Untitled: The Real Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor. Anna Pasternak

      The covert surveillance operation was authorised by the Home Secretary, Sir John Simon, and undertaken by Superintendent Albert Canning of Scotland Yard. Canning began by confirming Mrs Simpson as the recipient of the jewels. ‘She is reputed to be very attractive,’ wrote Canning in one report, ‘and spends lavishly on clothes and entertainment.’ Visitors to Bryanston Court were monitored by the inspector and his team. Detectives also recorded that Mrs Simpson and the prince called each other ‘darling’ while visiting an antiques shop in South Kensington. In the report the shopkeeper remarked that the lady seemed to have the gentleman ‘completely under her thumb’. The information collected by Special Branch was often lurid, almost laughably inaccurate and very boys’ own. It was asserted that Ernest Simpson was ‘Jewish’ and a ‘bounder type’ who was waiting for ‘high honours’ to be conferred on him. Wallis, who two years later referred to becoming the ‘convenient tool’ in the hands of the politicians who created ‘an organised campaign’ to remove Edward from the throne, had no idea at this stage that she was being spied on.

      One trumped-up charge against Wallis that later came to light was that, whilst seeing the prince, she was having ‘intimate relations’ with a Ford car salesman by the name of Guy Marcus Trundle. Trundle, known to his family as a fantasist who liked to boast of his ‘conquests’, made these claims about Wallis to anyone who would listen. However, her close friends categorically deny that she would have even contemplated an affair with such a figure. ‘There is absolutely no way that she had an affair with Guy Trundle,’ said Nicky Haslam. ‘I know this to be true,’ John Julius Norwich agreed: ‘She was much too intelligent to have had an affair with a second-hand car dealer when the eyes of the world were upon her. This was merely another bid by the powers that be to discredit her.’

      Wallis’s correspondence to her aunt brims with the strain of juggling two men, her husband and the Prince of Wales; it seems completely out of character that she would jeopardise her situation with a third, let alone a man from such an unlikely background. Far from craving further entanglements, she cherished space for herself. When the prince went to Sandringham with his family for Christmas, she considered it ‘a lovely rest for us and especially me’.

      The following year, 1935, was thrilling for Wallis. Diana, Lady Mosley summarised her situation: ‘Although the great public knew nothing of the Prince of Wales’s friendship with Mrs Simpson, a fairly wide circle in London knew of it, and those who did thought at first it was just Lady Furness all over again and Wallis the prince’s latest American friend. Society being what it is, Wallis began not just to have a good time but the time of her life. She was courted and flattered.’

      Wallis was feted by the Londonderrys (the 7th Marquess was a Cabinet minister and his wife, Edith, Lady Londonderry, held sought-after political receptions); Mrs Evelyn Fitzgerald, sister-in-law of the press baron, Lord Beaverbrook; the Guinnesses; the Cholmondeleys (the 5th Marquess of Cholmondeley would become Lord Chamberlain at the court of Edward VIII); Mrs Laura Corrigan (a society hostess from Colorado); Daphne, Countess of Weymouth; Lady Sibyl Colefax; and Lady Emerald Cunard.

      ‘Though nothing about Mrs Simpson appears in the English papers,’ the society photographer Cecil Beaton noted in his diary that autumn, ‘her name seems never to be off people’s lips. For those who enjoy gossip she is a particular treat. The sound of her name implies secrecy, royalty, and being in the know. As a topic she has become a mania, so much so that her name is banned in many houses to allow breathing space for other topics …’

      There was something touchingly childlike about Wallis’s excitement at her recognised status in society as Edward’s ‘One and Only’. Instead of always feeling an outsider, as she had done since childhood, she began to embrace the (faux) warmth of acceptance. Lady Cunard, the society figurehead always adorned with ropes of pearls who championed Wallis, memorably said: ‘Little Mrs Simpson knows her Balzac,’ suggesting that Wallis was better read and better bred than people imagined. Emerald Cunard’s lunch parties were legendary due to her ‘throwaway shockers’; invitations to her Grosvenor Square home were coveted. Wallis, who became a regular around her lapis lazuli-topped circular table, was sufficiently savvy to recognise that the fawning society figures were there solely because of the prince. Her glittering position would extinguish the minute Edward lost interest in her. This she accepted and awaited.

