Miss Maud Waddell, alias Tod, arrives at Menabilly in October 1945, preceded by her numerous suitcases and her watercolor painting materials. A small, renovated apartment awaits her in the oldest part of Menabilly, the west wing. She moves in, organizes her lessons with Tessa and Flavia every morning, and in no time at all she manages to smooth over the frequent misunderstandings between the two sisters, while making herself liked by Margaret. Daphne is so happy to see this familiar face again, to hear the rich, deep voice that resounded through her childhood, her sentences that invariably begin with My dear. Daphne had been a similar age to her daughters when Tod arrived in Cannon Hall in 1918. How distant that period seems! Listening to Tod make her daughters recite their multiplication tables, Daphne sees herself with Angela and Jeanne, sees her father again in the garden at Hampstead, lighting a cigarette, always ready to clown around, and she is seized by a nostalgia for her childhood days. Daphne is one of those writers who prefer looking back to looking forward, who is capable of filling entire pages with what was, a place, a trace, putting words to the fleeting moment, the fragile memory that must be bottled like a perfume. Tod has known her for almost thirty years; she has seen her become a novelist, watched as the talent of that determined, solitary, book-hungry girl blossomed into fame, and now she is here to help her in her role as a mother and wife. Tod’s searching eyes do not miss a beat. Acute and understanding, never judgmental, she sees Daphne’s all-consuming preference for little Kits, to the detriment of his sisters; she sees the magic spell that “Mena” has cast over Daphne when it is, in reality, just a big, cold house lost in the forest, infested by rats and bats. Like Fernande, she is the sentinel of Daphne’s past, the privileged witness to her youth, one of the few to understand her complex nature. It is out of the question that Tod should join Daphne for a drink in the evening, or eat with her when she sits alone in the library, dressed in the crimson redingote, nibbling her light meal. Tod knows better than anyone how much Daphne likes her solitude. What will she do when her husband returns?
New residents arrive at “Mena” at almost the same time as Tod: two young goats given to Tessa by her godfather. They are both females, but the children insist on calling one of them Freddie, after their father, whose real name is Frederick. The other is named Doris. With their gentle eyes and adorable bleating, they bring joy to everyone … until the morning when Daphne finds them happily settled on her bed, having already eaten her nightgown and made a good start on her silk robe.
Soon after the goats’ arrival, Victor warns Daphne that she will have to submit to another photo session to help publicize the book—and this time it will be a family portrait. The photographer will be Miss Compton Collier, the same lady who immortalized Daphne at Ferryside thirteen years before, in 1932. She has lost none of her theatricality, turning up at Menabilly in her tweed suit, followed by an assistant, soaked with sweat and buckling under the weight of the cameras, tripods, and bags he must carry. Flavia and Tessa have a fit of the giggles, which they overcome only with difficulty. While Miss Compton Collier sets up her equipment, she suggests to Mrs. Browning that she change her clothes. Daphne firmly declines this offer, believing that her outfit is perfect: beige linen pants, a white shirt, and a cardigan. The look on the photographer’s face sends the girls into hysterics again, and this time their mother joins in.
The session is not off to a good start. Mrs. Browning and her children cannot keep a straight face. Miss Compton Collier finds this regrettable and becomes angry. She suggests bringing in the goats, which she has spotted grazing in the distance, to create a diversion. While Tessa and Flavia fetch them over, and the photographer is hidden behind the camera beneath a vast black cape that blocks out the light, Doris and Freddie, panic-stricken by the sight of this ominous shape, rush at it, heads down and horns out. Helpless with laughter, Daphne and her children hurry to the aid of Miss Compton Collier. The goats are banished, the tweed suit readjusted. Thankfully, the photographer possesses a sense of humor, and she too is able to joke about the misadventure. The photo shoot is a success.
* * *
In early 1946, Daphne becomes Lady Browning, after the knighthood given to Tommy, who is now Sir Frederick Browning. She is pleased by this distinction. Tommy is still not back from Asia—I honestly don’t think that there is going to be much chance of a man getting back soon,7 he tells his wife in one of his letters—and he is counting the days until he can be reunited once again with his family. This return weighs on Daphne’s mind. How will they be able to reforge their old complicity, now that she is in the grip of Menabilly? This house, her very own Manderley, grown from the same magical soil as Uncle Jim’s Neverland, this place where she always enters alone, to which no one else possesses the key.
