My Week with Marilyn (9 page)

‘Let's go and look at the part of the castle where the Queen lives. She's not here at the moment, but she will be very sorry to have missed you.'

‘Really?' said Marilyn in total amazement.

‘Oh, yes,' said Owen. ‘Why, she was only saying to me the other day, what must it be like to be the most famous woman in the world?'

So, you could never tell with Owen either.

‘Now this,' he went on ‘is the White Drawing Room. Very pretty, isn't it? And that is a portrait of King George the Third. He was the one who was silly enough to lose our American colonies two hundred years ago. And that is his wife, and those are his children.'

‘Oh, they're gorgeous,' said Marilyn, completely unable to figure out whether Owen had recognised her or not.

We were almost having to run in order to keep up with him as he strode through one huge chamber after another.

‘And this the Green Drawing Room. A lovely view of Windsor
Great Park out of the windows, isn't it? But you've been there already, haven't you?'

That gatekeeper had probably telephoned him and warned him of our arrival – like all royal courtiers, Owen had a network of spies.

‘And this is the Crimson Drawing Room. It is a little opulent, I suppose.' Even Owen could not resist showing off. There weren't many rival monarchs left to impress, but Hollywood film stars were the next best thing.

Marilyn was stunned. ‘You mean Her Majesty actually lives here, in these rooms?!'

‘Well, she has her own private apartment where she sleeps, but this is where she entertains.'

‘Gee!' said Marilyn.

‘If it all seems a little overwhelming,' said Owen with great glee, ‘let's look at something a little smaller.' He led us along a very wide, grand corridor lined with pictures, then through a small door, and down a staircase.

‘Now, what do you think of this?' We were in a plain stone room, completely filled by an enormous dolls' house furnished and decorated like a tiny mansion. Everything imaginable was inside – beds, chairs, baths, basins, taps, table lamps, rugs, chandeliers, all accurate down to the tiniest detail, and all exactly to scale. There were cars in the garage, lawnmowers on the grass, pots and pans and food in the kitchen, even a little Singer sewing machine on the nursery table.

Marilyn clasped her hands in rapture and dropped to her knees. She looked so young and so innocent that my heart nearly broke. Owen, too, did not take his eyes off her as for nearly a minute she simply radiated joy. Then she stood up, squared her shoulders and looked straight ahead. ‘I sure never had a dolls' house like that when I was a kid. Why, most people I knew didn't even have a house that size. But I guess if you're a queen . . .'

‘And now I'm sure you must be longing to get on your way,' Owen said. One of the first things a courtier learns is how to stop
guests staying for too long. ‘But I'll tell Her Majesty you were here. I believe you are due to meet her next month.' (She was, at the Royal premiere of the film
The Battle of the River Plate
.)

‘So you do know who I am,' said Marilyn.

‘Of course I do, dear girl. And I'm very flattered that my godson brought you to see me. You're every bit as lovely as your photographs.' This wasn't quite true at that moment, I thought. Marilyn looked like a waif. ‘Now, goodbye, goodbye. I mustn't keep you,' and we were popped out of another little door, into the sunshine.

‘Wow!' said Marilyn. ‘You've got quite a godfather, Colin. Do you think he's like that with the Queen?'

‘Identical,' I said. ‘That's why she likes him.'

When we got back to the main gate, a crowd had gathered. Despite Roger's protests, the two policemen had told their friends who the visitor was, and they had told their friends, etc. At first I thought Marilyn would be nervous, but she was clearly thrilled. She must have been feeling a bit unhappy at being incognito to her public for so long.

‘Shall I be “
her
”?' she asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up on a step and struck a pose. Her hip went out, her shoulders went back, her famous bosom was thrust forward. She pouted her lips and opened her eyes very wide, and there, suddenly, was the image the whole world knew. Instinctively the audience started to applaud. Several of them had cameras, and for a few minutes Marilyn gave them all the poses they required. Considering that she had hardly any make-up on, and had not done her hair, it was an incredible performance.

