivien began more and more to turn to Olivier for all advice. He quickly became not only her lover but her confidant, her adviser, her god. She was at the studio almost every day while Olivier made a film for Korda called Conquest of the Air, a feature documentary about the history of aviation. On Olivier’s advice she was studying with Elsie Fogerty, who was working hard to lower her voice, insisting she throw out all of her high heels for a start, as she claimed they caused Vivien’s back to go out of alignment and cramped her lungs. She was always pumping Olivier s old friend and teacher about Olivier’s philosophies and probing for any anecdotes that Elsie Fogerty might recall. At home with Leigh she was sweet and charming, the perfect companion.

  Frewen writes about that trip to Capri:

  ... so ended one of the happiest episodes of my life. It is not only that Viv is beautiful to look at, gracious in manner, and quick on the uptake, but that she is extraordinarily considerate and you never seem to find her “off her guard” whether it is early morning after a bumpy train-night, or draggle-tailed evening after a wet weary day, whether you’re the only friend with her in the whole province, or whether it’s a party including the Young, and all the Distinguished and all the Amusing, she remains just the same, always treating me as though I were the best friend she has ever had and whom she has just met after months and is going to be parted from in a short half-hour. I’ve never known anything like it; she is the Perfect Companion.

  Once she knew she had Olivier’s love, Vivien was capable of being the Perfect Companion to Leigh, too. He was relieved to see her restlessness gone, that curious erratic bit of her that perhaps had been attributable to youth. She still did not sleep much, but she had given up parties, and she seemed content to read until dawn. The long ebony cigarette holder that she had used was not so much in evidence, as she smoked less, and with few parties to attend she drank very little. Leigh wished many things—that she would look up to him with the same childish delight she had early in their marriage, that she would show a more maternal interest in Suzanne, that she would give up her career. But he had to remember that she was only twenty-three. With all the problems, he considered himself a lucky man. She was beautiful, charming, well-mannered, loving—if not passionate—witty, a marvelous hostess, and well loved by all their friends.

  But the genteel exterior was a mask for ruthlessness. She possessed a single-mindedness that was startling in one so young. Leigh did not see this side of her; nor did he recognize that at this time Larry and only Larry was in her thoughts—how to win him, how to please him, how to hold him.

  There was no question that an open rivalry existed between Vivien and Jill. Jill was deeply and desperately in love with her husband, but she was conscious that she was losing him and she had known Vivien was the cause since Capri. Yet, curiously, despite the fact that Vivien threatened to break up her home and take away her adored Larry, Jill was able to tolerate Vivien’s company and, in fact, was fascinated by her.

  Vivien wooed Jill for luncheon dates where they could talk privately, and Jill seemed incapable of refusing. She was completely aware that Vivien was probing her mind for ideas on what to do in order to improve herself in Larry’s eyes and to discover all she could about him.

  What books mean the most to Larry? she would ask Jill casually.

  He doesn’t read much. But. . . Wuthering Heights, perhaps, and of course Shakespeare—a reply equally casual.

  Why do you think Larry hates Hollywood so?

  It has no sense of history.

  Vivien was doing all she could to make Jill fond of her, and she was succeeding. Not only was Jill seeing Vivien at lunch, she quite often accepted her presence with Larry at dinner and would watch as Vivien used much of the information she had given her about Larry to her best advantage.

  Oswald Frewen saw the Oliviers and Vivien together at the Moulin d’Or for supper one evening and escorted her home. He sat up with her until two-thirty in the morning begging her not to run away with Larry—“anyway not for a year.” She was quiet for a moment and then thanked him for his “good advice.” But on the subject of Olivier she never asked for it again.

  She had convinced herself that she could never run off with Larry; her guilts toward Leigh and Jill and the two children, Suzanne and Tarquin, were too strong. Another factor was Gertrude, who was not as blind as Leigh as to what was happening in her daughter’s life. They had lively discussions that dissolved into arguments. Gertrude seemed less concerned with Vivien conducting an affair than with her instigating a divorce. But with each passing day Vivien’s need for Larry only deepened, and the chasm widened between those needs and her other loyalties.

  The year 1936 was a vintage one
for romance, as all the world watched and waited as the uncrowned King Edward VIII fought for his throne and for the woman he loved. Early in the year, directly after the death of Edward’s father, King George V, Wallis Simpson was only a dim shadow to the English public, appearing first with her husband, Ernest Simpson, and then alone on guest lists for dinner parties at which the King was present. By spring not only Great Britain but the entire world knew that Edward VIII was in love with an American woman, once-divorced and now remarried. Dinner conversation centered on speculation as to whether Ernest Simpson would give his wife a divorce and if the King’s mistress would then become his morganatic wife.

  Vivien adored gossip and read every printed word she could about the King and Mrs. Simpson, and in conversation she always championed Mrs. Simpson’s cause. In Capri it had been a main topic of discussion. On her return she had cornered Noël Coward and made him tell her about the dinner party she knew he had attended at Lady Colefax’s when the King and Mrs. Simpson were present. She could not help but identify with Mrs. Simpson, for in her eyes there was a parallel between the royal affair and her own. Olivier was the Prince of Players on his way to becoming King, was he not?

  On December 4, 1936, shortly after Wallis Simpson received her divorce decree, it was announced that the King had been told he could not marry her. Vivien took this to heart and discussed with Noël Coward the fear that if Larry was named by Leigh as corespondent in a divorce action, or in the reverse she was named by Jill, the scandal might be ruinous to his career. One week later the King had abdicated, telling his subjects he could not discharge his duties without the help and support of the woman he loved. No one wept more tears than Vivien at that decision.