Nancy Mitford

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difference to Nancy, however. Usually he was to be found at the Savile Club, and he would ask me not to tell Nancy that he was in London. Soon after finishing
The Pursuit of Love
in May 1945, Nancy informed her mother: ‘Peter has rushed off to Transport House to see about a constituency, egged on by me, as candidates get 90 coupons. I fear it will be no good though, married to a Mitford!’
    Although she felt ‘a pudding of tiredness’ she hoped to go to Paris in August. As a result of this fatigue she wrote from Heywood Hill’s: ‘What do you think I did? I decided not to come here Saturday morning as I was really tired, and forgot to lock the door on Friday so the shop was full of wandering people trying to buy books from each other. Wasn’t it a nightmare? By the mercy of Providence Heywood was passing through London and happened to look in. He wasn’t best pleased and I don’t blame him. The fact is I’m too tired but it’s no excuse for such dottiness.’ In the meantime Peter was skipping about canvassing for Mason Macfarlane. ‘Isn’t it typical, the Christian names of our candidates are Mason, Brendan, Clifford and Wegg. Why aren’t politicians ever called Tom, Dick or Harry?’
    Despite her feminine volubility, Nancy was too proud to speak of her troubles, yet they were only too real. It was far from pleasant to think of her sister Diana (Lady Mosley) in prison, andof another sister Unity still suffering from the trauma of near suicide, her mind confused by divided loyalties. And when Diana was released from captivity Nancy had to cope with a siege of inquisitive journalists. The shop rang continually with their telephone calls which she and Mollie took turns to answer. Fortunately the beautiful Diana had an overflowing share of the Mitford
esprit de corps
. As her husband relates in his autobiography: 1 ‘After telling me one day about the treatment of the women in the early days by one or two old harpies in a company of wardresses… she remarked that she yet felt she had an advantage over them: “It was still lovely to wake up in the morning and feel one was lovely
one
”—it went straight into one of Nancy Mitford’s books.’ The sisters were reunited with screams of delight. But the death of their brave and handsome brother Tom, who was killed in Burma, was a deep and lasting sorrow, though Nancy tried to console herself with the thought that he had thoroughly enjoyed his life. All his friends had basked in the radiance of his intensely musical personality.
    Peter’s escapades had become painfully embarrassing. He spent whatever money they scraped together (or rather what Nancy scraped) and he was notoriously unfaithful. After one of his nocturnal rackets he would peal the bell of their little house in Blomfield Road at 5 a.m. in a state of maudlin intoxication and undress, without money to defray an exorbitant taxi fare. Nancy either kept such incidents to herself or laughed them off. She was far too reserved to admit her essential loneliness with Peter. She could forget it in Heywood Hill’s shop which had become a rallying point of her friends in uniform or mufti who happened to be in London. And in the meantime the Free French had fired her imagination with a growing love of France. I suspect she was already looking forward to pastures new when she embarked on her semi- autobiographical novel,
The Pursuit of
Love. This begins in the bosom of her family and ends with a glowing Parisian romance. Fabrice, duc de Sauveterre, is an embodiment of the gallant Free Frenchman who had captivated her mind and coloured her future outlook. Fabrice, the hero of the Resistance, was caught by the Gestapo and shot but Nancy revived him in her future novels and historical biographies. She remained on friendly terms with Peter Rodd, but her annoyance was noticeable on the rare occasions he invaded the bookshop.
    That Peter could show a chivalrous side to other women has been confirmed by a lady who had a

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