While she waits for Tommy’s return and the publication of her novel, Daphne enjoys her tranquility in Fowey. In November 1945, she signs a contract with her French publisher Albin Michel via the intermediary of her agents Curtis Brown and Michel Hoffman for the publication of three of her books: Gerald: A Portrait, The Du Mauriers, and I’ll Never Be Young Again, her second novel. Her sister Jeanne, after spending the last few years working in the fields for the Women’s Land Army, has been able to return to her canvases. Her pictures are delicate, luminous interiors and still lifes. Her works are exhibited in St. Ives, about thirty-five miles from Fowey, where a community of artists has been established. For Muriel and Angela, who are more interested in Jeanne’s work than Daphne is, Bird has inherited her grandfather’s artistic talent (she is already using Kicky’s old easel), and they feel certain she is set for a great career as a painter. Jeanne, their mother’s favorite, is a pretty thirty-five-year-old with blond, curly hair, but she does not have the same striking beauty as Daphne; her features are less harmonious, her personality more reserved, sometimes even a little cantankerous. Flavia and Tessa prefer the company of their comical aunt Piffy, always good for a laugh. Angela is relieved that her work in the fields, which she hated, is over and that she can now start going to the theater again, traveling, can reestablish her friendships with actresses, aristocrats, women of the world, friendships and loves that she mentions only to her sisters. She is horrified by the Dantesque vision of London, devastated by the Blitz, and irritated by all those people who no longer dress up to go to the opera. Her fifth novel is published in the spring of 1946 by her cousin Peter Llewelyn Davies, who has founded his own publishing house. Michael Joseph has retired, and the young man who replaced him rejected Angela’s book. Lawrence Vane does not arouse any interest in the press, despite its bold subject matter: it is the story of a young concert musician who goes blind at the zenith of her fame and marries her pen pal, Paul, a possessive man who has never revealed to her that he is mixed-race, with an Indian mother. One acerbic review in Kirkus Reviews goes as far as advising people not to borrow the book from a library. The New York Times Book Review criticizes the book, “told with flat British restraint that doesn’t whip up ardent sympathy for the lovers.” Angela, used to such reviews by now, keeps smiling. During a vacation in Italy, at a fashionable hotel—the Bella Riva, on Lake Garda—she is signing her name in the register when an affable customer walks up and thanks her for her help with her nephew. Angela raises her eyebrows, and the woman goes on: You and your husband were so kind to him … Angela interrupts her with a smile: I expect you think I am my sister, Daphne Browning? I am Angela du Maurier.8 The woman recoils, looking angry, and tells her husband, It’s only the sister! She turns on her heel and leaves Angela gaping. How many times has Angela heard that phrase? It’s only the sister. She should write a book about it, one day. Her memoirs. Why not? In the meantime, she is planning to write a collection of short stories.
A young editor at Gollancz, Sheila Hodges, works with Daphne on the proofs of The King’s General, her eighth novel. Aware that her grammar and spelling are far from perfect, Daphne recognizes the importance of this correction work, is happy to accept the editor’s suggestions, and does not become o
ffended when her mistakes are pointed out to her. She has great hopes for this novel’s publication, after the mediocre reviews and disappointing sales of the last one. But the newspapers’ coverage irritates her more than anything. Reviewers appreciate the powerful love story between Honor Harris and Richard Grenvile, but condescendingly emphasize it to the detriment of the rest of the novel, reducing the book to the status of a simple romance. Her in-depth research is not even mentioned, nor is her skill in mixing fact with fiction. Though she is indignant about this, Daphne’s good humor is restored when Victor tells her about the excellent sales figures and about the juicy offer for movie rights of sixty-five thousand pounds.
But, in truth, it is not the literary world that occupies Daphne’s mind in the summer of 1946. Tommy has just been appointed Military Secretary of the War Office in London.
He will soon be back, after six years of absence.
