Must You Go_ - Antonia Fraser [18]
My elder daughters Rebecca and Flora appeared looking marvellous, their brown hair tousled, their blue eyes bright – plus two young men. Previously I had said: ‘Girls, you are not bringing anyone.’ ‘No, Mummy, of course not,’ they had replied virtuously.
I then went up to Scotland to spend Christmas with the children. I always loved Scotland in winter: the bareness of the outline of the country, like a Japanese watercolour, mountains, snow-caps, stark trees, and the beauty of the short-lived light in the middle of the day when it is treasured. I found all the children very happy there and decided I must concentrate my financial efforts on continuing to support it for the time being. Made a resolution to work at King Charles II every single day including Sundays.
1976
8 January
Harold and I celebrated the anniversary of our meeting by having dinner with the novelist Olivia Manning, for Harold to see her husband Reggie Smith, his old friend. Then on to a party given by Alan Bates. We both felt we didn’t regret the fatal meeting: then, having celebrated, we could go back to being neurotic for the rest of the year.
23 January
Haven’t been writing so regularly because I have really been getting down to reading Pepys. Enjoying it madly. Everyone all round is now calmer.
24 January
Last night of No Man’s Land. Sir Ralph, with his exquisite courtesy, had remembered that I liked whitebait and insisted on ordering some for me: ‘I woo you with whitebait,’ he said roguishly.
25 January
Our Poetry Reading at Launceston Place. There were strict rules. One poet each, no duplication, ten minutes, or three poems. The decisive decided quickly. John Gross rang up all week with different choices. Harold read Eliot brilliantly. Daniel had enormous panache reading Sir Philip Sidney and looked rather like him. Francis Wyndham bagged Hardy, whom everyone wanted. Miriam Gross chicly read Goethe in German. Simon Gray concentrated on Wallace Stevens. I read Browning at the end: the Ethel Merman spot, said Peter Eyre. More food. Then we each read one poem by another author, and then we all started reading more and more …
31 January
Took Orlando and Figaro the spaniel down to the Harwoods in the Mercedes. Icy wastes – the weather is freezing – but the welcome very warm. Ronnie Harwood was wonderful! Clever, charming, high-spirited. Harold and Ronnie had been young actors together; now he was a successful writer. I liked the way he was so visibly happily married to his beautiful Russian Natasha.
4 February
Evening Standard Drama Awards. I started to tremble at the sight of the serried press ranks – the first time like this since October after the bomb went off – and could not even hold a tiny sherry glass. Dorothy Tutin commented on it. Had to lift it to my mouth like a two-handled Celtic cup. Pathetic. Harold very cool. Simon Gray looked incredibly young when he received his award with his wonderful thick floppy hair, and Sir John Gielgud had tears pouring down his face when he received his for Spooner in No Man’s Land.
6 February
Not unfriendly talk with Hugh about finances.
Me: ‘Out of two houses now, I’m not living in either of them, having taken care financially of Scotland always and a large proportion of Campden Hill Square, to say nothing of school fees. So we must sort things out.’ Matters were complicated by the fact that I actually owned the house Eilean Aigas in Scotland, although it was in the heart of Hugh’s family estate, and he owned Campden Hill Square, the house I had always loved and insisted on buying.
9 February
Lunch here for Charles Wintour to meet Alison Lurie,