The Brownings leave their pretty Greyfriars home in the summer of 1939 and move to Hythe, in Kent, so that Tommy can be closer to headquarters. The house is less charming, the garden not so pleasant. Fernande comes to visit the family for a week. This is the first time she has seen Daphne’s children. Although still plump and nearly forty-six, Fernande is as lively and vivacious as ever. Tommy does not find her interesting, this Mlle Yvon; in truth, he seems increasingly preoccupied as he rises through the ranks of the army. Consequently, Daphne must put up with a constant parade of colonels and generals in her new house.
Hitchcock’s movie adaptation of Jamaica Inn is a disappointment. The screenplay bears almost no resemblance to the novel at all, with the darkness of the original abandoned in favor of an unsubtle comedy. Her fears are realized: she recognizes neither her own characters nor her own plot. Don’t go and see it, it is a wretched affair,34 she writes to Victor. The reviews are merciless. When the famous producer David Selznick, flush with the success of Gone with the Wind, adapted from Margaret Mitchell’s novel, decides to buy the film rights to Rebecca for ten thousand pounds and assigns Alfred Hitchcock to direct it, Daphne is distraught. What will he do to her Rebecca, that bald, thick-lipped, and frankly unfriendly little man, with whom she feels no connection at all? He has already made a travesty of Mary Yellan and Joss Merlyn. How can she trust him after that? She writes to David Selznick, begging him not to resurrect the first Mrs. de Winter on the screen: Rebecca must remain draped in mystery. Selznick reassures her: he is keeping a close eye on Hitchcock, making sure the screenplay is reworked until it respects the arc and ambience of the book. Irritated, Hitchcock uses a secret pseudonym in his screenplay for the second Mrs. de Winter—Daphne de Winter, a nickname that causes much amusement in the Hollywood studios. Daphne is apprehensive; she fears that her work is slipping away from her. Laurence Olivier, the biggest English movie star of the moment—who played the dark, tormented Heathcliff in the adaptation of Emily Brontë’s classic, Wuthering Heights—is cast as Maxim de Winter. Daphne is thrilled by this. But he would like his wife, Vivien Leigh—Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind—to be the second Mrs. de Winter. With her green eyes and ebony hair, Vivien is far too beautiful to be Maxim’s shy second wife, Daphne protests; she looks more like the bewitching Rebecca! Thankfully, it is the more prosaic-looking Joan Fontaine, sister of Olivia de Havilland, who is finally chosen.
In early September, Hitchcock begins shooting in California. At the same time, Germany invades Poland, and a few days later, on September 3, 1939, the United Kingdom and France declare war on Germany. Daphne is aware that her little world is crumbling. She writes to Angela: We are still here (Hythe) hanging on, and I rush to the lav whenever the post arrives in case there is a letter from the War Office ordering Tommy off. I can’t bear to think of it.35 She tries to make her sister laugh by describing the exercises organized by first-aid centers to combat gas attacks: Last week, a maniac came to lecture us, and with a face devoid of any humour, went into fearful details of gas possibilities. She then whipped out lots of little phials from her attaché case all filled with gas and rammed them under our noses, muttering savagely with a wild gleam in her eye. At the end of the same letter, Daphne adds soberly: How is the “Muse”? I don’t feel like “musing” myself. I don’t think I could lose myself in a fictitious story whilst living in such uncertainty.36
Here it is again, that short, hard word that she hated so much as a little girl: “war.” It is everywhere. But now she is a mother, she is the one who must protect her daughters, her mother, her sisters. In January 1940, Tommy is appointed commander of the 128th Infantry Brigade—aka the Hampshire Brigade—and goes off to Hertfordshire with his men, while Daphne and the children take refuge in Fowey, with Muriel, Angela, and Jeanne. Even Fowey, her sanctuary, is transformed by the war. There are soldiers on every street corner, and the feeling of peacefulness is gone. In the mornings, they read the newspapers, with their announcements of the first bombardments, the first deaths. And yet she can still be overjoyed by the good reception accorded to the play version of Rebecca, which is performed for the first time in London, at the Queen’s Theatre in March 1940.