* * *
The woman in the mirror confirms what she sees: Daphne is beautiful, her skin tanned, her eyes shining, her ash-blond hair set in attractive waves at a recent visit to the hairdresser, her slender figure accentuated by a chic suit. No one would guess she was thirty-nine. Tommy returns on the day of their wedding anniversary, July 19, surely a good omen for their reunion. His latest letters have been full of life, love, joy at the prospect of seeing her again, and fear that she will be disappointed, that she will find him changed, no longer the same man. She waits for him on the runway of the RAF airport in Northolt, near London. Tommy’s airplane finally arrives, and her stomach is in knots. The doors open noisily, his tall figure appears, walks quickly down the steps, and she starts to rush toward him, then holds back, and it looks as if he is holding back, too: he doesn’t hug her, just pecks her on the cheek. Perhaps this is because of the presence of his team, because they are not alone? But Daphne is also left wondering about that beautiful brunette in her early twenties: her name is Maureen, apparently, and she is Tommy’s assistant.
This is all it takes for Daphne to feel invisible: the lack of warmth in Tommy’s clumsy embrace, and the presence of the disturbingly pretty Maureen. They spend their first night together in the small, gloomy apartment on the sixth floor of Whitelands House, on the King’s Road in Chelsea, near Sloane Square, that Tommy has rented for his new job. The rooms are narrow, the floorboards creak, and the air smells faintly of gas. The Brownings spend a night together without tenderness, without love. But Tommy is probably tired, exhausted in fact, and things will be better at Menabilly, where he is going for a six-week vacation before taking up his new office in London. After that, he will take the train to Cornwall every weekend to see his family. Daphne had made her feelings clear: there was no question of her leaving Menabilly to move in with him in the capital. Was she too intransigent? Too attached to her independence?
Tommy falls asleep, and Daphne’s thoughts race. When was the last time they “waxed”*? It seems an eternity ago. It’s been a long time since they’ve done any “spinning”* or had “Cairo,”* but of course there was the war, the war that drained all desire, the war and its attendant woes that had such an effect on her Boy. Her handsome, green-eyed Boy is nearly fifty now, and looks it. She watches him sleep and wonders what happened to the magnificent young man on his white boat. And what about her? Since she last saw him, Lady Browning has fallen madly in love with a house. How can she explain that to her husband? It’s not the kind of thing that can be explained, only observed.
At Menabilly, Tommy is shocked by how much his children have grown. Tessa (thirteen) is a willowy adolescent with blue-gray eyes, Flavia (nine) is a gap-toothed, short-haired tomboy, and Kits (five) is the apple of his mother’s eye. That summer, Margaret leaves the family’s service. The children are saddened to see her go, but happy to have their father again. How he has changed! His wrinkled forehead gives him a permanent worried look. And whereas their mother almost never gets annoyed with them or raises her voice, whereas she is so smiling and patient and funny, their father flies into a rage over nothing, seems unable to relax. Sometimes he is in such a foul mood that the only thing they can do is keep out of his way. Quite often, Tommy refuses to have anything to do with the two main obsessions in Daphne’s life: “Mena” and Kits. Is this a manifestation of his jealousy, a desire for revenge?
Occasionally, Tommy forgets his wretchedness for long enough to have fun with Kits and Flavia at bathtime. In the still-greenish water, he organizes merciless naval battles with a large sponge and a fleet of wooden boats. Later, in the living room, if his good mood lasts, there will be a cataclysmic cushion fight, then he will pursue the children through the long corridors, buzzing like a bee, deaf to their pleas. When Tommy smiles like that, it is like the sun emerging from behind the clouds.
Their favorite activity? The mini-Olympics organized in the living room on the orange carpet, with four disciplines determined by their father: boxing matches, hurdles races, long jumps, and horse races. The spectators are Daphne, Tod, Tessa, and the eight “Boys,” Tommy’s teddy bears, who have been through two wars with him. The victor is presented with a silver cup that Tommy won back in his Eton days, and two shillings. Sometimes, Tommy can be cuddly; he likes to hold Flavia’s hand, sitting peacefully on the couch, while listening to Swan Lake.
