Diana--A Closely Guarded Secret (12 page)

For a few seconds she sat in quiet contemplation. Then, speaking with complete and uncomplicated honesty, she said, ‘This is the work I want to get involved in from now on, Ken. If I can make something positive happen for these unfortunate people, and people like them, then there is a place for me.’

It was a theme to which the Princess would continually return as, in the years that followed, she strove to stamp her humanitarian mark upon the world. She was always conscious that she was open to the criticism that she was only doing it for self-publicity. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Many of her visits were carried out in private, and she put just as much into an engagement, if not more, when the cameras were not there as when the media turned up
en masse
. She would return many times to the Passage Day Centre, sometimes accompanied by her two young sons. Yet again she was determined that although the princes had been born to privilege and wealth, they should understand the difficulties faced by others less fortunate than themselves. It is a lesson that William and Harry have never forgotten, and for which Diana should be for ever credited.

In the autumn of 1989 James Hewitt, the man whom Diana would later tell the world that she had ‘adored’, was sent to Germany on a two-year posting. He had originally agreed to accept ceremonial duties
2
at headquarters – which had given him the freedom to conduct his affair with Diana – on the
understanding that he would be transferred to active duty if he was given command of his own tank squadron. For the sake of his career he had no choice, having been promoted to squadron commander with the rank of temporary major, but to take the posting, especially as tension was growing in the Gulf and the British Army was on high alert. Perhaps realising the effect that news of his posting would have on the sometimes volatile Princess, he did not tell her until the last possible moment.

At first Diana tried everything in her power to prevent Hewitt from accepting the posting. She even suggested that she would raise the issue with his commanding officer. James, horrified, since such a move would almost certainly have wrecked his army career (to say that the Household Cavalry would have frowned on one of its officers conducting an affair with the wife of the heir to the throne would be a massive understatement), insisted that she would do no such thing. He was, in any case, by now beginning to suspect that her passion for him was starting to fade, for it was now that Diana, who always craved attention and who felt that the one man on whom she thought she could depend had betrayed her by accepting his move to Germany, began seriously to question the sense, as well as the safety, of pursuing the relationship. Their conversations on the telephone became less frequent until, without telling Hewitt, she resolved to end the affair. By this time she had already invited or encouraged the attentions of James Gilbey.

I am convinced that Diana believed that by allowing her affair to wane and die she was somehow adopting the moral high ground over her husband, who continued his liaison with
Camilla Parker Bowles. She and Hewitt scarcely spoke for the rest of the year as he trained his tank crews in Germany. In the dying days of the year Berlin’s youth at last tore down the Wall, and the curtain literally came down on the old political order. Meanwhile, in Iraq, Saddam Hussein plotted his next move.

With Hewitt out of the way, and largely out of mind, Diana threw herself into her work. She took all her patronages – and she was patron to a good number of causes – very seriously, but none more so than the English National Ballet. Significantly, after she quit public life in December 1993, giving up most of her causes, she remained patron of the charity. Perhaps, because of her girlhood ambitions. One night in December 1989 we left Kensington Palace at just after 8.10 pm and drove the short distance to the grand, white-fronted residence of the French Ambassador at 11, Kensington Park Gardens. The Princess was in an ebullient mood, full of laughter and excitement, and was particularly looking forward to the half-hour performance that had been specially arranged for the evening, and which was to take place after the opulent dinner, served in a giant marquee in the residence’s garden, and before coffee was taken.

‘I can’t wait,’ she gushed, her mind on the performance to come. ‘Mr Gorlin [the then Chairman of English National Ballet] has told me it will be just exquisite.’

I have a great love of opera and classical music, but I have to admit that ballet is not my forte. In fact, I was considerably relieved that the performance was limited to thirty minutes, although I did not let the Princess know this. To her, ballet was a passion, and she regarded the fact that she was patron
of the English National Ballet as an enormous privilege. Even the dreary realisation that she would have to put on another public performance of her own for the English National Ballet’s wealthy benefactors, like the Marchioness of Douro, the Honorary Chairman, or billionaire’s wife Mrs Lemos, Co-Chair of the Gala Committee, for once did not burden her. Gracefully, she took her place at the top table after a short champagne reception in the residence’s grand dining room.

