Page 15 of Manderley Forever


  In Ferryside, Tommy and Daphne sit in front of the fireplace and talk about everything, while Jeanne discreetly remains upstairs. Conversation is effortless and pleasurable. He has something he must confess to her. The reason he came to Fowey for his leave was because he wanted to meet her. She is amazed. He goes on, telling her how much he enjoyed The Loving Spirit, with its evocation of the sea and sailing, his two passions, then he came across a magazine article about Miss du Maurier in Fowey, at Ferryside, and there was a photograph of her … He doesn’t say any more, just smiles. On the doorstep, he asks her if she is free tomorrow. He has another two days in Fowey before he must return to his unit. She nods, waves good-bye, watches him ride away on the water, then closes the door with a sigh of ecstasy. Jeanne comes hurtling downstairs and the two of them stand by the window to watch the handsome major at the helm of his boat. Jeanne pinches her cheek, teases her, what a lovely “menace”*! And Daphne replies that she has never felt so “menaced” in all her life!

  Two days together, sailing, walking in the hills of Fowey, sitting by the fire and talking. They discuss the book that brought them together, the books yet to be published, which might surprise him. They talk about their families: Tommy about his mother and his sister, Daphne about her whole clan. When he has to go, Tommy kisses her for the first time, and she shivers at this masculine contact. One week later, he turns up early in the morning while she is sawing firewood in the garden; he drove all night to be with her. With a teasing smile, Daphne remarks that the army seems to be very generous with its leave at the moment. He shrugs, equally mischievous: not much is going on at the moment, and an officer friend of his agreed to do his job for him, so—if she’ll put down that saw—the Yggy is ready to go! Daphne looks forward excitedly to each of the major’s visits. He is there for her birthday and meets Mo and Gerald, who end up inviting him to dinner. He makes a good impression on them. How could he do otherwise?

  Amid this whirlwind of romance that fills her mind, Daphne is confronted with a less pleasant aspect of life as a writer: the first mixed reviews, bad reviews, or simply the absence of any review at all, with merely a brief résumé of the book’s plot. I’ll Never Be Young Again has just been published, and it perplexes journalists and readers alike, surprised by the absence of the romance they found in her first novel, disturbed by the crudeness of Dick’s adventures. But her agent reassures her that the novel is selling well despite all this and she will soon be receiving checks for much bigger sums. Daphne realizes that she will be able to plan on a future of financial independence. However, she must face up to the unfavorable opinions of people she respects, such as Tod or Q, who is severe in his criticisms of the book, denouncing its vulgarity and its cynicism. Aunt Billy echoes these sentiments. The members of the Garrick Club in London are outraged: How can a young lady of their rank permit herself to be so knowledgeable and brutally honest about sexuality? Only Gerald and Angela offer her any succor, her father whispering a few well-chosen words of encouragement and her sister genuinely adoring the book and comparing it to Hemingway. Daphne does not let the negativity grind her down; she believes a novelist must be free, must not write for other people, and must learn not to fear their reactions. In truth, what most interests her in this early summer of 1932 is Major Browning, who makes regular trips to see her.

  During an outing on the Yggy on June 29, Daphne lets Tommy know just how attracted she is to him; she is the one who makes the move—there is nothing shy about her—but Tommy has his principles. This will not be some casual fling, like the one between Dick and Hesta in her second novel. They are serious, and now they talk about marriage for the first time. Daphne is simultaneously thrilled and panic-stricken. Marriage? It’s so quick, a little crazy, but at the same time she likes that, the speed, the craziness. She is in love with this man, who attracts her as no man ever has before. The feelings she has for him are much more powerful than any she had for Geoffrey or Carol, and they have so much in common. Yes, she wants to become this man’s wife, in spite of her desire for independence, of her secret former passion for Fernande, of everything she has ever said about marriage in the past. She draws a line under what she has experienced with Ferdie: that’s in the past, it’s behind her, and she has never considered herself one of those women with “Venetian”* tendencies. In fact, she shares her father’s oft-expressed repugnance for homosexuals. The boy in her accepts defeat; she begins to leave him behind, and Eric Avon curls up in his box somewhere deep inside her, nestled in the shadows.