The three children are now old enough to eat their evening meals in the dining room with their parents and Tod. Tommy monopolizes the conversation: politics, local events, the boat he wants to have built. Tod is the only one who responds to him, because Daphne picks at her food, her eyes distant. Well, what do you think, Duck? (This is Tommy’s nickname for her, and she calls him the same thing in return.) Daphne comes back to the present, looks at her family, and smiles. Well, I can hardly say, Duck, she replies vaguely. Tommy gives her a gently scornful look and sighs: Woman, you live in a dream! He has frequent arguments with Tod and the atmosphere deteriorates. He and Tod do not get along. One night, at the table, the governess complains about a persistent throat infection. Eyes sparkling with sarcasm, Tommy hands her a carving knife: My dear Tod, why don’t you cut it?9 Tod is not amused. She leaves the table, and sulks for a week, until Tommy, at the urging of his wife, is forced to apologize, somewhat ungraciously.
Most often, to get away from Menabilly, Tommy spends his time on the water, as if he wanted to catch up on all those years lost to the war. These are the only moments of sweetness with Daphne. His new boat, the Fanny Rosa—named after the heroine of Hungry Hill—is a robust fishing boat with a blue-green hull and rust-colored sails. It sleeps six. But its great disadvantage is that it tends to pitch rather violently. Kits and Flavia are the ones most affected by seasickness, drawing the contempt of their father and their older sister, an experienced skipper. Tommy’s assistant, the pretty brunette Maureen, comes to stay for a few weeks. The whole family falls for her kindness, her sweet smile, and Daphne forgets her brief spurt of jealousy. Muriel and Angela visit Menabilly once a week, arriving in the large Hillman, which Mo drives as if she has never learned how to get out of first gear. Muriel does not like walking and insists on driving the car down to the beach, jolting along the uneven path. God help you all, Tommy mutters mockingly as he watches them leave. Kits and Flavia open the gate; Daphne accompanies her mother in the car, holding a picnic basket, while Tod takes her painting supplies; Angela and Tessa come last, dawdling as they chat. The picnic consists of egg and tomato sandwiches, which are delicious, except for one time when Tod sat on them, reducing their meal to a squished mess. The family passes hours on end splashing around in the natural pools formed by rocks or swimming in the sea, while Tod sits in the shade and paints. At the end of the day, Muriel spends half an hour reversing the car up to “Mena.” The Hillman’s engine whines painfully, attracting the notice of other bathers and walkers, who laugh at the spectacle of the elegant old lady grappling with her motorcar amid the stench of burning rubber.
One day, the children, playing in the garden, hear a loud explosion and a group of men arrive from the beach with
a wounded man on a stretcher, his leg half torn off. The war may be over, but its memory is never far away: the land mines on the beaches must be defused, all along the coastline. This does not prevent the children having fun in the forest, left to their own devices. With some neighbor youngsters, they build tree houses and make camp in the bushes, then come home late at night, disheveled and starving. Deep in the forest, two ladies live in a cottage named Southcott: Miss Wilcox and Miss Phillips, vaguely mysterious creatures—witches, according to Daphne—and the children suspect that those ageless ladies, one of whom has strange opaque, thoughtful eyes, will one day end up in a book.
The only person Daphne dares confide in about the slow wreckage of her marriage is her faithful Fernande, in a few disillusioned letters. She describes to her the summer of 1946 as it comes to its end and Tommy prepares to return to London for his job. From now on, she explains to Ferdie, their relationship is entirely platonic: they go sailing together, watch the birds, walk around Fowey like good friends, like a brother and sister. Tommy seems rested, tanned, more peaceful, but this summer break has not brought them any closer. Daphne had insisted on having her own bedroom, partly out of selfishness, partly out of apprehension. Was she wrong to do so? That ham-fisted maneuver seems to have sounded the death knell to their physical intimacy. So many times in the night, she confesses to Fernande, she would get up, gently open the door, and see that Tommy wasn’t sleeping either, that there was a shaft of light beneath his bedroom door. She tells Fernande about her uncertainty: Should she go to see him, take him in her arms, kiss him? But she remained motionless in the doorway, sad, troubled, and then wearily went to her bathroom to swallow sleeping pills, cursing herself when she woke in a fog the next morning. Daphne spent the whole summer watching out for a signal that never came. But what if her husband was doing the same? Maybe he too would stare hopefully at her door? Maybe he didn’t dare knock on it either? They spent the summer missing each other, she complains in the letters to her confidante.