Rachel Eliza Griffiths arrives at the Observer’s offices and I tell her at once, as I greet her, that I recognise her from the striking publicity photo at the back of the proof copy of her debut novel Promise – our reason for meeting. Lady Rushdie, known as Eliza, is Salman Rushdie’s fifth wife and is understandably mindful of the risk that she might find herself defined by her marriage or that her own achievements might get sidelined – Rushdie is, after all, a literary celebrity on a scale against which most first-time novelists would not wish to compete. But even before meeting her, the intensity, fluency and scope of her novel and of her award-winning collection of poetry Seeing the Body – illustrated by her own photographs – hints at a formidable independence.
And it is she who looks like the celebrity. At 44, she has standout glamour and if she feels jet-lagged after her recent flight from New York to London (where Rushdie has had a date at Windsor Castle – he was made a companion of honour by Princess Anne), she shows no sign of it. Her cream suit is so immaculately tailored, it is tempting to talk clothes with her. I know she is interested because of one of her poems, which refers to Calvin Klein and in which she describes attending Maya Angelou’s funeral and her hilarious attempts to disguise, during the service, the busting of her zip on a “good black dress with its snakeskin panel down the front”. But such frivolity is not on our agenda.
