Goddess of the Gravel Pits

There was another swimming pool in Christine Keeler's life before the one at Cliveden. As a young girl, she would often swim in the muddy gravel pits near the dingy, Thames-side town of Wraysbury. Envious of her looks, her girl friends called her the "Goddess of the Gravel Pits." "I remember Christine stepping from the water," says one childhood chum. "Her homemade bikini of yellow jersey wool clung to her."

From makeshift bikinis to Paris originals, the life of Christine Keeler was discussed in intimate detail last week, not only in the House of Commons but also in every British newspaper. For all the sentimental and psychological cliches about a pretty child from a broken home, what emerged was a Circean odyssey of a girl who always knew what she--and what men--wanted.

Bright Lights. Her parents split up when she was a child. With her mother, Christine moved into a converted bus coach near the Thames that was little more than a shanty on wheels. Even then, Christine's eye was on the main chance. Often she would climb up on the knee of a neighbor and beg to be told about the bright lights in the big cities. "She was forever asking me to tell her stories about life in London," recalls the neighbor. "I spent hours telling her about her dreamland."

Christine eventually took a job in a London dress house. At a small Soho cafe called The Zodiac, she met a Spanish waiter named Carlo, began spending weekends with him at his seedy Soho boardinghouse. Then a girl friend introduced her to a U.S. Air Force sergeant. "Night after night we whooped it up with the Yanks," recalls the friend. "They were twelve very gay months." But Christine got pregnant, gave birth prematurely to a son she called Peter. The infant died six days later. Christine was just 17.

Out of work and short of cash, Christine became the mistress of a rich RollsRoyce-driving real estate man, who set her up in a luxurious flat off Baker Street. But the affair proved unsatisfactory, and she went to work as a waitress, then as a showgirl in Murray's Cabaret Club. "And then," Christine said, "I began meeting my first interesting male companions."

No Man's Collar. One was Stephen Ward, and a few months after they met in 1959, Christine moved into his flat in Wimpole Mews. "It was a sort of brother-and-sister relationship," said Christine, "nothing else." A feature of Ward's apartment was a one-way mirror permitting observation of the bedroom from the living room; this elaborate peephole was covered by a picture of Buddha when not in use. "That was installed by an old eccentric who used to own this place," Ward said. "I'm going to have it filled in." An elaborate practical joker, Ward often put a dog collar around Christine's neck and led her around London on a leash. Some times Christine received guests wearing nothing but skintight blue jeans, once gave a party at which all the guests sat drinking champagne in her bathroom.

One of her thirstiest friends was Evgeny Ivanov. Though he was a bit of a prig, Ivanov was a devoted reader of the steamy James Bond novels, found them "amusing but ridiculous." He professed to dislike loose women, did not like Christine even to use cosmetics. But one hot July night, recalls Christine, Ivanov finally "came to forsake all his principles and his pride. Suddenly he was kissing me, rolling his dark curls into my neck ..." Afterward, Ivanov was "sad, very sad."

Charming but Wary. That very same weekend Christine had met Jack Profumo for the first time. It was at Cliveden, and Christine, who was visiting Ward at his cottage on the grounds, was stealing a nude moonlight swim in Astor's pool. Suddenly Bill Astor appeared with some guests, including Profumo. Frantically clutching a towel around her dripping self, Christine was introduced to both Jack and his wife, Valerie Hobson. "She was very charming," said Christine, "but seemed wary of me." Next day, Christine brought Ivanov out to Cliveden, and the Russian and Profumo held a swimming race, which Jack only won by cheating. "That will teach you to trust the British government," Profumo told Ivanov. Later that same day, he asked Christine for her telephone number; she told him to get it from Ward.

Jack and Christine met several times in Ward's flat. "Mentally, we became very close," said Christine. It happened, just like it happened with Ivanov. At least that is how Christine told it in the News of the World: "There was one of those electric, potent silences, and he was kissing me and I was returning his kisses with everything I suddenly felt for him." Once, when Valerie was in Ireland on holiday, Profumo took Christine to his house in Regent's Park. "We crept around the lovely rooms and then we got to THEIR bedroom."

Marvellous Place. Christine also cavorted with members of London's vast West Indian contingent, had affairs with Jamaican Johnnie Edgecombe and Singer Lucky Gordon. "When I first met her," said Gordon, "she was asking the waitress in a cafe where she could get some Indian hemp [marijuana]. Knowing this, I wanted to know her." There were a number of others. Scotland Yard is said to have Christine's notebook, and the notebook is said to be full of names.

Throughout, Christine never forgot the gravel pits or Mum. When she took temporary refuge in Spain last March, Christine sent a postcard home. "Marvellous place," she wrote. "Lots of nice-looking men. Don't worry, having a ball." Since then, the ball has continued, more or less, and so has fame. At the Cassius C!ay fight at Wembley Stadium last week, there was a sudden flurry as a glamorous woman swept to her ringside seat. "Is that Christine Keeler?" asked a spectator. "No," said his neighbor, "only Elizabeth Taylor."

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