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Of all the days of their years — they'll remember these — the secret golden days of their honeymoon.
■ Never in any girl's secret heart is there a time more precious than her honeymoon. It is then, for a short while, that the world is barred from her life, and she can revel in a delicious sort of selfishness with the man she loves.
That is how it is with Elizabeth Taylor. Gone are directors, cameras, publicity men. Gone too, briefly, her beloved mother and father. We all know how she feels and I am certain the public is content to leave intimate contact with Mr. and Mrs. Nicky Hilton to those properly anointed people, the waiters, bus boys, bell hops and hotel managers whose job it is to serve but never really see the long parade of honeymooners.
I say the time has come for awhile to leave Elizabeth Taylor alone, but happily she didn't leave me alone and I know she will forgive me if I reveal the exclusive, factual story of the honeymoon as I observed a portion of it and as she told me more, shyly drawing aside the curtain of her rightful privacy.
For more than five years, I've been a neighbor of the Taylor family. I live on Maple Drive in Beverly Hills. They live a block away on Elm. We've been good friends. In the summer we've been beach neighbors at Malibu. I watched Elizabeth grow up, chatted with her over the back fence and (Continued on page 83)
Liz and Nick drove to Carmel for a preview honeymoon — real one's in Eu
rope.
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