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Like all these things,
when one looks and works towards something for so long
the achievement of it becomes almost casual. One is
drained from the effort. Not everyone danced in the
streets on V.E. Day. But we did have a celebration,
numbed and subdued as we were. It was a simple party:
dinner in a West End restaurant with my friend Kenneth
More and his wife Angela Douglas. They too, had waited
to marry, and they had made it only a few weeks before
us. I hope it's not going to be an omen of the rest
of our life together, but on the night before our wedding
I took Luisa to the premiere of Richard Attenborough's
"Oh What A Lovely War". |
After all, Luisa is Italian
and with all the fiery Latin temperament. But she also knows
how to be a good girl when I put my foot down. The first
time I had occasion to show who was boss was when we set
up home in England. For Sunday lunch she had the gall to
dish me up with spaghetti. "Look, dear", I said
with a dangerous firmness I didn't know I had in me, "I'll
eat spaghetti for breakfast, lunch, tea and supper for six-and-half
days a week if you like. But in England, Sunday lunch means
roast beef or roast lamb or seven roast chicken. Do I make
myself clear?" "Yes, dear" she said startled.
"Of course, darling," sha added demurely. I haven't
eaten spaghetti on Sundays ever since. Until she reads this,
I suppose...
After we left the premiere
Luisa went home to Stanmore whith her sister Lucia and I
went out with the boys, as they say. It's wasn't a raving
stag night at all. We just felt it would be nice to have
a traditional night apart before the wedding. Maybe I'm
lying: maybe it was an enormous stag night after all. I
can still recall the morning's hangover, but I was still
at Caxton Hall 10 minutes early. Luisa, held up in the traffic
(she says), was 12 minutes late. When she got there she
had trouble getting into the place for guests and photographers.
I even asked Angela Douglas to go out and find her. It seemed
to me that the register office was full of sobbing women.
As a former actress Luisa was a total flop. She fluffed
her lines. Just like a woman. At the point where she had
to say:"... to be my lawfully wedded husband"
she broke down. After all that time to actually be saying
the words was too much for her. She tried again and said:
"to be my awfully wedded husband". A wave of sniffing
and sobbing sailed over us from the guests - even from some
of the fellows. Then the registrar, a nice chap called Donald
Borham smiled and said: "Don't worry, I've been at
other theatrical weddings." I was simply numb through
the whole thing. It was the best moment of my life. Signing
the register felt to me more dramatic than any of the stuff
I had been sending up for years. Signing my biggest contract
was like giving an autograph compared to it. The wedding
luncheon at the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington, had about
120 guests and they were all fully aware of what it meant
to us. Apart from Kenny and Angela, there were friends like
Warren Mitchell, Sid James, Peter Haig, Dickie Attenborough,
Lionel Blair. Peter Sellers couldn't be there, so he sent
magnums of champagne instead. So many of those friends had
lived through the various dramas. If there was a sober seat
there I didn't notice it.
But the most touching moment
of the day came for me at home that evening when the wedding
came on television newsreel in glorious colour. The way
things were had already been explained to Deborah and Geoffrey.
But when Deborah actually saw the wedding on film she burst
into tears. "What's the matter, darling", I said
comforting her. In the end it came out; "I wanted to
marry you, Daddy", she said through the sobs. For our
honeymoon - one of our many honeymoons - both before and
after - we went to Cannes for the Film Festival. We didn't
take the children. We thought the Saint on honeymoon with
two children would send the Continental press wild with
delight. We didn't give them the opportunity. When we got
back one or two pictures deals I had planned fell apart
and it was a restless six months before I went back to work.
This was for "The Man Who Haunted Himself". This
was a dual role, damned hard work, and director Basil Dearden
managed to squeeze out of me the best performance of my
career. During the making of it I developed extraordinary
back pains and had to go to an osteopath. He said I was
living under some kind of emotional stress. He was right.
I was living the part 12 hours a day in the studio and it
was physically affecting me.
Then along came Harry Salzman
with the most intriguing proposition. For me to play Bond
in his next 007 film. Harry and his wife Jacqueline are
probably two of our closest friends. But I had already promised
Sir Lew I would do The Persuaders! Lew is one of
those old-fashioned show business people who don't exist
in great quantities these days. His word is as good as his
signature on the contract. For me to let Lew down would
be like kicking my favourite uncle. In fact, I even call
him Uncle.
