Memoirs of the Duchess of Windsor — Fifteenth Installment

Spring passes early over the "Côte d'Azur," and the long nights of waiting had begun to fade away little by little; the flowers had spread over the sweeping fields on the outskirts of "Cannes," and at the beginning of March I was making ready for the wedding.

David and I decided that the marriage should take place in France, because we love the country, and then because the French do not meddle in other people's private affairs... We remained fearful of the press and its pursuits, which might turn that moment of our lives into an inferno, or into a public demonstration; and so we set about searching for a place that intruders could not reach and that would at the same time be beautiful...

Here our friends came forward, each one offering his house as the place for the celebration, and my choice fell on the "Villa La Croë," five miles from "Cannes," which is owned by a retired newspaperman named "Burton," and he consented to let us the place; but David wished to ask his brother, so as not to injure the reputation of the royal family... The King refused to have our wedding on the shore of the Riviera, famous for gambling, and so we returned to the château of "Candé" in the heart of France. On the first of March I traveled to Candé, with dear Katherine accompanying me; we covered the distance in a short time, but the storms and the winds did not let up for a single minute. When we arrived, Madame "Bedaux," the wife of the château's owner, was waiting for us at the door... She is an elegant lady who enjoys an ample share of that natural beauty which conceals a kind soul; I had never expected that anyone would show such abundant kindness to people utterly unknown to him as that lady did. But our coming was a calamity upon the house and its owners; for some time later her husband received a notice informing him that he had committed treason against his country...

Madame "Bedaux" took me around the courts of the château and showed me the place that would be my lodging in the days ahead; and when she had finished her round she left me and went to make ready for dinner.

I stretched out on the bed, resting from the fatigue of the journey and thinking of the many things that awaited doing. Where would we begin our married life? What would we do with the things left behind in Britain? Was there any prospect of David's being reconciled with his family? What would we do about the newspapers and their comments on our marriage? Then came the greatest question of all: Who would dare to bless our marriage?

French law provides that there must be a civil marriage alongside the church marriage; it was easy to carry out the first, but David preferred that our marriage be in a church; he is a religious man, and he grieved that his wedding would not be in the church of his forefathers, to receive its blessing.

Many matters went racing through my mind, and it was hard for me to find a solution to any one of them... In the midst of these thoughts I heard the bell of the "telephone," then the servant's voice saying: His Majesty the King... I hurried to take up the receiver, and his voice came to me across the European continent; it came strong and sweet, and it wiped away my fear and my confusion, and I heard him say: Are you well? Was the journey tiring?

The period that followed was filled with work and responsibility, and I had to consult David on many matters that could not be settled by telephone. And after he asked his advisers whether he might visit me, they refused, on the ground that the visit might set the divorce proceedings going again. There remained to me Katherine and Herman, who never left me for a single moment...

And the press came back to lay its siege around the château; the correspondents let no one go in or come out without questioning him and watching his movements... Spring came to that spot, and the château and the gardens appeared in their loveliest dress; I would listen to the breaths of nature and delight in the chirping of the birds, and often I would walk along the branching paths or play "golf" with the two faithful friends.

This may seem a delightful life to anyone, but it was, for me, a period passing without history's recording it!... David may have sensed the loneliness that was eating at my heart, for he spoke to me one evening and told me that he would send me the dog "Slipper" to keep me company; and two days later "Slipper" arrived

in the company of Chief Inspector "Storier," one of the men of "Scotland Yard" who had been assigned to accompany David in Austria.

And on the following day something happened that I had not expected at all... Some friends visited us at the château, bringing with them two dogs, who soon made friends with "Slipper," and in a moment when our backs were turned they all ran off into the woods to chase a wild rabbit. The friends' two dogs came back, but Slipper did not. My mind was anxious over him, and I asked one of my women friends to go with me to the woods, and there, on one of the winding paths, I caught sight of a gray-colored rag; and when we drew nearer I knew it was the dog himself... He was sprawled on the green grass, his eyes bulging and his limbs gone stiff... Slipper was dead — the dog who had shared our sorrows and our joys. I wept for him bitterly, and I said to myself in grief: Is it written that I must lose everything dear?...

April passed, and with it the arrangements for the wedding went forward; we never thought of inviting all our friends to the celebration, which was confined to the intimates who had not deserted us in the hard hours. David asked his friend Major "Edward Metcalfe" to be the witness of the marriage; but he went on burning for his sister and his brothers and his mother to attend this momentous event in his life... And, as was his usual way, he kept these thoughts to himself without declaring them to anyone. I alone suffered over the feelings that came upon him in that particular period: the friends among whom he had spent his life, the palace that had witnessed his childhood and his youth, and the family that had embraced him — all of these would not acknowledge his marriage, or spare him a portion of their attention... as though a cold iron curtain had been drawn between him and them for the rest of life...