But even this is nothing compared to the huge success of Hitchcock’s movie, which reaches theaters in the spring of 1940, while the war rages in Europe. The Olivier-Fontaine double act causes a sensation. Mrs. Danvers is masterfully interpreted by Judith Anderson. Daphne adores the film, a genuine success, with its somber black-and-white images perfectly reflecting the atmosphere of her fictional world. And the copies of her novel are flying off the shelves once again, while translators all over the world rework her words in other languages. In April 1940, Daphne receives a letter from her French editor Robert Esménard, from the publishers Albin Michel. As you know, after publishing your admirable Rebecca in France, I have now acquired the French language rights for Jamaica Inn, as I am extremely eager to ensure that I have exclusive rights over all your works in France.37
Unperturbed by the deadly Luftwaffe raids, the ominous advances of the Nazi army in Scandinavia and Holland, Hurricane Rebecca continues to blow mightily. Muriel, Angela, and Jeanne have to get used to it. This proves all the harder for Angela, who has just published her second novel, Weep No More, dismissed as “ridiculous” by Kirkus Reviews. No one talks to them about Gerald anymore. No one talks to them about anyone except her, the world-famous Daphne du Maurier.
* * *
Her greatest joy is the knowledge that she is pregnant again. Even if, as Daphne feels sure, it will be another lumping daughter,38 as she writes with weary irony to Tod, she is wildly happy to be carrying new life inside her during these troubled times, while the country fears invasion. In July 1940, Tommy is posted to Hertfordshire. As it is impossible to find a house in the current climate, the Brownings move in with a distinguished couple of the same age: Christopher Puxley, a gentleman farmer, and his wife, Paddy, are childless, and they welcome paying guests to Langley End, their tastefully decorated Lutyens-style house. Daphne writes to Angela, who has gone to Scotland for nine months: We are still most happy and comfortable with the P’s, who are heavenly. I’m rather worried about Mummy and the children in Fowey. On Tessa’s birthday, bombs dropped in the garden beyond ours, and in the harbour. I do feel we should all be together. I’m quite prepared to see us all interned because of our name! Specially if the Pétain government turn nasty and madly ally with Germany!39
She misses writing. To fill this gap in her life, Daphne agrees to write a short book of patriotic fables on the suggestion of a friend, the tennis player Bunny Austin, who is involved in the organization Moral Re-Armament, in order to give courage to the British people. She entrusts publication of the book to her former publisher, Heinemann, as she doesn’t think Victor Gollancz will be interested. It is not easy, writing optimistic short stories, for someone who has always preferred to explore darker ideas. Not without difficulty, Daphne produces ten short stories. Royalties will go to military charities and families in need. To her surprise, Come Wind, Come Weather. which she expected to quietly sink into obscurity, quickly sells 250,000 copies. The Rebecca effect, undoubtedly, because the quality of the writing, Daphne is well aware, leaves something to be desired. Mo and Tommy like these simple stories, which feature ordinary people confronted with the very real fears of the war. The only person who is less than delighted by the book is Victor. No matter how much Daphne protests that she didn’t think he would be interested in such propaganda, he makes clear his displeasure and warns her that she must never publish anything with anyone else again. Message received, loud and clear.
Even in the midst of war and pregnancy, Daphne does not lose her characteristic deadpan sense of humor. In this peaceful corner of Hertfordshire, north of London, she and her daughters feel safe. To Angela, she writes: I’m feeling pretty fat, with two months still to go, but thank heaven am not fat all over, or square, and don’t lurch. More seriously, she admits that sirens and air-raid
warnings are not part of their daily life. All goes well here and no alarms of great magnitude. We seem to be getting off pretty lightly. Think this bit of Herts must be in a quiet pocket. Actually, about twenty Nazi planes flew over us on their way to Luton, eight miles away, the other afternoon. It really was rather an exquisite sight, so remote and unreal, those silvery creatures like birds humming above us.40
Not long before the birth of the baby, in October 1940, the Brownings move to a neighboring house, Cloud’s Hill, for a few months, so they can await the new arrival in more serene surroundings, despite the worries caused by the war. Tessa (seven) and Flavia (three) are finally reunited with their parents. Daphne is haunted by a single fear: that her husband will be sent to France. In Fowey, Muriel and Jeanne have had to leave Ferryside, which has been requisitioned by the navy. They are staying on the Esplanade, in town, while Angela prolongs her stay in Scotland. Jeanne puts aside music and painting to enroll in the Women’s Land Army, a paramilitary agricultural organization, dating from the First World War, that sends women to the fields to take over the roles of men sent to the front, with its members devoting themselves to farming activities to produce and sell vegetables at the local markets. The work is arduous, but Jeanne performs it very willingly.
