Diana--A Closely Guarded Secret (31 page)

My hopes were to be dashed, however, when she appeared next morning in the foulest of moods. Not even her sons’ happiness could shake her out of it. She had taken another call from her lawyer, which had driven home to her the fact that, even in the Florida sunshine, she could not escape the pressures arising from her separation from Prince Charles. From her fulminating it was clear that she clearly wanted to strike back at her husband, but I sensed that the security operation had
been too good for her to have achieved the PR coup she had tried secretly to orchestrate. Spoiling for a fight, she lashed out at the people nearest to her, and the strain was beginning to tell on Katie and Catherine.

My heart sank further when, prior to our departure for Nassau that day, I received information that the media were aware of our destination. At the very least, it meant that I had drastically to rethink my security plans. I immediately redeployed Dave Sharp to travel ahead of us and establish a daily patrol around Lyford Cay. It proved a politic move: Dave, with the help of a private security company employed by the property owners, detained two men who claimed to be ‘looking for the royal party’, having read about the Princess’s impending arrival in a local newspaper. I also increased the night mobile patrols by the Bahamas police, and had them maintain a daily shoreside patrol to prevent unauthorised landings.

Despite the arrest of the two trespassers, I was confident that the Princess would be safe, and told her so. I also reminded her that I had rented another house near by to afford her and her friends greater privacy, and that I had engaged night patrols and a local police presence outside. Last, I explained that while this was not a perfect security arrangement, I was prepared to compromise, and for this she seemed genuinely grateful. My careful arrangements were to backfire, however. Within a few hours of arriving William and Harry appeared at the ‘police house’, and before long had made it obvious to their mother that they much preferred our villa and being with us on the beach. It was perfectly understandable – after all, what young boy wants to be holed up with three thirty-something women,
and their own nanny, when they could be messing around on the beach away from the parental eye? – but it was hardly tactful. Unwittingly, they had placed me in a difficult position. Diana, who was, I think, looking for an excuse to criticise me, was livid. She found it unbelievable that my accommodation might be superior to hers, and lashed out accordingly, wanting to know how, much it cost, and who was footing the bill. ‘Ken, this cannot be right,’ she raged. ‘Who is paying for this?’

Equally angry, I hit back. ‘Where do you think the money is coming from, ma’am? The Metropolitan Police Force, of course.’

‘So I was right. The taxpayer is having to pay for you again, Ken. It’s all too much.’

‘With the greatest respect, ma’am, we have already covered this,’ I replied, doing my best not to lose my temper. I had been on duty for fourteen days without a break, and in the circumstances I thought it best to step back from the situation and hope that this would lessen the tension. Still seething, I left, before I said something I might have regretted.

The dialogue between us was waning fast. For me, it had reached a point where talking to the Princess was really a question of stating the bare essentials, and stopping at that. As strange as it may seem now, I think that a part of the problem was that Diana had not been discovered by the chasing press (for which I was to some extent responsible); she was spoiling for a high-profile confrontation with the press, but perhaps more significantly she was also desperate for the publicity.

On one occasion when the press where bobbing about aimlessly offshore in their chartered boat, hoping to get a
photograph of Diana or the princes, she actually walked outside the house and began striding up and down the beach looking out to sea. Unfortunately, the press had focused on our large ‘police house’, and because I was sitting outside it with Dave Sharp, they assumed that it must be where the Princess was staying. Even more unfortunately, the two boys then came over and rushed on to the beach and into the water for a swim, which was all the confirmation the media needed. Pictures of our ‘police house’ were published in all the British national newspapers with captions saying that it was Diana’s ‘holiday home in paradise’ (something which, inevitably, led to me having to justify the cost to senior management in my department).

Out on their boat the hacks took a few pictures of the boys. I contacted the local police chief and took a launch out to the press boat, the aptly named
No Limit
, to ask them to move away and leave Diana and her party in peace. It was a very light-hearted affair. After a few jokey comments I said that since they had got their photographs, they could move on, and perhaps go fishing. They agreed. I made one mistake, however, while talking to Arthur Edwards,
The Sun
’s royal photographer. After years following Diana around the world Arthur, a perceptive man, knew instinctively that something was wrong, probably from my demeanour.

‘How’s Ma’am?’ he asked. It was wrong of me to do so, but I was still frustrated at Diana’s behaviour towards me. In reply, I shrugged my shoulders and gave a rueful grin, as though to suggest that she needed a good talking to. It was harmless enough, but it was a moment that came back to haunt
me. After Diana had returned to Britain, she got wind of what had happened and suggested that I had spoken indiscreetly to a member of the press. Naturally, this led to another sticky conversation between the Princess and me.

By the end of the holiday storm clouds were gathering both literally and metaphorically. The Princess had not had a good time, and she was at odds with everyone. It was clear that she was finding the pressure arising from her separation and her new life difficult to cope with, even on holiday with friends. She was behaving increasingly erratically, and before we left for the flight back to Britain she made one last concerted effort to be photographed, which for security reasons I thwarted. She was not pleased.

‘I’ll do what I want, Ken. I think it’s so unfair that I can’t do what I want. I just want to be normal. God! –
nobody
understands me,’ she said petulantly. After years of operating on her wavelength, I was now beginning to think that perhaps she had a point and that no one did understand her – not even her.

