But her cousin and new friend could not prevent the inevitable, and life for Wallis soon became a nearly unbearable nightmare. Win spent entire days sulking in silence. When he did talk, it was most often to accuse Wallis of flirting with his fellow officers or of deliberately ignoring him. His tirades, induced by his increasing intake of alcohol, soon became violent. He often locked Wallis in the bathroom for hours at a time, leaving her trapped in a room from which she could not escape while he disappeared to drink. Sometimes this punishment stretched into the evening and night, and Wallis, terrified and without food, could do nothing. She grew to fear being left alone with him.
17
During one terrifying outburst, he left her lying on the bed and forced her to watch while he proceeded to smash all the photographs of her family on the floor.
18
At first, Wallis excused her husband’s increasingly erratic behavior: He was under too much pressure at his job; he felt guilty over the death of his brother in the war; he felt that his talents were wasted as an instructor; she herself had done something wrong, paid too much attention to one of his friends or not enough to Win. When Win was sober and in good humor, he was the same man Wallis had been infatuated with in Pensacola: still dashing, if a bit aged; still sleek in his uniform, if a bit fuller around the middle. But as incident followed upon incident, it became more difficult for Wallis to rationalize her discomfort and growing fear.
In February 1920, Win was placed in charge of a detachment of aviators training at March Field in Riverside, California. He duly packed up his bags and set off, leaving Wallis behind by mutual agreement. She had grown weary of her life; the petty annoyances which might have ordinarily faded into the background in happier times haunted her. She longed to break free of the incessant moves, military housing, and tiresome struggles. More than anything else, she was overwhelmed by the uncertainty, the terrible dread, which filled her days and nights as she wondered if Win would come home and if he did, what punishment might be meted out to her for some presumed infraction.
19
He returned on April 7, 1920, when Edward, Prince of Wales, visited San Diego. The Prince arrived with his cousin, Lord Louis Mountbatten, aboard the cruiser HMS
Renown,
on their way to Australia. William E. Stephens, governor of California, L. J. Wilde, mayor of San Diego, and dozens of local and military officials headed the welcoming party. There was an official navy luncheon aboard the battleship New Mexico, and although Corinne and Henry Mustin were on the guest list, neither Win nor Wallis was included due to limited space. The Prince spent the afternoon greeting people and being paraded through the streets of the city to San Diego Stadium, where he gave a speech before some twenty-five thousand people. But Wallis and Win, along with a thousand others, did receive invitations to the Mayoral Ball at Hotel del Coronado that evening. The great redwood-paneled ballroom was hung with American, British, and California state flags, and the band from the USS
New Mexico
played current hits as the men in their tuxedos and uniforms and the ladies in filmy, shapeless gowns danced the night away. The Spencers did not attend the banquet with the Prince that followed, however, and the royal party left San Diego that evening, Wallis having only glimpsed from a distance the man who would one day become her third husband.
Throughout that spring, Win occasionally returned to San Diego. There were momentary flashes of happiness, followed inevitably by drinking binges and psychological violence against his wife. Wallis was confused, wondering what she herself had done to warrant such treatment. Still, she continued to pretend that all was well when her mother came to visit. Alice seemed to sense that something was terribly wrong in the Spencer household, but she did not say a word to her daughter or son-in-law.
20
Even if she had wanted to leave Win, Wallis had nowhere to run. She had no money, no prospects, no marketable abilities. She was all too aware of the fate suffered by her mother, abandoned by her family and left to beg for monthly stipends. With some relief, she learned in November 1920 that Win had received orders calling him back to Pensacola for a tour of duty as senior flight instructor. After discussing the situation, both Wallis and Win agreed that she would stay in San Diego. Wallis was not at all convinced that she was making the right decision, but she needed more time away from Win to consider their future together.
Six months passed before Win received word that he had been promoted assistant to Rear Adm. William Moffett in the U.S. Department of the Navy in Washington, D.C. He soon wrote to her saying he had stopped drinking and asked her to join him. Wallis pondered her decision. She had no money and nowhere to go. This was perhaps the last chance to save her marriage, and she knew how her family would turn on her if she admitted failure. Convinced at last that she had no other choice, Wallis packed her luggage and boarded a train for the nation’s capital.
21
The Spencers took a small flat in a residential hotel called the Brighton on California Street. At first, everything went smoothly, and Wallis was certain that Win had finally overcome his personal demons. Soon enough, however, the new job in Washington, D.C., did not work out as well as Wallis had hoped. Win grew bored with his responsibilities and again began to drink heavily. Feeling himself powerless to change his position at work, Win became a tyrant at home.
If San Diego had been a time of uncomfortable silences, periodic embarrassments, and emotional abuse, Washington, D.C., reached entirely new levels of mistreatment. Win would arrive home late in the evening and begin to drink; by midnight, when the hotel’s other residents had retired for the evening, the nightly war between the Spencers would begin. Wallis tried to hide away in a corner, reading or writing, hoping that her husband would ignore her. But Win would inevitably charge through the flat, screaming at the top of his lungs, accusing his wife of not supporting him, of being unfaithful, of conspiring with officials in the navy to keep him from being promoted. She later confessed to a friend that the abuse turned physical, with frequent kicks and blows.
22
As she cowered, Wallis could hear the sounds of doors opening and closing down the corridors as people were roused from their sleep. By the time Win began to smash furniture, a representative of the management would usually show up.
