That's why movie stars often seem as close, or closer to us, than loved ones.” —PETER RAINER Even before the Berengaria docked in New York City, Cary Grant knew his marriage to Virginia Cherrill was over. During the voyage she had talked about the type of home she wanted to make for them. The more elabo- rate and elegant she imagined it, the more Grant cringed. Even while living with Scott, who loved to decorate with the kind of ornate flourish that only inherited southern wealth could provide, Grant was content to have nothing more in the house in the hills than a chair or two, a version of his favorite bed, running water, a radio, and a refrigerator. Scott had filled the place for the both of them, and Grant had gone along with it primarily to please him. He did not have the desire to similarly accommodate his bride. There were other problems as well. Cherrill had become extremely chatty during the long journey home—talking about everything from poetry to cooking. Unfortunately, nothing she went on about held the least bit of interest for Grant.
