and curiosity melted them. Often, even brief encounters would include the conversational gambit “Do you like America?” which for the couple epitomized the contrast between the two nations. “It would never occur to us to ask a foreigner if he liked England,” said Decca. “Because if he did, so what? And if he didn’t there would be nothing you could do about it.” Still, like other immigrants, she discovered America to be a land of opportunity and consolation. It helped to be adaptable, and she had that gift.
Describing those early days in the United States, Decca saw herself as a carefree cosmopolite, careening from one funny episode to another. Photographs of the time show off her beautiful complexion and eyes. She was always nicely dressed, well coiffed, and merry again like the mischievous child she had once been. Grief didn’t play an overt role in her New York character. She was the first to find a job (as a salesclerk in a fancy dress shop), and the balance of power in the couple’s relationship shifted accordingly.
The one subject that always remained taboo between Decca and Esmond was Unity. Decca couldn’t discuss her anxiety regarding Unity’s activities in the months leading up to the war. She despaired when she heard that her sister had ignored all advice to leave Berlin and gone apartment hunting.
(Unity would soon move into a flat vacated by a Jewish family.) For Decca, her “Boud” was a problem like no other. Decca reflected that “perversely, and although I hated everything she stood for, she was easily my favorite sister.” Unity said she hated Esmond as much as he hated her, but made overtures in her own delusional way: “My attitude toward Esmond is as follows—and I rather expect his to me to be the same. I naturally wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if it was necessary for my cause, and I should expect him to do the same to me, but in the meantime I don’t see why we shouldn’t be quite good friends.”
On September 3, in Munich, once Unity had recognized that war between Britain and Germany was certain, she shot herself in the head and survived. She had written suicide notes (one note had proclaimed her special love for Decca), along with instructions to be buried with a signed photograph of Adolf Hitler. Decca wouldn’t hear this news until two months after the fact. On September 6, Decca wrote to her mother: “I see that in the papers Bobo is in Germany, do tell me if you have any news of her & please send her address as soon as you can so I can write to her. Is she going to stay there?”
ESMOND HAD HOPED to find work in advertising, but despite his celebrity, nothing clicked. They relied on their contacts for little luxuries. Decca was stunned by the New York City heat and delighted to accept invitations to the country estates of millionaires like Mrs. Murray Crane. In her letters, Decca marveled that Mrs. Crane has “fine wirenetting around their windows to keep out moths & slow flies.”
The very rich and very Republican Washington Post publisher, Eugene Meyer, and his wife, Agnes, lived in “a sort of Winston Churchill-ish atmosphere of other bigshots.” Meyer himself, according to Esmond, was “a terrific Washington Big-shot w. an aura of cigars, badly sequenced liquors and huge stomached business friends.” He and Meyer found themselves simpatico. They circled one another, each calculating how money might be made from the other’s notoriety. Meyer’s soon-to-be-married daughter Katharine
would herself become a good friend of Decca’s. Eventually “Kay,” a committed Democrat, would introduce the couple to the young and idealistic New Deal community of Washington, D.C.
In March, after a month’s stay at the Shelton Hotel, the Romillys moved to their own small apartment on Christopher Street. Greenwich Village seemed a theater of wonders where Decca found shops full of goods and a store window that Dalí decorated. Soon they adopted a stray cat that
Describing those early days in the United States, Decca saw herself as a carefree cosmopolite, careening from one funny episode to another. Photographs of the time show off her beautiful complexion and eyes. She was always nicely dressed, well coiffed, and merry again like the mischievous child she had once been. Grief didn’t play an overt role in her New York character. She was the first to find a job (as a salesclerk in a fancy dress shop), and the balance of power in the couple’s relationship shifted accordingly.
The one subject that always remained taboo between Decca and Esmond was Unity. Decca couldn’t discuss her anxiety regarding Unity’s activities in the months leading up to the war. She despaired when she heard that her sister had ignored all advice to leave Berlin and gone apartment hunting.
(Unity would soon move into a flat vacated by a Jewish family.) For Decca, her “Boud” was a problem like no other. Decca reflected that “perversely, and although I hated everything she stood for, she was easily my favorite sister.” Unity said she hated Esmond as much as he hated her, but made overtures in her own delusional way: “My attitude toward Esmond is as follows—and I rather expect his to me to be the same. I naturally wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if it was necessary for my cause, and I should expect him to do the same to me, but in the meantime I don’t see why we shouldn’t be quite good friends.”
On September 3, in Munich, once Unity had recognized that war between Britain and Germany was certain, she shot herself in the head and survived. She had written suicide notes (one note had proclaimed her special love for Decca), along with instructions to be buried with a signed photograph of Adolf Hitler. Decca wouldn’t hear this news until two months after the fact. On September 6, Decca wrote to her mother: “I see that in the papers Bobo is in Germany, do tell me if you have any news of her & please send her address as soon as you can so I can write to her. Is she going to stay there?”
ESMOND HAD HOPED to find work in advertising, but despite his celebrity, nothing clicked. They relied on their contacts for little luxuries. Decca was stunned by the New York City heat and delighted to accept invitations to the country estates of millionaires like Mrs. Murray Crane. In her letters, Decca marveled that Mrs. Crane has “fine wirenetting around their windows to keep out moths & slow flies.”
The very rich and very Republican Washington Post publisher, Eugene Meyer, and his wife, Agnes, lived in “a sort of Winston Churchill-ish atmosphere of other bigshots.” Meyer himself, according to Esmond, was “a terrific Washington Big-shot w. an aura of cigars, badly sequenced liquors and huge stomached business friends.” He and Meyer found themselves simpatico. They circled one another, each calculating how money might be made from the other’s notoriety. Meyer’s soon-to-be-married daughter Katharine
would herself become a good friend of Decca’s. Eventually “Kay,” a committed Democrat, would introduce the couple to the young and idealistic New Deal community of Washington, D.C.
In March, after a month’s stay at the Shelton Hotel, the Romillys moved to their own small apartment on Christopher Street. Greenwich Village seemed a theater of wonders where Decca found shops full of goods and a store window that Dalí decorated. Soon they adopted a stray cat that
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