Gone With the Windsors. Laurie Graham

      29th April 1933

      Wally’s guest list is finalized. No room for Judson and Hattie, because His Royal Highness wanted Thelma’s friends, the Bernie Cavetts, and he’s keen to meet Boss and Ethel Croker. Pips says she’d happily give up her seat. She thinks the idea of Ernest bowing and scraping all evening is excruciating.

      I said, “Don’t you want to know the Princes?”

      She said, “Not particularly. They’re not like real people. And anyway, I’ll bet Wally’s going to seat me way down the table. I hope so. I’ll probably get the truck man.”

      Bernie Cavett made his fortune in road freight, apparently.

      30th April 1933

      To Bryanston Court, to help with the finishing touches. The menu is decided: avocado ice cream, curried chicken, apple fritters.

      Ernest has cold sores. He’s anxious about Wally’s idea of serving beer and keeps bringing out bottles of his cherished claret to try and persuade her, but, as she says, the Prince of Wales has access to the finest cellars in the world and anyway, he’s no great wine drinker. He’ll much prefer the novelty of beer.

      One thing Ernest doesn’t need to worry about this time is the expense. Funny how an overture of caviars was deemed necessary to reel in Thelma Furness, but the Prince of Wales is getting something more akin to a porch brunch.

      3rd May 1933

      Last evening I danced with two princes, three if you count an exile, which I think I do. More, anyway, than Nora Sedley Cordle will do if she lives to be a hundred, and I shall make sure she hears about it from Randolph Putnam.

      The two Princes are very different. Wales fidgets a lot and allows his gaze to wander when he’s in conversation. Prince George seems more assured, much more attentive as a dinner partner, and an excellent dancer. Freddie Crosbie had described him as “lavender-toned,” but he looked perfectly healthy to me.

      And Prince Louis Ferdinand is delightful. He’s been living in Michigan, helping out Mr. Ford at his automobile factory, and adores our American way of life, but he may soon have to give it all up, because his elder brother has chosen to marry a commoner, which places Louis next in line should the Germans bring back Royalties. His mother wants him to go home and find a suitable bride.

      Zita Cavett said, “Why go home? Why not choose a gorgeous American girl?”

      He said, “A wonderful idea, but your husband got there first.”

      They all pant after Zita. It’s her legs. Bernie Cavett found her in the chorus at the Chicago Majestic. A showgirl at a dinner for the Prince of Wales, and with seats at a premium! Hattie Erlanger would be furious if she knew.

      There was no withdrawing. Boss and Ernest lingered over their cigars. The rest of us rolled back the rugs and played Thelma’s latest hoochie-koochie records on my gramophone. It was the greatest fun. The Royalties didn’t leave till midnight and were effusive in their thanks. Ernest was quite pink with pleasure, but Wally was as composed as ever. All that dancing and not a hair out of place. The whole thing an undoubted success. I must hand it to her.