at her feet in mock worship every time he saw her in a new dress.
Susan Mary was even more interested by the company of politicians and diplomats. There was no vulgar, personal motive in her desire to be near power. She liked seeing “history on the boil,” as Nancy Mitford put it, being present in a room where the fate of the world was being played out. She did not ask to be on the stage itself; a good place in the audience was more than enough, one from which she could see everything and be seen. For years, the British Embassy provided her a seat in the front row.
Indeed, there was much to be seen in 1946. Even as the peace treaties that were meant to put an end to the war were being negotiated, distrust grew among the Soviets, the English, and the Americans over German war reparations, elections in EasternEurope, and the United Nations’ regulation of atomic energy. On March 5, Churchill was the first to speak of the iron curtain that had fallen across Europe. Familiar with embassies, Susan Mary got to know the leading players: Ernest Bevin, who had replaced Anthony Eden as British foreign secretary; Churchill, out of office but a frequent visitor; and Vyshinsky and Molotov, the Russian ministers of foreign affairs who represented the Soviet threat. A conference on Asian affairs was held that summer at Fontainebleau; Susan Mary was introduced to, and greatly impressed by, Ho Chi Minh. Usually she behaved beautifully at these events, but one evening in September, she tripped up. Seated between Duff and Cocteau at a dinner, she mentioned the speech that had just been given by the American secretary of state, James Byrnes, concerning the need to rebuild Germany. It was quite the wrong thing to do. Ambassador Cooper held views similar to those of the French and was hostile to the idea of the German state rising anew. He exploded with rage. “Duff Cooper can be frightening,” she later concluded. 4
Still, thanks to Susan Mary, the Pattens had become a fixture in the enchanted life of the Hôtel de Charost.
A Strange Affair
I found four letters from Susan Mary awaiting me. It is a strange, imaginative affair.
5
—Duff Cooper’s diary, May 1, 1947
What does a kiss mean? The final touch to a pleasant evening, a sweet mistake, one drink too many? A trial run, a question asked,a promise given? A bolt of lightning, intense desire and fire in the veins? On February 27, 1947, after a dinner at the British Embassy, Susan Mary Patten kissed Duff Cooper, and the solid foundation of her well-ordered life shifted forever.
She had stopped loving her husband a couple of years earlier, and had taken pains not to let him notice. Gentle, kindly Bill deserved the pretense of conjugal bliss. Too many people, she felt, let the fabric of their marriages unravel out of carelessness or a misguided idea of truthfulness. There was no reason for Bill to catch cold just because she had fallen out of love. He had enough to worry about between his asthma, which had not improved in spite of treatments, and the constant threat of losing his job and being called back to the United States. It was best that he remain under the illusion that their relationship still made sense and had substance. Susan Mary had suffered a miscarriage early in their marriage, and the absence of children already made him very sad—she did not want to add to his grief.
Thus did Susan Mary show remarkable self-control in keeping up the appearance of happiness when the real thing eluded her. She would simply turn away when her husband’s eyes sought her own or when his hands ran over her unresisting body.
Life is simple when the heart is at rest; so simple that one almost forgets what love feels like. Susan Mary did not immediately understand the nature of the storm that was stirring inside her. One month after their first kiss, Duff went on vacation to Monte Carlo and Susan Mary began writing him cheerful and affectionate letters with increasing frequency. Bedridden
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