23
One Sunday afternoon, without any warning, he grabbed her, dragged her screaming through the apartment, roughly pushed her into the bathroom, and locked the door. Nothing but silence filled the following hours, and Wallis had absolutely no idea if Win lay beyond the door, simply passed out from too much drink, or if he had left the apartment altogether. She tried working loose the screws on the bathroom door with a nail file but could not get them to budge. As night fell, her sense of panic increased. “I wanted desperately to call for help,” she later wrote, “but held myself in check. Our situation was already distressing enough without my drawing attention to so sordid an episode.” Finally, she heard the key in the lock turn, followed by further silence. After several hours, she got up enough courage to open the door herself and found Win passed out on their bed. Wallis lay down on the sofa in the living room, “endlessly reviewing the events that had led to my personal catastrophe. Of only one thing I was certain: I had somehow become the symbol of Win’s frustrations and to leave matters as they were going could only result in the final destruction of his career and of my life along with his. There was no solution but to leave him.”
24
The next morning, Win left for work without a word, and Wallis slipped from the apartment, hurrying to her mother’s house across town.
25
Without divulging too many intimate details, Wallis carefully broke the news of her decision to her mother. Alice was visibly upset by the troubles in her daughter’s marriage but absolutely horrified when Wallis suggested divorce. Never before had there been a divorce among the Warfields or Montagues, and Alice was not about to let her daughter become the first member of either family to make what she considered a shameful and terrible mistake.
26
Alice was adamant, warning that divorce might appear to be the easiest solution but would likely lead to unforeseen difficulties in the future. None of the family, she reminded Wallis, would support her decision, nor would they be willing to help her financially. The meeting with Wallis’s aunt Bessie went no better. She urged Wallis to try again; to take a holiday by herself or, if she was determined, to settle for a legal separation.
27
No one in her family was very sympathetic to Wallis’s plight. “You know perfectly well you just married him out of curiosity,” her cousin Lelia declared at one point.
28
Wallis, however, could not be so easily dissuaded. Although she returned to Win that evening, they did not speak, and he had gone again by the time she woke the next morning. She made the inevitable call upon her uncle Solomon at his office in Baltimore, confessing the humiliation she had endured and her own fear of her husband. As soon as she mentioned the purpose of her visit, however, he exploded. “I won’t let you bring this disgrace upon us!” he bellowed. “What will the people of Baltimore think?” Although his attitude softened as the interview progressed, Solomon was still a formidable influence; by the end of the visit, Wallis had reluctantly agreed to return to Win.
29
For several weeks, Wallis lived an eerie charade, and Win, finally aware that his marriage was breaking apart, made a halfhearted attempt at altering his behavior. Inevitably, though, he could not control his frustration and anger and began the cycle of verbal and physical abuse once again. This time, Wallis, genuinely fearing for her safety, made up her mind and fled.
30
Wallis left Win that evening, moving in temporarily with her mother. She spent the next few days reluctantly informing her relatives, apologizing for any pain caused by her actions. Uncle Solomon wrote her a letter, saying that if she proceeded, no financial assistance would be forthcoming from the Warfields should she fall upon hard times.
31
Wallis knew only too well the realities she faced. Alice, working as a paid hostess at the Chevy Chase Club in Washington, D.C., had no money and could offer her daughter little except a sofa on which to sleep. The shock of her announcement had driven an instant wedge between Wallis and her family; not even Aunt Bessie approved of her decision. But Wallis had made up her mind: she would not return to Win. Her decision was made a little easier in February 1922 when Win was commissioned captain of a gunboat and sent to Hong Kong. From this distance, he wrote Wallis constantly, thoughtfully enclosing each month $225 from his pay.
32
In an effort to forget her troubles, Wallis flung herself into the social life of Washington, D.C. She found the capital filled with exciting, vibrant men and women: diplomats, reporters, politicians and their wives, lawyers, and officials in the armed forces. Fortunately for Wallis, it was the Roaring Twenties, and the bathtub gin, reckless jazz, and thirst for pleasure provided exactly the escape for which she was searching. Her wit and charm made her extremely popular, and she was invited to join the famous Soixante Gourmets, an exclusive private club led by Wilmont Lewis, correspondent for the
Times
(London) and responsible for some of the capital’s most sought after invitations.
At one embassy reception, Wallis encountered a thirty-five-year-old Latin American diplomat named Felipe Espil. He had come to America nearly a decade earlier as an attorney attached to the Argentine embassy and risen quickly through the ranks to become first secretary to the ambassador, an indication of his not inconsiderable talents. Espil was tall and slender, with chiseled features, jet black hair, and dark, piercing eyes. He had perfect manners, was impeccably dressed, and was charming and cultured—all the things Win had not been.
Without deliberation, Wallis fell quickly and deeply in love. Although she and Win were only separated, she allowed herself to drift closer to Espil—in complete contrast to the love which she had felt for Win. In Pensacola she had been captivated by an older, more mature man, by his dashing uniform, and above all else, by her thirst for freedom. Espil was an altogether different matter. Here was a man who represented all of the things to which Wallis aspired: education, power, money, and respect. If her feelings for Win had been somewhat girlish and immature, those she harbored for Espil were based on deeper qualities.
Soon enough, they were regularly seen together at the city’s most fashionable receptions and parties. Espil slowly began to reshape Wallis. He taught her to feel at ease in the company of important dignitaries and, under his guidance, master the art of social conversation. Together they read several newspapers each day, Espil providing background information to the stories and filling in Wallis’s educational gaps. Under his influence, she cultivated a knowledge and appreciation of fine food and wine. They visited antique stores, where Espil pointed out the most valuable pieces, and spent evenings at the theater, at concerts, or at the ballet. Above all, Espil taught Wallis how to enjoy life and make an art of it; the results of their time together would last her entire life.