      Ernest, too, knew that all the attention had nothing to do with him. According to Diana Mosley: ‘He absented himself more and more, and in fact behaved with dignity. Mrs Simpson saw only the prince. If she had seen others, everyone would have known, even if there was nothing in the newspapers.’

      In late January 1935, Chips Channon recorded his first meeting with Wallis. ‘Lunched with Emerald to meet Mrs Simpson … She is a nice, quiet, well-bred mouse of a woman with large startled eyes and a huge mole. I think that she is surprised and rather conscience-stricken by her present position and the limelight which consequently falls upon her.’ Those in the know were abuzz with chatter as to what exactly the prince saw in Wallis Simpson. As she herself said later: ‘I could find no good reason why this most glamorous of men should be so seriously attracted to me. I was certainly no beauty, and he had the pick of the beautiful women of the world.’ It was her American independence of spirit, she concluded, along with her breezy sense of fun, that he was drawn to.

      Although Wallis valiantly told herself and her aunt that Ernest was completely compliant with her situation, the truth was that Ernest, for all his reverence of royalty, was finding his wife’s ever-growing attachment to another man increasingly hard to tolerate. For all her protestations to Aunt Bessie that her relationship with Ernest was solid, the marriage was starting to disintegrate. ‘Until now, I had taken for granted that Ernest’s interest in the prince was keeping pace with mine,’ she later wrote, ‘but about this time I began to sense a change in his attitude. His work seemed to make more and more demands on his time in the evening. Often he would not return in time for dinner, or when the prince suggested dropping in at Sartori’s or the Dorchester for an hour or so of amusement, Ernest would ask to be excused on the plea that he had an early appointment or that papers from the office needed his attention. He also seemed less and less interested in what I had to say about the prince’s latest news and interest.’

      It was the prince’s invitation to a two-week skiing holiday in Austria in February 1935 which highlighted the growing frictions between the Simpsons. Wallis relished the chance to get away; when the prince invited them to join him in Kitzbühel, Wallis ‘naturally accepted for both of us’. When she told Ernest, it precipitated their first ever door slamming row. Ernest, who had business in New York and was no fan of winter sports, wanted Wallis to accompany him on his business trip. Wallis made her choice; the prince over Ernest, and this, unsurprisingly, created the first irreparable fissure in their marriage.

      The prince’s staff began to feel alarmed when Edward set off for another holiday with Wallis in the party, yet again without her husband. Accompanying them were Bruce Ogilvy (the prince’s equerry), his wife Primrose and his sister-in-law Olive. Wallis, who did not take to skiing, discovered a fear of the sport, preferring the less demanding après-ski. She looked forward to the afternoon rendezvous of the whole party in the village inn, sipping hot chocolate before the fire. The prince’s entourage stayed in the Grand Hotel and every evening ate at a mountain restaurant where a band played folk music, the prince heartily singing along to the local songs. Edward, loath to return to London, announced after two weeks that he felt like waltzing, ‘and Vienna’s the place for that’. So off the royal party swept, to the Bristol Hotel in Vienna, crossing the Alps by train. His aides were understandably frantic when, after delightful evenings devoted to Strauss, the prince asserted that ‘while these Viennese waltzes are wonderfully tender, there is nothing to match the fire of gypsy violins’. The next morning, on yet another royal whim, they were on their way to Budapest. Edward’s insatiable need to indulge every fleeting impulse was more akin to that of a jaded jetsetter, rather than the heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities to consider.

      It was in a dingy local tavern in Budapest, on the Pest side of the river, where they had been guaranteed to hear the best gypsy music in Hungary, that Wallis had a piercing moment of realisation about the impossibility of her situation. As the