Must You Go_ - Antonia Fraser [6]
6 April
Horror has struck at the periphery of Harold’s life. Mary Ure, wife of his buddy Robert Shaw, died the night after Robert had been out with Harold. Robert’s guilt – and his own. In the end after a lot of talk and guilt, we both went round to see Robert Shaw hidden in the Savoy with his children. Harold in a fearful state. The Shaw daughters full of fortitude. His son, the image of Mary, infinitely touching.
The rest of April passed with me toing and froing between London and Scotland during the school holidays, while being extremely active in campaigning for Public Lending Right (I was Chairman of the Society of Authors). Vivien left Hanover Terrace for a while; Harold continued to attend rehearsals of No Man’s Land.
14 April
Harold came to lunch before rehearsal. Now very gloomy about the play – just because Sir Ralph Richardson can’t happen to get the words in the right order. This is torture for him. But says he is a little bit in love with Ralph all the same. Me: ‘As he is a man and seventy-two, that’s okay.’ Harold and Sir Ralph: the perfect actor for him except for this one fault which could utterly ruin everything Harold conceives the play to be, in terms of rhythm and poetry.
20 April – Sunday morning
Hugh asked: ‘Are you in love with someone else?’ I don’t think he expected to get the answer ‘Yes! I am madly in love with someone else.’ After a bit I told him who it was. Hugh, grimly: ‘The best living playwright. Very suitable.’ Then: ‘How old is he?’ Me: ‘My age.’ Hugh: ‘Well, that’s also very suitable.’ I had dreaded this moment so much, thought it would never come, because it never could come. Then it did come, suddenly, in a twinkling of an eye, and in a way it was perfectly all right. Except as Harold pointed out about his own situation, nothing is ever the same again.
The next weeks were agonizing for all concerned with a few bright moments which did not relate to personal relationships.
23 April
The great Public Lending Right Demo Day in Belgrave Square outside the Ministry. Wore spring-like suit to LBC Radio at 8.30 a.m.; frozen by 11.30. We hustled importantly on to a traffic island in Belgrave Square, media actually outnumbering the authors. But Angus Wilson came all the way up from Suffolk, good sweet man that he is. Bridget Brophy magnificent and large in a white princess-line dress, Maureen Duffy in a mauve frilly shirt with her trouser suit, running the show with her loud hailer. Gave interviews to TV, having been told by Frank Muir not to smile: ‘Look grim and defiant.’ Natasha (my fourth child: the others were Rebecca, Flora, Benjie, Damian and Orlando) said: ‘You looked like someone who wanted to have her own way. Like a queen, but cross,’ she added kindly.
Met Harold for lunch and gave him my lucky agate to hold in his sweaty palm at the first night of No Man’s Land. Went with Rachel and Kevin, and my brother Thomas to the theatre. Drink in the upstairs bar. Suddenly Harold walked in. Transfixed. Both of us. Could hardly speak or look at him. ‘Hello, Antonia,’ and hand outstretched: a very deep gravelly voice.
Then the play … In the interval Milton Shulman, there as drama critic of the Evening Standard, asked innocently: ‘What’s it all about?’ Revealed that he had been asleep in the first half. Critics!!! Me: ‘It’s about the creative artist locked in his own world. Gielgud as Spooner is shabby reality trying to get in.’ Milton: ??? Me: ‘Well, I’m only trying to help.’ Later we four went to Odin’s. Harold telephoned me from the first-night party at Peter Hall’s flat in the Barbican. Harold: ‘I was happy with it.’ He went on: ‘I watched you when you walked across the front of the stalls going to your seat after the interval. I liked your dress. You looked so beautiful.’ (I still have the dress.) Me: ‘I just couldn’t speak in the bar.’
24 April
Vivien told Harold: ‘The myth of the happy Pinter marriage is exploded. It hasn’t really existed for many years.’ She had not come to the first night;