  Will Tommy give her the freedom to write? Does he expect a devoted, attentive officer’s wife? Daphne can hardly boil an egg, never mind make a bed. But who cares! She sweeps away her doubts and succumbs to the joy of being loved by this brilliant, funny, charming man who is madly in love with her. And by becoming Mrs. Browning she will free herself forever from her father’s grip. The first thing to do is write to her mother, to Carol, and to Fernande and tell them everything. How will they take the news? No time to think about that: she writes the three letters in a rush and mails them straightaway. Next, she heads for Pirbright, in Surrey. At Tommy’s army camp, she is shocked and proud to see him in his uniform. Then she travels to Rousham, Oxfordshire, to meet his mother, Nancy, and his sister, Grace. Sweet and kind, she notes in her journal. It’s all like a dream, and sometimes I feel I am a ghost, with a path laid out before me, and a picture of every moment.20

  When Muriel reads Daphne’s letter out loud at Cannon Hall, Gerald breaks down in sobs. According to Mo, he cried out, It isn’t fair!21 But he changed his mind, she tells her daughter, because his dear brother Guy was a soldier and would have approved of this nephew with all his medals. Gerald and Mo are expecting a London wedding at the Guards Chapel, an expensive white dress, flowers, a sumptuous garden party. Daphne cuts them short. Oh, no, nothing big, she writes to them. Just yourselves, as Angela and Jeanne are away. Down at Fowey, at Lanteglos church, where Jane Slade was buried. Early in the morning, July 19th, and the Hunkins as witnesses.22

  Muriel is disappointed—she would have so liked to mark the occasion properly for this first of her daughters’ weddings—but Daphne has made her decision: it will be quick and without any “fuss.” She is twenty-five, after all; she’s not a child anymore! The press, of course, takes note of this union between the young novelist with the famous name and a distinguished major ten years her senior. On July 8, 1932, an article in the Daily Telegraph gushes: “Miss du Maurier, who is slim, with curly fair hair and bright blue eyes, was the unconscious starter of the ‘hatless movement’ which the younger set have taken up so enthusiastically. She speaks French without an accent and spends two months of the year in Paris. Major Browning is one of the youngest majors in the British army and an all-round athlete.”

  The evening before the ceremony, Muriel irons the blue cotton twill outfit that her daughter will wear; Daphne didn’t want to get married in white either, nor to have a sophisticated hairdo. Gerald complains about a wedding at eight o’clock in the morning, he has always hated getting up early. Daphne’s cousin Geoffrey gate-crashes the wedding, and no one dares ask him to go. Daphne, Gerald, Muriel, and Geoffrey leave Ferryside on the Cora Anne, heading toward Pont Bridge in the golden silence of early morning, followed by Tommy and the Hunkins on the Ygdrasil.

  Daphne, nervous, does not utter another word, climbing the steep path up to the church with her long, determined stride, face serious, watched closely by her parents. She admires the beauty of the surroundings, the little church isolated amid the splendors of nature, its sculpted wooden benches. She wanted a quick ceremony, a simple registry wedding, but when Tommy whispers his consent in a shaky voice, staring straight into her eyes, in this stunningly romantic setting, she feels herself submerged by a wave of emotion. Later, after a brief breakfast at Ferryside—no speeches, no flowers, no celebrations—the newlyweds put on their favorite sailing outfits and, aboard the Ygdrasil, leave with the tide, toward the bay. It is Daphne who has chosen the site fo
r their honeymoon: Frenchman’s Creek, near the Helford River, a calm, secret place, where the boat berths amid scented greenery, sheltered from any prying eyes. We couldn’t have chosen anything more beautiful,23 she writes in her journal.

  These are the last lines that Daphne writes in those pages. Her journal, which she has kept scrupulously since the age of twelve, stops dead.