One of the events of the evening was a prize draw, held after dinner and the ballet performance (which, I’m sorry to say, largely passed me by), and before the auction, designed to raise more money from well-fed patrons for the English National Ballet. At around 10.35 pm, therefore, the Earl of Gowrie drew the lucky prize ahead of the auction. As usual I had bought a few raffle tickets, some for me and some for the Princess who, like most royalty, rarely carried cash, but was oblivious of proceedings until my name was suddenly read out by Lord Gowrie. I had won second prize. Fully expecting to collect a bottle of mid-range vintage champagne, I was astonished to be told that my prize was a five-star, all-expenses-paid holiday to Malaysia, staying in one of that country’s most lavish hotels. The Princess, predictably, collapsed into fits of giggles at my good fortune (and my predicament as to whether or not to accept it).

Still laughing, she edged away from the crowd around her and joined me. ‘You could always take me, Ken,’ she whispered, ‘I could do with a good holiday.’

After some hesitation – well, who wouldn’t think twice? – I decided to give the prize to the Princess, so that it could
become one of the lots in the auction, and thereby raise more money for the charity. We drove home in high spirits, the Princess enthusing about the ballet performance that had been the high point of her evening, and I completely bemused by my good fortune (even if I had been unable to accept it). Sadly, a few weeks later I learned that the Ambassador’s magnificent residence had burned down. The gala evening in aid of the English National Ballet was the last grand function ever held there.

James Hewitt’s absence affected Diana to a considerable extent, despite her feeling that the affair should end. She was often moody, sometimes tearful, and occasionally furious, venting her rage against the unfairness of life in general and her situation in particular. Yet it exerted an even more self-destructive influence upon her, for with her lover no longer around to distract her, Diana’s attention turned to Camilla Parker Bowles. Her antipathy for ‘that woman’ was absolute. Despite the fact that she had been involved in an illicit love affair herself, her frustration over Charles’s relationship often caused the Princess to boil over into a rage. Moreover, while both our principals enjoyed their clandestine encounters the strain of keeping things secret fell upon Colin Trimming and me as, respectively, the Prince and Princess’s protection officers. Looking back, I realise that this was probably our hardest test.

One memorable evening, Diana came to the realisation that she could take it no longer. At a party for Camilla’s sister, Prince Charles’s thoughtless behaviour ended in a confrontation between his mistress and his wife.

It was, according to the Princess herself, one of the bravest acts of her entire marriage; the moment when she finally faced her demons and confronted Camilla Parker Bowles face to face about her affair with Prince Charles, and her refusal to give it up.

The setting was a house on Ham Common in Richmond, on the south-western outskirts of London, the home of Lady Annabel Goldsmith, where, to use Diana’s word, a ‘ghastly’ party was being held to mark the fortieth birthday of Camilla’s sister, Annabel Elliot. Nobody, least of all the Prince himself, expected Diana to go, but she honestly believed that it was her duty to put on a show of unity with her husband, despite the fact that almost every guest at the party knew about his affair with Camilla.

The Prince was displeased that Diana had chosen to go, and in the car on the drive down to Ham Common he ‘needled’ (Diana’s word) her constantly, questioning the sense of her attending. Sitting silently in the front passenger seat, I honestly did not know what to expect of the evening ahead. Nor did the Princess. She had told me beforehand that she had no intention of kissing Camilla when she greeted her, and I had agreed that that was her prerogative. ‘I’ll stick out my hand and see if she takes it,’ she said, though more to reassure herself, I suspect, than to canvass my approval.

