At the turn of the year Part 2: THE DIVINE LUISE

Luise Rainer

So now Luise Rainer has gone, two weeks short of her 105th birthday. She was not quite the last of the great Hollywood legends – Olivia de Havilland is happily still with us – but she was always one of the most enigmatic and intriguing. She lived for many years in Eaton Square, in the same house – though not in the same apartment – as that once occupied by Vivien Leigh. A near neighbour was Ivor Novello’s leading lady, Mary Ellis, who also lived to be 105 and who died in 2003 as a snowstorm flurried around SW1: a friend told me that Miss Ellis had given a drinks party in her bedroom only the previous day.

Luise had that same kind of spirit. We happily saw a lot of her at Les Senteurs after the shop moved to Elizabeth Street in 1999. She once cancelled a winter flight to the USA at the last moment and came into the shop in a huge and magnificent fur hat on Christmas Eve saying that she had decided to stay at home and throw an impromptu dinner for twelve instead. She would have been then around 95 and still a startlingly brisk walker (always in heels), almost impossible to keep pace with. Of an afternoon she’d walk up from Belgravia to Leicester Square and back for a little exercise, and to have her shoes re-soled. She missed her dogs, having kept troupes of dachsunds in earlier days. She told me how she’d fallen backwards down an escalator in the West End but bounced back – “tough dame, huh?”. Luise was extremely funny always, disconcertingly sharp & observant. Her lively impression of George W. Bush was a speciality.

I first met Miss Rainer at Harrods about 25 years ago – always modest, she introduced herself by her married name but I thought “I know that face..that voice.”. And it was indeed she, the woman once known at MGM as “The Viennese Teardrop”, wearing her signature jewelled skullcap and exquisite beige trouser suit. She was then, as ever, on the look out for a superior tuberose perfume: she adored Piguet’s Fracas and never found a scent to match it. Her top floor flat at Eaton Square – ” come on, have a drink!” – smelled deliciously of pale gardenias and tuberoses, fresh and airy as though in a garden. There her two Oscars from 1936 and ’37 stood unobtrusively on a bureau in her study: so startlingly solid and heavy when picked up that I almost dropped one of them, taken aback by the unexpected weight.

Luise made full use of our shop fax machine, and when I (always a technophobe) moaned about getting to grips with the computer she told me that she was taking lessons in the new social media devices: “I have No Intention of being left behind!” Maybe her practical pragmatic streak was expressed in her hands which though beautiful, expressive and perfectly kept were surprisingly large for such a tiny person. She told a wonderfully comic story against herself concerning a journalist who visited her one hot summer day: she offered him a beer from the fridge and he enjoyed it so much she proposed another. “He didn’t seem to like the second as much as the first. When we examined the label, the expiry date was 1987…”

Luise Rainer had that wonderful gift of seeming to live every second of life, good or bad, to the full: she lived in the moment, always looking forward. Blessed with tremendous energy and humour she lit up my life considerably. I always felt illuminated and revived by her, even by a word in passing. She strode down Elizabeth Street like a queen, admired by all, and until fairly recently used to shop for her groceries -” I don’t eat!” – in the Kings Road supermarkets. Here I’d sometimes run into her browsing through ‘Hello!’ magazine at the stationery kiosk:

“‘LIMELIGHT is back in town!’ – big deal…!”

Happy memories and grateful thanks, Miss Rainer.

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