But I felt distinctly uneasy. What was I doing with this Hollywood star? A moment ago I had been squeezing her hand as if she was a girlfriend. If I didn't watch out, I was going to make a complete fool of myself. I would never have dared to take liberties like that with Vivien Leigh – and I knew her much better than Marilyn, who I hardly knew at all. I found myself skulking at the edge of the group, feeling about two feet tall and wishing I was dead.

Finally Roger decided the crowd was getting too big, and gave a signal to the policemen. They pushed the onlookers to one side and made a path for us, although people were still frantically pushing forward to catch another glimpse, as if some goddess had come down from heaven into their midst.

‘Who are you?' One man challenged me as I tried to squeeze into the back of the car.

‘Oh, I'm no one,' I said. ‘I'm just working on the film with Miss Monroe.'

‘You must never say you're no one,' said Marilyn very seriously when the door had shut. ‘You are
you.
Anyway, it's me who should be asking that question. Who do I think I am? Marilyn Monroe?' And she burst into giggles. ‘I'm hungry, Colin. Where are we going to eat?'

We went to an olde-worlde tea shop in Eton High Street called The Cockpit, all black beams and inglenook fireplaces and little old ladies eating scones. I had thought of going to the Old House Hotel, which has excellent food, but someone would certainly have recognised Marilyn, and I couldn't face that again. I had just been reminded how quickly Marilyn could attract a crowd. I suppose I was getting possessive – and the truth was that I preferred being with Marilyn when she was frail, and not playing the great star. Now she looked like a schoolgirl as she tucked into a large pile of egg and cress sandwiches, and sipped coffee out of a mug. My heart went out to her again.

‘What are we going to do next, Colin? I haven't felt so hungry in ages. Boy, these sandwiches are really good. Pretty fattening too, I guess, but what the heck. I feel as if I was being taken out on a treat. Did you ever get taken here by your mom and dad? Now I can imagine exactly how you felt.'

‘Let's go and have a look at my school,' I said. ‘I haven't been back there since I was eighteen.'

‘That long, huh? But don't forget about the swim. You promised a swim.'

‘We haven't got any swimming costumes,' I protested. (Just imagine what a crowd that could involve. There'd be a riot.)

‘Oh, phooey,' said Marilyn. ‘You can wear your pants. After all, it isn't every day that you get a chance to go swimming with Marilyn Monroe.' She hooted with giggles again, making the old ladies at the nearby tables give us disapproving looks.

‘Roger,' I said, ‘there's a clothes shop across the road. Could you pop across and buy a couple of towels and a pair of swimming trunks for me? I'll pay you back for all this when we get home.'

‘If we get home in one piece,' muttered Roger. He clearly thought that swimming was a very bad idea, but he went anyway, coming back into the tea shop a few minutes later with a brown paper parcel which he put disapprovingly under his seat.

‘This is such fun,' said Marilyn. ‘I'm so excited. Let's go.'

‘A bit more culture first,' I said. ‘It will warm us up.'

‘Ooh,' said Marilyn.

Roger drove us off, and stopped by Eton School yard. We all went inside.

‘It all looks awfully old,' said Marilyn. ‘And a little bit dusty too, if I may say so.'

‘It is old,' I said. ‘Over five hundred years. That statue is of the founder of the school, King Henry the Sixth. When we were students, if we didn't work hard enough we would be beaten with a bundle of sticks. It was called being swiped, and it took place in that room over there. Our trousers would be pulled down, and we would be whipped until the blood ran down our legs. The legend was that if a boy could break away, climb the railings and touch the foot of the statue before he was caught he would get the royal pardon, and wouldn't be swiped.'

‘Gosh. I'm not sure I like this nobility stuff. Were you ever beaten, Colin?'

‘I was beaten quite often with a cane, Marilyn, but I was never swiped.'

‘Poor Colin. I had a very unhappy time as a kid, but I was never
beaten like that. Let's get out of here before they catch us. Race you back to the car,' and she ran off across the quadrangle like a gazelle, with me in pursuit.

