My Week With Marilyn. Colin Clark

There’s no work here. I’ve got to get his nibs’ lunch. Come and have a drink in the pub.’

      I went gratefully (but only ½ of bitter). Gilman told me what was going on. He was on loan to Perceval. Every morning he did errands, for Perceval or for Larry, and then came back here to get Perceval’s lunch. This never varied: two cheese rolls and a Guinness.

      ‘You won’t get work from him, Colin. Miserable bugger.’

      ‘Well, I’ve got nothing else in the world to do but wait, so I might as well wait.’

      ‘OK. Good luck. We can always have a pint together at lunchtime.’

      We went back with Mr P’s sandwiches and drink and Gilman sped off in the Bentley. I waited until 6 p.m., when they all packed up and left.

      ‘Night all,’ said Mr P gloomily, without a glance at me. I had a large brandy and water in the pub. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.

      TUESDAY, 5 JUNE

      I was there at 8.30. The secretary arrived at 8.55. Mr P punctually at nine. He just gave me a grim stare as he came in. Then he gets on the phone and stays there most of the day. He never smiles and he never raises his voice. The secretary gets the calls for him and then taps away at the typewriter. She is polite but not friendly. She treats me like a client. I wonder if she knows that ‘M and D’³ are friends of Larry and Vivien?

      She went to lunch at 12.30 with her handbag and gloves. Gilman arrived at 12.45. Then we went to the pub, and got back with Mr P’s lunch at 1.15. I wonder if this is a regular situation. Maybe I can make something out of it. Mr P grumbles at the delay but Gilman is irrepressible.

      Vivien had told me why she had hired Gilman. He was a relief driver, sent along when their old chauffeur was ill. On the first day, as he drove her and Larry down Bond Street, he suddenly slammed on the brakes. ‘Cor. Look, what a lovely waistcoat!’ he cried, pointing to a very exclusive man’s-shop window. Vivien adores that sort of unspoilt character and hired him on the spot. Needless to say he now worships both of them, and is fanatically loyal. He is a Barnardo boy and very tough, so Larry probably thinks he is a good bodyguard for Vivien too. He certainly is a good pal to me and saves my life when he appears.

      I get a bit nervous in my role as the invisible man. But I was more relaxed there today, and so was the secretary.

      Now I’ve got to use my head.

      WEDNESDAY, 6 JUNE

      Yes. There is a pattern, and it should be possible to exploit it.

      I am completely ignored all morning, but as there is no door between the waiting room and the secretary’s office, I hear quite a lot. Also, she often leaves Mr P’s door open when she is in there with him.

      Today I didn’t go to the pub with Gillers. I just gave him a wink which he picked up immediately. This meant Mr P was alone for 45 minutes. During this time, he keeps on working and the phones keep ringing.

      He has three lines. I just ignored them, but after five minutes he opened his door and glared at the empty secretary’s desk. Then he slammed his door shut again. Two minutes of phone ringing later, he opened it again and glared some more, this time at me.

      ‘You still here? Well you might as well answer the phone. Don’t think you’ve got a job, though. There’s no chance of that at all.’

      He slammed out.

      Phone rings. Mr P answers. Next phone rings.

      ‘Hello. Is that Laurence Olivier Productions?’

      ‘Yes. Can I help you.’

      ‘Is Sir Laurence there?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid he’s in America until the end of the week.’

      ‘Oh. Thank you. I’ll ring next week.’

      ‘Any message?’

      ‘No thank you.’

      Click. Mr P’s door opens.

      ‘How did you know that Sir Laurence is in America until the end of the week?’

      ‘I heard him tell my mother.’

      ‘Hmph. Why didn’t you put the call through to me?’ (There is a buzzer on each phone.)

      ‘There didn’t seem to be a need to bother you. But if you want every single call . . .’

      ‘Hmph.’

      Door slams again. Phone rings.

      ‘Laurence Olivier Productions.’ I’m chirpy now!

      ‘Is Mr Perceval there?’

      ‘Certainly. Whom shall I say is calling?’

      ‘The Daily Mirror.’

      ‘Hold on please.’ Click. Bzzz. ‘Yes?’

      ‘The Daily Mirror for you.’

      ‘Hmph.’

      I put through about eight calls, and I was beginning to enjoy it when the secretary (Vanessa) came back at 1.30. She didn’t look very happy at first, but I had left her a note of all calls and messages, so she began to smile again.

      Finally Gillers returned with Mr P’s rolls and Guinness. He was 20 minutes late and he gave me another terrific wink, which I was frightened that Mr P saw, but he gave no sign.

      I had hoped to go back to the pub for my lunch with Gillers, but Mr P sent him straight down to Notley.⁴ So I had to go alone. I had a large pink gin with my sandwich, and sure enough no one addressed a word to me all afternoon.

      But it doesn’t matter. At least I have a role to play from 12.30 to 1.30. I must make the most of it.

      FRIDAY, 8 JUNE

      By now Mr P takes it for granted that I am on duty at lunchtime. Only one week here and already I am part of the furniture.

      Being efficient is the easy part. Suppressing one’s ego completely for hours at a time is really hard. Gilman phoned in to say he was staying with Vivien all day, and what Vivien wants, Vivien gets; no question of that.

      I went round to the pub and got two cheese rolls and a Guinness before Vanessa left at 12.30. Then at 12.45 I walked silently into Mr P’s office and put it on his desk. Mr P was on the phone – a long-distance call to America (he must have got someone out of bed). He puffed at his pipe and gave me a mournful stare over the top of his hornrim glasses. I think he realises I’m going to win in the end! I crept out and shut the door without a word from either of us.

      When Vanessa came back, I left. ‘See you Monday,’ I said. ‘8.30 sharp.’ She just laughed, but in a friendly way. I’ll bet she reports every word I say to Mr P. At the same time, her private life is obviously more important to her than her job – unlike Mr P, or me for that matter. So she is really a non-combatant.

      After lunch I got in the car and came down here to Saltwood for a break.

      ‘How is the new job?’ asked Mama.

      ‘Very good.’

      ‘Settling in nicely? It was kind of Larry to give it to you.’

      But she is too shrewd to be convinced. Actually I don’t think she believes either of her sons can get a good job or ever will.

      I told Celly⁵ the minimum. She is incredibly sympathetic as usual, but she leads such a busy life that I didn’t think I could quite explain my ‘wait eight weeks’ policy. It does sound a bit hopeless when looked at from down here, but I am committed to it.

      MONDAY, 11 JUNE

      I was surprised to find myself glad to be back at 146 Piccadilly at 8.30 this morning.

      Vanessa