Audrey Hepburn: An Intimate Portrait (20 page)

“I
began to question everything: my love for my mother, for Mel. I began to wonder
why I took up acting in the first place. It seemed I had spent my whole life
trying to please other people, without having a clue as to what I wanted. Lying
there on those plump pillows, I realized I had a lot to figure out.”

One
area in which she felt completely out of control was her lack of appetite.
Although it appears obvious in our disease-obsessed era that Audrey suffered
from a form of anorexia nervosa, during the 1950s eating disorders were not
often diagnosed.

But
the nonexistence of a desire to eat was characteristic of anorexia, a
multidetermined and relentless drive to thinness. The psychological and
endocrinological disease centers on denial—of hunger, thinness, and
fatigue—and Audrey certainly exhibited these tendencies at various stages of
her life. In
Switzerland
,
forced to endure complete bed rest, she had at least begun to accept the fact
that something was wrong with her.

Before
she got to the secluded haven of Burgenstock, a serene mountaintop overlooking
Lake
of
Lucerne
, Audrey made the mistake of
choosing the trendy Palace Hotel in Gstaad, the sophisticated enclave of winter
sports.

“Somebody
got the bright idea that because I was a movie star, I would need to be
surrounded by flashy types, even if I was confined to my bedroom,” Audrey
recalled. “That’s why Gstaad was recommended. And some other misguided
sorts plastered the town with posters from
Roman
Holiday
and started a rumor that I was going to attend a fancy dinner in my
honor.

“Dinner?
I could barely keep down a little soup. Plus, I developed a kind of asthma,
which made my breathing labored, so there was absolutely no way I could even
talk to anyone, let alone give a little speech. I was in a bad way on every
front, and I left Gstaad after a miserable week.”

But
in Burgenstock, perched atop
Lake
of
Lucerne
, the healing
powers of fresh air and serene scenery began to work their magic on this
pathetically skinny creature.

At
the Villa Bethiana, the small chalet Audrey rented primarily because it had
wonderful heating, she soon began to rally outdoors in the sunshine, finally
eating enough to be able to play a few sets of tennis and a few rounds of golf.
Here enthusiasm for living gradually returned with her appetite, and soon she
was counting the days until she could see her “beloved Mel” again. It
rained a lot while she was waiting, and the weather seemed to cleanse her of
any lingering doubts she had about the viability of her love for him.

Ferrer
was nearby in
Italy
,
filming
Le Madre
in
Rome
, uncertain about what the outcome of his
separation from Audrey would be. On his thirty-seventh birthday in August,
however, Audrey made clear that she still wanted him, despite the physical and
emotional pain he had caused by trying to control her life. She sent him a
platinum watch to honor the occasion, inscribed with the sentiment: “Mad
about the man.”

Her
mother believed Audrey was truly mad to have fallen for Ferrer. In her view, he
was nothing more than a peculiar-looking, balding, difficult, egomaniacal actor
with three failed marriages under his belt and a sinking career on his hands.
But doctors had banished the Baroness from
Switzerland
while Audrey was
recuperating, so she knew nothing of their reignited courtship.

She
also had no idea that Ferrer would fly to Audrey’s side the moment he received
her present. But he did. And in the middle of the peaceful garden behind Villa
Bethiana, Ferrer proposed to Audrey.

She
accepted immediately. “But I didn’t tell my mother,” Audrey recalled.
“I knew it was my life and all that, but I still couldn’t risk hurting
her.”

The
couple planned a quiet, almost secret wedding, in part to protect the Baroness
from the news that would so upset her. But she found out anyway, and
reluctantly flew from
London
to
Switzerland
to witness the marriage.

Audrey
helped to decorate the thirteenth-century chapel near Burgenstock with white
carnations and lilies of the valley, her favorite flower. She planned to wear a
very simple, very schoolgirlish Pierre Balmain organdy dress with a crown of
white roses in her short hair. “I wanted to emphasize purity and
devotion,” she recalled.

Ferrer,
now on location in
Sardinia
for
Le Madre, flew in just in time for the
ceremony. Ferrer’s sister Julia flew in to be a bridesmaid, and English
diplomat Sir Neville Bland, former ambassador to the
Netherlands
, gave the bride away.

Among
the other guests were two of Ferrer’s children, Pepa and Mark, as well as
Paramount
‘s
London
chief, Richard
Mealand.

“I
must say it was the happiest day of my life,” Audrey recalled. “I
guess the hopes and dreams that are pinned on a first marriage are enormous,
but so is the glorious anticipation. Marriage with Mel, and the possibility of
our having a family, was the most important thing in my life. If we didn’t need
my income, I would have quit the movies the day we got married.”

The
happy couple and a few of their friends and family, including Rev. Maurice
Eindiguer, the mesmerizing Protestant minister who married them and spoke about
the sanctity of holy matrimony, retreated to a nearby club for a small party of
champagne and cake.

The
press had by this time gotten word of the ceremony, and several reporters and
photographers, at least two of them from the Reuters international wire
service, descended upon Burgenstock just as the bride and groom were said to be
leaving for a short honeymoon in an undisclosed Italian town.

In
fact, they stayed right where they were, holing up nearby in a magnificent
chalet owned by hotelier Fritz Frey. While they wrote postcards to friends
unable to attend, those same friends,, upon hearing of the nuptials, shook
their heads in disbelief that two such incompatible people would actually get
hitched. “We were different,” Audrey recalled. “Even I could
admit that then. But we were in love. That was what counted. That was what
could make everything else right.”

But
celebrity intruded on the early stages of their marriage, and it only came
knocking on one of their doors. A quiet train ride from
Switzerland
to
Italy
did not
prepare them for the hordes of photographers and fans who bombarded Audrey at
the
Rome
station. As much as Ferrer wanted to protect his bride, he also needed to
protect his own shattered ego from the lack of attention he was receiving.

Besides
cementing his relationship with Audrey, the marriage had turned him in the eyes
of the public into “Mr. Hepburn.” The public expected him to be
adoring of his wife, if not fawning. And Ferrer could not be. His own
self-esteem was too precarious.