I honestly do not think that the Princess had planned to confront Camilla that night, but the way in which events unfolded left her – a proud woman – no choice. It was clear on our arrival that many of the guests were surprised at Diana’s presence, but soon after the royal entrance the underlying hum
of meaningless social chatter again filled the room. After a while dinner was served, and, satisfied of the safety of my principals, I left the party and retired to the kitchen, which I quite often did at private parties so that Diana could relax. By her own account (printed in the revised edition of Andrew Morton’s
Diana: Her True Story
that appeared after her death), she kept her end up well during dinner, and her fears of a difficult evening began to seem unfounded. Then, after the meal, she noticed that neither her husband nor Camilla Parker Bowles were anywhere to be seen. She decided to find out what was going on, although several of the other guests tried to dissuade her.

I had been in the kitchen for about an hour and a half when I heard the Princess calling my name. I replied that I was in the kitchen and a few moments later she appeared at the door, tearful and clearly distressed. She told me that Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles had been absent for some time, and she was adamant that she wanted to find them.

‘Will you help me, Ken? I have had enough. This is just too much,’ she said. ‘I am not going to be shown up in this way. I want to talk to her – now.’ It was not my job to persuade her otherwise. Nevertheless, I tried, questioning the wisdom of making a scene, but failed.

‘Ma’am, are you sure that this is a good idea?’ I replied – if I am honest, as much for my own sake as for hers. I had not the slightest wish to be dragged into a marital row between the Prince and Princess, perhaps with Mrs Parker Bowles involved as well. But Diana would not be persuaded otherwise, and she immediately led me down some stairs to the basement of the house, which appeared to be a children’s area or play room.
Sitting in one softly lit corner, deep in conversation, were the Prince and Camilla. As soon as they saw Diana they leapt to their feet, perhaps acknowledging their guilt. As may be imagined, I felt particularly uncomfortable and made to leave, but the Princess softly urged me to stay.

‘Please don’t go, Ken,’ she said, as though somehow my presence was helping to give her the strength for what she was about to do. But I felt it was wrong that I should be party to what was, after all, a supremely personal matter. Certain that no harm – physical harm, any way – would come to the Princess, I replied, in the general direction of all three of them, that it was not my place to be there, and excused myself. With that I left the room, deeply embarrassed, to kick my heels at the foot of the basement stairs. Anxious for Diana, I decided to stay as close as possible without intruding.

The Princess remained there in conversation for a few minutes before joining me outside. She seemed elated. She had seized the moment and had confronted her husband’s mistress, and she had done so without being anything other than calm and coolly polite.

She told me that she had asked Camilla if she wanted to sit down, and had then asked her what exactly was going on between her and Charles. Diana herself takes up the story: ‘It wasn’t a fight – calm, deathly calm and I said to Camilla: “I’m sorry I’m in the way, I obviously am in the way and it must be hell for both of you but I do know what is going on. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”’ A few seconds later she composed herself and returned to the party, where the clash of the two women was already being discussed in hushed, conspiratorial tones.

Personally, I found the whole business extraordinary. Even allowing for the difficulties in the marriage, what possible need could there have been for the Prince and his mistress to conduct a clandestine meeting at a crowded party at which the Princess was also present? It was a terrible insult to Diana, and the only charitable interpretation I can put upon it is that both Charles and Camilla had believed that their absence from the party would not be noticed.

Diana walked back into the room with her head held high, and I admired her immensely for it. The Prince and Camilla returned a few minutes later, still shaken, as much by Diana’s resolve as by her decision to confront them. For the rest of the evening they circulated separately as though nothing had happened.

By contrast, the journey back to Kensington Palace was, as can be imagined, chilly and tense, with Diana repeating to her silent husband, over and over again, ‘How could you have done this to me? It was so humiliating. How could you?’

Diana was not strong emotionally. She had made her point succinctly and with dignity, but later, when she was alone, her fortitude deserted her and, by her own account, she ‘cried and cried and cried and didn’t sleep that night’. Seeing her that evening, my heart went out to her, a young woman desperate to be wanted by the one man whom, I believe, she loved completely.