Read Audrey Hepburn: An Intimate Portrait Online
Authors: Diana Maychick
He
brought her to a beautiful, isolated farmhouse on the way to
Alban Hills.
“We
were always fine when we were alone,” Audrey recalled. “And those
first few weeks were heaven. I remember we would talk for hours and then say
nothing for the same amount of time. Time, in fact, was irrelevant. It felt all
speeded up, and then it felt like everything was now. There was no yesterday
and no tomorrow. It was only the present, and the present was perfect.”
Outside
their idyllic compound, armed guards patrolled the grounds to prevent the
locustlike swarm of paparazzi from zooming in on intimate moments. Thick
grapevines and flowering bougainvillea helped to shelter the couple from
inquiring eyes, but some reporters were able to sneak peaks and chronicle the
loving way their fingers touched and the gentle caresses of Mel’s palm on
Audrey’s head. Because of Audrey’s fame, the interest in the couple was
equivalent to the attention later paid to Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier of
“I
forgot to say that we weren’t alone at all,” Audrey said with a smile.
“We had a donkey, several doves, a bunch of cats, and a couple of dogs. I
was in heaven.”
But
the idyll was soon to be broken. Discussions were under way to find a film
project to star both husband and wife. After three weeks of bliss, the couple
returned to
where Mel finished
Le Madre.
The
trouble was, nobody really wanted the husband. But Audrey and Ferrer became a
package deal upon marriage. And if you wanted the wide-eyed pixie for one of
your films, you had to take the dour-faced Svengali, too.
Perhaps
because fame had made her even more nervous than usual, perhaps because Ferrer
was assuming more control than was appropriate, Audrey began to exhibit visible
signs of neurosis. She refused to leave the house and had trouble eating.
“The only project that interested me at all was the film version of
Ondine,” she recalled. “I was
hot on that because I loved doing the play and of course I could do this with
Mel again. Besides, it had all this great romantic wish fulfillment for me: If
I could do the movie with Mel, maybe we could re-create the wonderful times
together we had doing the play.”
Instead,
House
of Mist.
She turned it down. She was hoping now that she and her husband
could mount
Ondine
in
interest in it as a movie vehicle. She became single-minded in the desire to
resurrect the play, and now began to believe Elstree would accept it as part of
her movie commitment to the studio.
“I
just knew that if the public could see Mel at his best, as I saw him, they
would love him as much as me. Why, they would love him more! That’s what I
wanted. I was uncomfortable getting the lion’s share of attention, and I knew
if we could do a film of
Ondine,
he
would be better appreciated. It was for my benefit, too, if he were better
appreciated: I wouldn’t have to pay so much attention to him myself!”
But
by all accounts, Audrey luxuriated in indulging Ferrer’s every whim. It seemed
as if her happiness was dependent on his. In October 1954, she was in for a
brutal surprise when she traveled without him to the
up
Le Madre.
“It
was to be a charity event for Dutch war invalids. How could I refuse?” she
recalled. “But I never dreamed so many people could make so much noise. I
was petrified. In a department store in
I was almost trampled to death by thousands of screaming teenage girls.
“I
kept thinking that if Mel were with me, he could control the chaos. Isn’t that
odd? Of course, he couldn’t have done much to quiet that mob, but I invested so
much power in him as my husband. I felt he could do anything. And I guess I was
disappointed when he didn’t swoop down like Superman and save me from the
mob.”
Ever
since her father’s early abandonment, Audrey had looked for a replacement, a
man who could take care of her every need. Ferrer’s domineering ways initially
made him appear to be a likely father substitute for Audrey.
Of
course, that was not ultimately possible. But for a short time—an idyllic few
months—Audrey felt that it was. In October 1954, Audrey became pregnant and
all was right with the world.
“There
is nothing more important to me than having given birth,” she has often
said when asked about her most important accomplishment. “The thing is, I
have always felt that way. With every woman it is different, I know this. I
don’t judge.
“Or
at least I try not to. But I truly cannot imagine anything—anything at
all—being more important in a woman’s life than the baby she raises. I’m sure
I’m very narrow-minded here; I know there are millions of women—childless and
not—who have other priorities. But for me, it was never a choice. I wanted to
have babies more than anything else, and I had so much difficulty having
them.”
Their
Christmas season that year was one of the most tranquil holidays Audrey
ever
spent. It was reported in the newspapers
that they gave each other matching blue and yellow sweaters.
“That was true,” Audrey said. “ What we
didn’t reveal is that we had the
tiniest little baby sweater knitted to match ours. It
finally felt like the two of us were becoming a family.
Chapter 15
In
the summer of 1954, when Carlo Ponti and Dino de Laurentüs asked Audrey to
star in their $6 million epic film version of Tolstoy’s
War and Peace,
she requested that Ferrer be given a part.
Her
desire to help her husband was not unusual, but the anxiety which accompanied
it certainly was. She made it clear she wouldn’t even consider taking the role
of Natasha unless Ferrer costarred with her. Just a year into her marriage,
Audrey was becoming distraught over trying to boost her husband’s sagging ego
and preserve their tenuous connection.
She
hemmed and hawed at length before agreeing to do the film. In October, when she
realized she was pregnant, she seriously thought about canceling her
commitment, but her ironclad rule about professionalism in the face of duty in
a field rife with broken promises helped her to stick to her agreement.
“I
wanted Audrey right from the start,” said Dino de Laurentüs. “I felt
her girlish charm and wide-eyed naivete would do much to enhance the character
of Natasha. I also thought that Mel would be wonderful. He had a brooding
quality that gave everything he did that added dimension of soulfulness. I thought
it would be perfect. But when Audrey announced she was pregnant, I had this
sinking feeling in my gut. By the time we were scheduled to begin filming, she
would begin showing. I was sure of that, no matter how skinny she was. And my
concept of Natasha was completely childlike; I couldn’t have any womanly
curves. I felt in an awful position. I didn’t know what to do.
“Audrey
would come over sometimes, and my kids would just flock to her, and she to
them. It was astounding, honestly, how she communicated with even the littlest
among them. All this time, I knew she was finally letting go a little, finally
ready to be a little more spontaneous. And it was all because of the prospect
of having a child. She was practicing with my children, and she was doing a wonderful
job. But I still didn’t know what I was going to do about
War and Peace.
I needed an overload of virginity—the
quintessential innocent—for the girl who was to wander among Napoleon’s
troops, and all of that had to show in her physical innocence.”