the following afternoon, when he and Idina drove down to Wimbledon to play tennis they “found Avie and Barbie there.”
And so it went on. On Sunday Barbie arrived shortly after breakfast for a lift to the Maidenhead Boat Club, where she slipped herself into Euan and Idina’s punt. When the boats stopped for tea, Idina succeeded in swapping Barbie for one of her own girlfriends. But the next day, Euan’s last in London, Barbie came back to tea at Connaught Place with Avie, and Euan asked both girls to say good-bye to him over lunch the next day. They came. By the time they went back to their nursing home, Idina had less than an hour with him left.
But Idina had not yet lost Euan. When he returned to France he continued to write at length, if marginally less frequently than before. And, ten weeks and several dozen scribbled letters later, he was given someParis leave. On Friday, 24 August, Idina crossed the Channel to meet him. After the near-constant presence of her younger sister’s eager single female friends in London, Paris offered Idina a chance to spend some time alone with her husband.
However, when Idina reached the Ritz she discovered that she and Euan would not be alone after all. Instead of a flock of single girls, wings flapping, beaks at the ready, she found Stewart Menzies—Euan’s almost ever-present and too adoring friend. Stewart and Euan were bonded by the Life Guards and their Scots blood. Away from each other for too long, one would twitch, make his way to the nearest telephone, and track the other down. Stewart could be found through GHQ. And GHQ could always find Euan for Stewart. If Euan needed a hard-to-find car ride, a pass, a place for the night, he called Stewart. And Stewart provided. Now, having not seen Euan for several weeks, Stewart had come to Paris to meet him.
Stewart Menzies, future spy chief and the best man at Idina and Euan’s wedding
Idina dined with Stewart in the hotel while waiting for Euan to arrive.
The following morning Idina managed to take her husband out alone and they were back as they had been six months earlier, only this time baking, not freezing, as they trotted around the streets, the wide brim of Idina’s sun hat waving as they strutted along. They lunched at the Ritz, spent the afternoon walking again, in the Bois de Boulogne. That night they went back to the Café de Paris. Stewart, however, came too. The three of them went on to a show and back to the hotel. Idina and Euan went up to their room. Stewart followed them. And, frustratingly for Idina, he stayed—for hours. He “talked until about 1 am!” wrote Euan, as if his friend’s prolonged company was almost too much even for him.
Eventually Stewart left. But that night Euan fell sick. The followingmorning he was still unwell. “Felt very ill,” he wrote the next day; “have got poisoned by something.” He spent the morning in bed but a lunch party—irresistible to Euan—beckoned. Shortly after noon he and Idina were heading south to Versailles for lunch and on to the tennis club at St. Cloud. Euan’s illness receded: “We had some excellent tennis.” They came back for dinner in the hotel, for which Stewart joined them. This time, at least, he did not follow them upstairs, but by the time Idina and Euan reached their room Euan was again as white as a sheet: “another bad night,” he wrote.
Idina was struggling to find time alone with her husband. But the next day, at last, Stewart left and they went out shopping. They wandered off to Callot’s, whose shelves had barely improved, and then to a jeweler’s. Idina led Euan in. She gazed, asked, tried, admired—and they left. They dined à deux at Larue, went on to the nude show at the Mayol, and went straight back to the hotel.
When Euan sat up to write his diary the next morning, Idina again tugged it from him. Here in Paris she was going to make the most of the proximity of living together in just one room. And here, as she wrote,
And so it went on. On Sunday Barbie arrived shortly after breakfast for a lift to the Maidenhead Boat Club, where she slipped herself into Euan and Idina’s punt. When the boats stopped for tea, Idina succeeded in swapping Barbie for one of her own girlfriends. But the next day, Euan’s last in London, Barbie came back to tea at Connaught Place with Avie, and Euan asked both girls to say good-bye to him over lunch the next day. They came. By the time they went back to their nursing home, Idina had less than an hour with him left.
But Idina had not yet lost Euan. When he returned to France he continued to write at length, if marginally less frequently than before. And, ten weeks and several dozen scribbled letters later, he was given someParis leave. On Friday, 24 August, Idina crossed the Channel to meet him. After the near-constant presence of her younger sister’s eager single female friends in London, Paris offered Idina a chance to spend some time alone with her husband.
However, when Idina reached the Ritz she discovered that she and Euan would not be alone after all. Instead of a flock of single girls, wings flapping, beaks at the ready, she found Stewart Menzies—Euan’s almost ever-present and too adoring friend. Stewart and Euan were bonded by the Life Guards and their Scots blood. Away from each other for too long, one would twitch, make his way to the nearest telephone, and track the other down. Stewart could be found through GHQ. And GHQ could always find Euan for Stewart. If Euan needed a hard-to-find car ride, a pass, a place for the night, he called Stewart. And Stewart provided. Now, having not seen Euan for several weeks, Stewart had come to Paris to meet him.
Stewart Menzies, future spy chief and the best man at Idina and Euan’s wedding
Idina dined with Stewart in the hotel while waiting for Euan to arrive.
The following morning Idina managed to take her husband out alone and they were back as they had been six months earlier, only this time baking, not freezing, as they trotted around the streets, the wide brim of Idina’s sun hat waving as they strutted along. They lunched at the Ritz, spent the afternoon walking again, in the Bois de Boulogne. That night they went back to the Café de Paris. Stewart, however, came too. The three of them went on to a show and back to the hotel. Idina and Euan went up to their room. Stewart followed them. And, frustratingly for Idina, he stayed—for hours. He “talked until about 1 am!” wrote Euan, as if his friend’s prolonged company was almost too much even for him.
Eventually Stewart left. But that night Euan fell sick. The followingmorning he was still unwell. “Felt very ill,” he wrote the next day; “have got poisoned by something.” He spent the morning in bed but a lunch party—irresistible to Euan—beckoned. Shortly after noon he and Idina were heading south to Versailles for lunch and on to the tennis club at St. Cloud. Euan’s illness receded: “We had some excellent tennis.” They came back for dinner in the hotel, for which Stewart joined them. This time, at least, he did not follow them upstairs, but by the time Idina and Euan reached their room Euan was again as white as a sheet: “another bad night,” he wrote.
Idina was struggling to find time alone with her husband. But the next day, at last, Stewart left and they went out shopping. They wandered off to Callot’s, whose shelves had barely improved, and then to a jeweler’s. Idina led Euan in. She gazed, asked, tried, admired—and they left. They dined à deux at Larue, went on to the nude show at the Mayol, and went straight back to the hotel.
When Euan sat up to write his diary the next morning, Idina again tugged it from him. Here in Paris she was going to make the most of the proximity of living together in just one room. And here, as she wrote,
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