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Hidden staircases connect his London offices to an opulent penthouse overhead. The official entry is a peach marble vestibule decorated with backlighted Grecian columns that open into a large rotunda of tawny-veined marble that casts a rose glow. But the stage setting vanishes into reasonably sized living quarters, exquisitely decorated by Elizabeth Maxwell, his wife of 44 years and the mother of his seven children. She also presides over their country home, Headington Hall, a Gatsbyesque mansion in Oxford that serves as headquarters for Pergamon Press.
Maxwell commutes between London and the Continent aboard a French twin- engine Ecureuil helicopter adorned with a roaring lion half-circled by MGN (Mirror Group Newspapers), a logo playfully designed to be confused with MGM's. From Heathrow Airport, his Gulfstream zips him to Paris, New York, Moscow.
Maxwell averages three interviews a week, dispensing a litany of packaged aphorisms like a vending machine: "My wife is the better half." "For exercise, I wind my watch." "Maxwell's Law: Murphy was an optimist." "Happiness can only be had through hard work." Tough fiscal questions produce slippery answers. If the press gets nasty, Maxwell fights back legally.
The Mirror has given Maxwell the voice he lost in the House of Commons when he was defeated in the 1970 election. No matter where he is, the tabloid's editorials are faxed to him for approval. "Without Mrs. Thatcher, I couldn't have done what I've done," he admits. "But I don't agree with her vision. I'm a capitalist with a socialist conscience." But not too confining a conscience. Since buying the Mirror, he has cut its staff by nearly half and brought the unions to heel. But he has energized the paper's layouts by adding color and increased its profits enormously.
Maxwell does not collect art or attend concerts and rarely reads a book or sees a movie. Despite his willpower in most areas, he is a compulsive eater. He sleeps only four hours a night. More than 30 years ago, he had one lung removed because of a mistaken diagnosis. "But we in Britain, unlike you in the U.S., don't sue," crows London's most litigious citizen. Though his wealth could mean a life of ease, he values working. "Most rich people just shop," he says with disdain. He has no personal friends: "I don't have the kind of time one needs to give to friendship."
- Just as he drives his staff, he drives his children. He says he will not leave them his fortune because "money that you haven't earned is not good for you. Ian and Kevin will only take over the company if they are capable." Late one Friday night, flying home from Paris, a keyed-up Maxwell glanced over at his son Ian, stretched out on the lounge, exhausted. "This generation, they flake out," he said with a sigh. "Hey, Pops," protested Ian, "I've put in a 14-hour day." Maxwell frowned and said, "That's what I mean."