  * * *

  Becoming Mrs. Browning is not an easy task, despite the love she feels for her husband. Marriage deals a blow to her precious freedom. How will she manage to write? The newlyweds move into a cottage at the back of the garden in Cannon Hall, on Well Road. One night, Tommy wakes up screaming, soaked with sweat and terrified. Daphne tries to comfort him and succeeds in calming him down, but the nightmare recurs the next night and then again the following week. She doesn’t dare ask him about it, imagining that it is connected to the horrors of war, experienced fifteen years earlier. Tommy has still not spoken to her about the Battle of Cambrai in November 1917, in Gauche Wood, where he fought for several days in woodlands strewn with eviscerated corpses.

  Watching him leave for the army base every morning, handsome and proud in his medal-covered uniform, she is the only one who knows that her husband, the leader of a hundred men, sobs in the middle of the night like a little boy. And then there are those stomachaches that have plagued him since childhood and that mystify the doctors. There is a fragility to Tommy that she never suspected, and that makes a big impression on her. Even his collection of teddy bears, his “Boys,” which he takes everywhere with him, and which amused Daphne at first, now seem to betray a secret weakness.

  For the first time, Daphne confides in her mother. When Tommy leaves, she walks over to Cannon Hall, sits with Muriel in her boudoir, shares her morning tea, and asks her advice about domestic, feminine matters. Mo is only too happy to respond, delighted by this new closeness with her daughter. What Daphne fears most, her mother quickly realizes, is the role of military spouse that she must now adopt. How boring it all is, having to greet all those women, share those tiresome dinners, those insipid conversations, uphold her position.

  At Christmas, Daphne discovers she is pregnant and joyfully announces the fact to her husband, her parents, her sisters. It will be a boy, she feels sure. No one dares to contradict her. In anticipation of the birth—due for July 1933—a nanny named Margaret is hired. The nanny is shown the nursery, already painted blue, and shyly points out to Mrs. Browning that the child might turn out to be a girl. Frowning, Daphne replies firmly that it will be a boy.

  The Progress of Julius is published in May 1933, when Daphne is seven months pregnant. Fully occupied by her impending motherhood, she only distantly follows the appearance of reviews. The ones in the Times and the Observer are quite positive, those in Punch and the Saturday Review more mixed, the former criticizing her novel for “materialism at its ugliest.” Graham Greene judges her prose to be “bookish,” but for him the novel is “saved by its energy” and “admirable vigor.” One of Daphne’s friends and neighbors, the novelist and biologist Leo Walmsley, is horrified by the book and admits it. Unperturbed, Daphne writes to him on May 26, 1933: Yes, of course it’s overwritten, but then in a sense it was deliberately done. I wanted to ooze blood and diarrhoea all over it. Yes, I suppose romantic stuff is happier to write and to read, but perhaps it’s the old French blood that make me want to dig under the surface to find the creepy, crawly slugs, and cut out the sentiment!24

  Her family is not especially thrilled either, and they tell her so, very honestly. Only her father keeps his thoughts to himself. What does he really think of this harsh, sordid novel and the pitiless light it shines on father-daughter relationships, largely inspired by his own Borgiaesque excesses? He prefers not to say. He is not feeling well anyway and has to take things easily. From the garden, where she reads a book, Daphne sees him smoking a cigarette at his second-floor bedroom window, staring out at the view of his beloved London. What is he thinking about? His lost youth? His waning career? His financial worries? Is he proud of her? Probably, because she is still aware of the fervor and power of his love for her. But for now, he is still the most famous member of their family. Daphne has not overshadowed him; her three novels have not made a huge impact, they are nowhere near the bestseller lists. Is it possible that his own fame will one day be eclipsed by his daughter’s?

  For Daphne, this book is better than her first, and in spite of some less than favorable reactions (Q, for example, has banned the novel from his library), she is unfazed. Michael Joseph confirms to her that the book is selling just as well as the previous two, despite the paucity of good reviews, and that he is confident that she has a great future. Daphne listens to him, saying nothing, but is impatient for the moment when people will no longer cite her name alongside references to her father and grandfather.