The day had become hot and sultry. Roger had left the car in the shade, but the temperature in the back of the old Wolsey was now tropical. I showed Roger where to turn off the main road in order to get within a reasonable distance of the river. The track was more bumpy than I remembered, and Marilyn held on to me for dear life, so by the time the car stopped, we were glued together with perspiration. It was with huge relief that we dashed across the grass to the water's edge and prepared to plunge in.

‘This is the only place where there's sand to walk on,' I said. ‘That's why it's the nicest place for a dip. I've swum here, many, many times, even at the risk of being beaten. But watch out, Marilyn. The water's cold.'

‘That's just what I need!' cried Marilyn. ‘A cold bath. But why isn't there anyone else here?'

‘All the boys have gone home for the summer holidays.'

I take a long time to get undressed (or dressed, for that matter). For some reason, I always think I have to be neat. By the time I had got my new trunks on, Marilyn and I having taken separate bushes behind which to change, I had already heard the splash of Marilyn jumping into the water. When I finally emerged, her smiling blonde head was bobbing about on the surface of the Thames. As I waded in to join her, I could hear her singing to herself, and laughing out loud.

‘Oh, I'm so happy. I really feel that this is happening to me, and no one else.' She stared at me, laughed again, stared again, and then suddenly looked serious. ‘Colin,' she called, ‘I've got something in my eye. Would you help me get it out?'

Laboriously I waded towards her through the icy water, my hands held high above my head, and peered down into her huge eyes. Marilyn put out her arms, clasped them behind my head, pulled my head to hers and kissed me full on the lips.

It took about a hundredth of a second before I realised what was
going on, and then another hundredth before I realised that Marilyn was naked, at least from the waist up. The sensation of her lips and bosom pressed against mine, combined with the icy water, nearly caused me to pass out.

‘Phew! That was great,' gasped Marilyn. ‘That's the first time I've ever kissed anyone younger than me. Shall we do it again?'

‘Later, Marilyn darling.' I was in a panic. ‘What if a boat comes past? And anyway, we'll freeze. You wait here for a second while I get the towels. If you come out like that and someone sees you, we'll get arrested.'

‘Oh, nonsense,' said Marilyn, wading out with me. ‘Roger will fix it. Now, Colin, it's nothing you haven't seen before.'

It was true that I had indeed once seen her in the nude when I accidentally barged into her dressing room unannounced, but that did not mean that I could keep my eyes off her now. Her beautiful body was simply glowing with health and vitality, and she reminded me of one of those adorable young ladies who sit on clouds in paintings by Tiepolo. I reached the bank before her, grabbed one of the towels and wrapped it round as much of her as I could. Then I picked up the other one to hide the all too obvious evidence of the powerful attraction which I felt.

‘Oh, Colin,' giggled Marilyn. ‘And you an old Etonian.' She threw back her head and laughed, because that was what she had said when I had burst in on her before, and she knew it had caught me out. ‘That was great. I'm not used to being kissed, you know. The men in my life don't seem to have time. They either jump straight on top of me, or want me to jump straight on top of them.'

Roger was sleeping peacefully under a tree when we got back to the car, and he viewed our tousled appearance and wet clothes with obvious disapproval. ‘Time to go home, I'd say.'

‘I suppose it is,' said Marilyn. Suddenly she looked depressed. She got into the car and hunched down in the back seat, like a child who knows it is going to be punished.

The drive back to Parkside House took twenty minutes. I held her hand, but she didn't speak again. For some reason I felt desperately guilty, but there was nothing I could say. It was time to be grown up again.

Sure enough, when we arrived there were two cars parked in the drive, and when we went in, two men waiting in the hall. One was Milton Greene. The other was Marilyn's lawyer, Irving Stein.

‘Hello, Irving. Hello, Milt,' said Marilyn sweetly. ‘Roger can drive you home now, Colin. And if you' – looking at her lawyer and her co-producer – ‘hurt one hair of his head, or get him fired off this picture, I'll be very, very upset. Understand?'

‘Yes, Marilyn,' they both gulped.

‘
Very
upset.' And she vanished upstairs.

‘Perhaps we could just have a word with you, Mr Clark, before you leave,' said Stein.