Daphne gives birth to a boy on November 3, 1940. At last, her dream comes true. Tongue-in-cheek, she describes the agonies of childbirth to Angela: Suddenly those violent pains started, and luckily Sister had everything ready. She shoved a gas and oxygen contraption into my hands, which needless to say was useless, and the doctor was sent for and barely approached the bedside before I felt the most violent explosion and the baby shot out of me like someone taking a header, and yelling as it did so! And then I heard Sister say “Oh, good, won’t they be thrilled” and I realised it was a boy. “One’s son” at last! Christian Frederick du Maurier Browning.41 She is deliriously happy. Tommy gets to hold the newborn in his arms during a quick visit between two secret missions on the south coast. Tessa and Flavia realize, to their amazement, that their mother is no longer the same person since the birth of little “Kits.” She is the one who bathes him, not Nanny. She kisses and cuddles him for hours, rocking him in her arms and staring rapturously into his eyes. The little girls walk around on tiptoes, feeling unwanted. Never have they received such affection, such love, from their mother.
In early 1941, the Brownings move back in with the Puxleys. The girls like sweet Paddy and the white living room where “Uncle” Christopher plays the piano, melancholy airs that echo through the large house. The war seems far off, hardly real, yet the truth is that the conflict is now in its third year and Germany’s thirst for conquest shows no signs of diminishing as its army invades Bulgaria, then Yugoslavia, then Greece.
* * *
Daphne has not written a novel in three years. Her time has been taken up entirely by Mrs. de Winter, Kits, and the war. For the new book that Victor is demanding, she does not want to do something in the same vein as Rebecca: she would prefer to create a plot that will soothe and console her readers. The world is at war, after all, and she senses that her writing has been changed by this fact: it is less dark, less macabre. Witness the change she made to the ending of Rebecca when she adapted it for the stage; witness, too, the optimistic stories of Come Wind, Come Weather. She feels like writing a story set in the past, a tale of the sea and adventure along the same lines as Jamaica Inn, but without its horrors. She feels like writing about love, passion, sensuality. A handsome, gray-walled house like Menabilly, a secret cove like the one she and Tommy went to for their honeymoon, on the River Helford. A heroine in her thirties, beautiful and rebellious, who is wilting in London with her dreary husband. Brown, curly hair … white skin … A French pirate, from Brittany … who might bear some slight resemblance to Christopher Puxley, with his calm movements, his slow smile.
Daphne has to face up to the aggravations of life as a mother. The nanny falls seriously ill; Tessa catches measles, and then so does Flavia. The baby is exhausted by his first bad cold. Dona St. Columb, her heroine, who wishes she had been born a boy so she could live freely, and Jean-Benoit Aubéry, the Breton pirate, must wait. Flavia (four) is the most affected by her illness. Daphne anxiously watches over her, day and night. It is the first time she has felt this close to her second daughter, and throughout her long convalescence, Daphne sits on the edge of Flavia’s bed with the typewriter on her knees. From time to time, the little girl opens an eye, surprised and happy to have her mother all to herself. She is not in the least disturbed by the clatter of the typewriter keys.
In the spring of 1941, it is Daphne’s turn to be sick, as she comes down with pneumonia. The doctor orders complete rest. She sleeps, and she reads. Angela publishes a third novel, A Little Less, with Michael Joseph: this is the infamous “Venetian”* novel that she wrote in secret twelve years before and was roundly rejected. The book’s publication gives rise to much gossip in London society, but the reviews are both rare and severe: “cheap … lush mush … a literary failure,” proclaims the Saturday Review of Books. From her bed, Daphne writes encouragingly to her sister, congratulating her for her boldness and suggesting that she try writing comic short stories rather than novels. It is not easy to be Daphne du Maurier’s elder sister and to want to be a novelist, but Angela refuses to give up. She already has the idea for her next novel in mind; it will take place in Cornwall. For now, she joins her mother and sister in Fowey, in the little house on the Esplanade. And, following Jeanne’s example, she enrolls in the Women’s Land Army.