  At home, on July 15, 1933, Daphne gives birth to a baby girl. When the child’s sex is announced to her, she instantly feels disappointed, barely even glancing at the sweet infant who is handed to her. She was so sure she would have a son. Later, she writes to Tod, giving her details of the agony of childbirth: Of all the hellish performances, so beastly degrading, too, lying on a bed with legs spread-eagled and feeling exactly as though one’s entire inside plus intestines and bowels are being torn from one! Pheugh! The child is flourishing. Exactly like Tommy, but fair hair and blue eyes. Nice skin, never red or pasty. Name of Tessa.25 Little by little, Daphne grows closer to her baby, even if Margaret does most of the hard work, spending the whole of each day with Tessa. Will she be able to find time to write? It’s possible, but it isn’t easy, getting used to this new life. The Brownings leave their cottage on Well Road and move to Surrey. Tommy has just been named second in command of the 2nd Battalion Grenadier Guards. Daphne organized the move, without enthusiasm. For two years, their address will be the Old Rectory, on Portsmouth Road. Will she finally be able to write now, in this pleasant redbrick house, surrounded by grounds? No, because Gerald has health problems. Already, at Christmas, he seemed uncomfortable and complained of pains. Growing thin and shriveled, he looks older than his sixty-one years. In late March 1934, the doctor diagnoses cancer of the colon and informs him that an operation is unavoidable. Gerald must be hospitalized, a prospect that throws him into a panic; he can’t bear hospitals. The operation goes well and the tumor is removed, but Gerald is very weak when he returns to Cannon Hall.

  Ten days later, when Daphne comes back from a walk with little Tessa, Margaret is waiting for her on the doorstep of the Old Rectory, looking tense and pale. Daphne understands immediately, not even listening to the nanny’s few stammered words. When she reaches Hampstead, Daphne knows that she will remember this day—April 11, 1934—for the rest of her life. It is, ironically, her parents’ wedding anniversary—their thirty-first. Her mother, so elegant, so perfect in all circumstances, is a broken woman, her face disfigured by tears. Daphne holds her tight, comforting her as if she were the mother and Muriel her daughter, surprised, in spite of herself, by this strange moment, because the two of them have never been physically close. Muriel pronounces a few words in a broken voice. Gerald loved Daphne so much. Daphne knows. She was her Peter Pan of a father’s favorite, loved with an intensity so powerful it felt suffocating at times, all-consuming. Jeanne and Angela, both devastated, join the grieving huddle.

  Gerald’s death is front-page news. The articles about him all sing his praises, acclaiming his career, emphasizing his unique charm. Even George V sends a letter of condolence to Lady du Maurier. Muriel wants a private ceremony, for family only, and she has to fight to keep the press and curious onlookers at a distance. The day of his funeral, Daphne does not go to the little church in Hampstead with her mother and her sisters. She walks over the Heath, alone, with two pigeons in a cage, to the place where their father took them when they were little girls, when he told them about his walks with Kicky, and she frees the birds. Watching them fly away, high into the springtime sky, she thinks of her
father.

  She knows, now, that her next book will not be a novel. It will be the first biography of Sir Gerald du Maurier, written by the one person who knew him best in the whole world—his daughter.

  * * *

  When her agent, Michael Joseph, reads the opening pages of Daphne’s biography of her father, he discovers an astonishingly frank portrait, devoid of all deference. In the hope of advancing Daphne’s career, he suggests she sign a contract with a new editor, a certain Victor Gollancz, a dynamic, ambitious man who successfully launched his own publishing firm, Victor Gollancz Ltd, in 1927. Gollancz’s author list includes the likes of Isadora Duncan, Ford Madox Ford, and George Orwell, and he is renowned for his eagerness in using advertising to sell books, capable of buying a whole page of a daily newspaper to announce his latest publication. His black logo (the bold letters VG) and the yellow and bright orange color scheme of his covers are instantly recognizable.

  When she meets him for the first time in his office on Henrietta Street, a stone’s throw from the offices of Curtis Brown, Daphne is captivated by this sparkling man, who seems so thrilled to be publishing her and who speaks about her biography with great passion. Suddenly, rather hastily, she forgets all about Heinemann and everything they have done for her and her first three novels. She likes Gollancz’s fervent enthusiasm and believes that if she is ever going to be successful, it will probably be due to a man like him. She doesn’t care if some people find his use of hype somewhat vulgar.