Princess Grace and Prince Rainier
Their Serene Highnesses, Prince Rainier, head of the Grimaldi dynasty
in Monaco, and Princess Grace, formerly Grace Kelly, Irish-American film
star and world renowned beauty, both had a good sense of humour: and it
certainly came to good stead the night I was invited to join the British
Consul in a large scotch whisky in the bar of the Hotel de Paris, where
a charity ball was due to take place. Geoffrey, an old "China hand" as
those who had worked for Imperial Tobacco called themselves, stood, immaculate
in white tie and tails, his decorations glittering on his chest, a supremely
elegant figure, silver hair and sun-tanned face, he could have been a
male model, or some unkind people might say a tailor's dummy, for Geoffrey
had told everyone that when he retired he was going to work for Moss Bros.
in Covent Garden, London, handing out the suits and toppers for Royal
Ascot and other traditional occasions in the British social calendar.
Or, as I recounted in Volume II of my memoirs, Don't Tell My Mother I'm a Newspaperman (Chapter 13):
"Do have another whisky, dear boy," said Geoffrey, "I'm fortifying myself to welcome their Serene Highnesses to the dinner. I have to greet them as they enter the hotel lobby."
Geoffrey, although neat and trim, swayed slightly, having clearly fortified himself more than usual against any attack of nerves that might occur. Several large whiskies later he was called to his duties and walked sedately into the foyer, where Prince Rainier and Princess Grace were alighting and stepping onto the red carpet to enter the hotel. As he approached their Serene Highnesses, hand outstretched in greeting but no longer trembling, he suddenly fell flat on his face on the red carpet.
"It's the British Consul," said Rainier to Grace as they stepped lightly over the prostrate form and made their way into the dining room.
Rainier was chuckling, but Grace looked back sympathetically at Geoffrey being helped up by Monsieur Broc the manager.
The joke she enjoyed most was the one told to her by Susan, a Geordie lass who taught ballet to her daughters Caroline and Stephanie, and was married to Jacques Dubreuille, first violin in the Monte Carlo National Orchestra, a noted practical joker when on tour, who had an idea when the orchestra went to Dublin, but stayed in Dun Loaghaire, just outside the city. Quote, from Volume Ii again:
Jacques Dubreuille was asked by a young violinist how to pick up a girl in Dublin. A piece of paper was given to him and he was instructed to give it to any Irish girl he fancied. Hitch-hiking into Dublin, the young man was given a lift by three priests who asked him where he wanted to go. Not knowing a single word of English he gave them Jacques' piece of paper, which they passed around.
Recounting next day how the priests had argued and argued about where to drop him off, going to one dance hall and then another, where the driver said something like "his best chance", the word chance meaning luck in French, the young violinist told his pals in the orchestera that he had indeed been lucky, with a beautiful colleen who had laughed when he showed her Jacques' note.
"What did the note say?" one of his pals asked. He took it out of his pocket, and one of them who spoke English read it. It said: Hello, beautiful. I'd like to fuck with you.
Grace would take the children, Albert, Caroline and Stephanie to the
swimming pool off Monte Carlo beach, when they were very young, and where
they were taught to swim. They were in the children's part of the pool
and I thought Philip Townsend could get some good pictures of the kids
laughing and playing in the water, so I asked Grace for permission. She
said: "Sure, go ahead, but no close-ups of me." She was
without make-up and chalk white but was sitting with her face to the sun.
After Philip had taken his pictures Grace came in for a swim. I saw her
detective, in black swimming trunks, with his beady little black eyes,
watching me with a look of hate. I could understand why. It was his job
to keep photographers away from Grace and the children and here was this
lanky photographer, not even French, getting a scoop which had dollar
signs written all over it. There was another reason why cops employed
as minders kept photographers away from the children of the rich. It stemmed
from the time Leopold and Loeb had kidnapped and murdered Bobby Franks,
and Colonel Lindberg's child was kidnapped from the nursery and murdered.
The rich throughout the world warned their children to beware of cameras.
Told that a man with a camera might steal him and kill him, it became
such a quirk with John Ellerman, who owned a shippng line, that he spent
his life dodging photographers, even using six black limousines arriving
on the dock and five men dressed as Sir John stepping out and going aboard
one of his ships, a game of "find your millionaire".
Another inhabitant of the French Riviera was David Niven, who often played golf with Prince Rainier on the golf course at the top of Mont Agel, the club run by Colonel Kent, who welcomed the famous, such as Churchill and Greta Garbo, to the clubhouse. Rainier enjoyed Niven's company because he also told jokes as they played. And David did not mind, Colonel Kent assured me, when Rainier was allowed to cheat, moving the ball with his foot, thinking he was not being observed. Niven also told Prince Rainier why he lived in Cap Ferrat.
Quote, from Don't Tell My Mother I'm a Newspaperman (Chapter 12):
Somerset Maugham had stayed at the hotel Voile d'Or while the Mauresque was being made habitable, and so had David Niven who had bought a house on the Cap. Niven, who had houses in Hollywood, Switzerland and France, had refused to live in England since the war because the British tax authorities demanded an enormous amount of what he had earned before the war in America just after he returned to England after six years with his Scottish regiment, finishing as a Colonel.
"I will never live in England again," Niven had told his friends at the Voile d'Or hotel.
Joking away, as they played golf, Prince Rainier stood watching as Niven was about to tee off. "Come on, David, you can tell me. I know of your reputation with the ladies, and even Errol Flynn was jealous of you*, and I know why. Tell me now, in Hollywood, and I know you were very popular with the ladies there, who was the best, I mean the best blow job you ever had?
Niven said: "Oh, that's easy..." and started to swing his
club. "It was Grace.........ie Fields!"
* Flynn once threw Niven off his yacht and he had to swim ashore. He said later: "I like Errol because you always know exactly where you are with him. He will always let you down."