When Daphne is finally able to get out of bed again, her family realizes how thin she has gotten, how pale and weak she appears. She cannot go up or down stairs. Christopher Puxley has to carry her. A delightful man, the very opposite of Tommy, who comes back home during every leave with the weight of the war on his shoulders, his face ravaged by anxiety, stomach twisted by some unexplained pain. Christopher smokes his pipe in the evenings and says barely a word, contemplating her with a gentle smile. Daphne likes to lounge on the sofa and listen to him play, admire his beautiful hands. Her favorite tune is Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” which Christopher plays with such sensitivity. Little by little, she regains her strength and starts writing again, imagining herself back in the seventeenth century and the ambience of Navron Hall, the St. Columbs’ seaside home, an old house, long uninhabited, where Dona flees one night on an impulse, with children and nanny in tow, infuriated by the superficiality of society life in London. The bold, mischievous Dona is capable of dressing up as a highwayman with her accomplices and robbing terrified old aristocrats. A romance with a big R,42 Daphne tells Victor in a letter, knowing full well that the critics will, once again, ridicule her for choosing to exploit a popular genre. But what does it matter? People are being killed by bombs and the newspapers are full of the horrors of war; in this climate, she does not have the heart to write something sad. She takes the subversive attraction between a Breton pirate and an English lady and throws herself yearningly into her tale, describing the slow and delicious temptation, the looks, the silences, just like those between her and Christopher Puxley, the voiceless connection that must not be mentioned, that must never be confessed, but which unlocks the secret door of her writing.
The French pirate is tall, dark, and silent, with passionate eyes and the pleasant fragrance of pipe tobacco floating around him. His hands are long and beautifully shaped, and she imagines them playing a piano or caressing a woman; yet these are hands capable of taming a sea storm, of pillaging a ship, of cutting a man’s throat. His ship, like Rebecca’s Je Reviens,* like Daphne’s own boat, has a French name: La Mouette.† The liaison between the pirate and the lady remains as secret as the silent creek hidden at the end of the large garden. Each evening, as darkness falls, the lady disguises herself as a cabin boy and goes sailing with the captain of La Mouette. But her husband, Lord St. Columb, begins to question his wife’s long absence. He arrives at Navron without warning, along with greedy Lord Ro
ckingham, a former suitor of Dona’s. The secret of the creek is revealed. The life of the charming pirate is in danger.…
The novel Frenchman’s Creek is published in September 1941, and, as Daphne expected, the reviews are not kind. The Times Literary Supplement even compares the book to “dope,” labeling it facile. Not that Victor cares: the readers vote with their hard-earned pounds, and the book is another bestseller. As for Rebecca’s sales figures, they are now approaching a million copies. Paramount Pictures snaps up the movie rights to Frenchman’s Creek; the film will be directed by Mitchell Leisen, and already there are rumors that Joan Fontaine, fresh from her success in Rebecca, will play the willful Lady Dona.
Tommy is promoted to Major General in November 1941 and is given the onerous task of shaping thousands of men into an airborne fighting unit, in collaboration with the Royal Air Force. Daphne’s husband is now an authority in the army. Have they really been married for ten years? Daphne can hardly believe it. It seems to her only yesterday that they first went out together on the Yggy. Ten years of marriage, and a husband who is now never there, sucked into the eye of the storm. And yet she is in danger. Not the same kind of danger as her husband. Here she is, in a beautiful house, safe from enemy bombardments. In a sweet bubble of peacefulness, with an attractive host. Too attractive, probably. And who is himself somewhat dazzled by this witty, pretty, world-famous novelist. How could he not succumb to the charms of Daphne du Maurier? Particularly when he sees her every day for two years, her slender figure, her grace, the delightful sound of her laughter. The servants whisper, troubled. Aren’t Mrs. Browning and Mr. Puxley spending too much time together? And poor Mrs. Puxley, who seems blind to it all … Daphne tries to reason with herself. This is not love; it is just a fling, a crush, that’s all, a few embraces, a few caresses, a close friendship, not an all-consuming passion, nothing too serious. But the danger is there, all the same. It lurks, it prowls, as it does around La Mouette, which waits for Dona every night at the foot of Navron’s garden, as it does in the sensual smile of the French pirate, in the jealousy of Lord Rockingham. The danger of the forbidden, always so captivating.