As for me, I now suspected her motives, and felt that I no longer understood what she was trying to achieve. I seriously doubted whether she knew, either. There was no question now that it was only a matter of time before we parted company. As sad as I was at the thought of leaving her service, if the Princess no longer felt that she could be completely open and honest with me in my professional capacity, I could not offer her the level of protection on which my department prides itself. I think that Diana also had mixed feelings about the course she was following, but deep down she believed that if she was to break free of the trappings of royalty that so irked and hampered her,
then she would have to rescind her police protection. It was a high-risk strategy.

The closing chapter in my time as the Princess’s protection officer was marred by the sneak-pictures row, in which she was photographed by a concealed camera while working out at LA Fitness, the West London gym she attended. The Princess had talked to me about the possibility of photographs having been illicitly taken of her in the gym six months previously, in May 1993, but had refused to tell me why she thought this. In early November, the
Sunday Mirror
and then the
Daily Mirror
carried an exclusive showing photographs of Diana, wearing a leotard, exercising at the gym. She acted swiftly, bringing a successful action against the paper for invasion of privacy. It seemed to be a clear-cut case, and the hypocritical chorus of disapproval aimed at the
Mirror
by rival newspapers was deafening. The row over the pictures made front-page news because it was the first time that the Princess had taken legal action against a newspaper. It perturbed me, however, raising serious questions in my mind about possible collusion between Diana and the gym’s owner, Bryce Taylor. I remain convinced that she had invented an elaborate sting to ensnare a newspaper and then milk the publicity – and the public’s sympathy – for all they were worth.

When the matter went to law I offered to make a statement, but since this would have reflected my concern, my offer was declined. My evidence would have been of little help to Diana if she had taken the case to court; indeed, it might have caused the action to backfire on her.

In the event injunctions were granted preventing further pictures being published, and the case was brought against the paper and Taylor. In the end Diana settled out of court, receiving an apology, a sum by way of damages paid to a charity nominated by her, and the negatives and prints of the photographs.

Although Diana claimed victory in the ‘peeping Tom pictures’ furore, if anything Bryce Taylor was the only real winner. He reportedly received $375,000 (£250,000) as part of an agreement struck in secret between the two sides to prevent the embarrassment of a royal court case. Although the Princess was spared a courtroom appearance – which might have proved extremely embarrassing – and had her costs met, only Taylor and a couple of charities had truly benefited. Diana, as I knew only too well, escaped an embarrassing (and potentially very costly) legal battle in which she was, to my mind, by no means a wholly innocent party.

My combative stance over Diana’s legal fight effectively sealed my fate. On a beautiful, typically English autumn day, I made my decision to go. It was a perfect day for a mother to watch her son competing in a soccer match. Sadly, the stress of the Disney trip and the holiday in the Bahamas meant that Diana and I were going through one of our silent periods – formal greetings, a few questions, brief but polite answers, plenty of ‘Yes, ma’ams’. She was clearly upset with me and, irritated myself, I was not going to show that I cared one way or the other about her apparent displeasure. Her behaviour towards me before, during and after the holiday still rankled. Worse still,
her refusal to co-operate and to be totally open with me had left me decidedly uncomfortable about my position, something made worse, to my mind, by the growing influence of Oliver Hoare and a number of other advisers and hangers-on.

On the morning of William’s soccer match Diana told me that she wanted to drive the car. She was in a difficult and petulant mood, ready to snap at anything I said – even by her standards, I knew I was in for a rough ride. At times like this it was best to say nothing, or at least to confine oneself to basic replies. Somewhat pompously, I reminded her to do her best to stick to the speed limit, and with that we set off for her son’s Surrey-based prep school, where she was due to watch Prince William playing in the game. When we arrived, however, her vindictive mood persisted. Even William did not escape, and came in for some admittedly light-hearted criticism from his mother, which must have embarrassed him in front of his schoolfellows.

Her behaviour struck me as unnecessary as well as unkind, and I felt for William. We drove back along the motorway to London in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Diana was still spoiling for a fight and I, tired by now of buttoning my lip, was more than ready to give her one.

An embarrassing silence reigned as we drove along Kensington High Street, approaching Kensington Palace. Suddenly Diana veered over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes, declaring that she wanted to go shopping for CDs. The only problem was that she had decided to park on a double yellow line. She switched off the engine, opened her door and started to get out. I broke the silence. ‘Ma’am, you
are illegally parked. You can’t park here. You know that it’s against the law.’ She turned and looked daggers at me. ‘You’re a policeman, aren’t you? You sort it out,’ she ordered. This was the last straw. I was not having her tell me to help her break the law, no matter how petty the offence. ‘Ma’am, with the greatest respect, you know I will not allow that. If you park here and they tow the car away, it will be on your head.’

Now she was furious. Letting out a deep sigh of frustration, she got back in her seat and slammed the door, before racing off along the busy street in search of a parking space. I suggested that we park in Kensington Palace Gardens, and told her that I would inform the police officer on duty opposite the Israeli Embassy. That too she ignored. I tried again, suggesting that we return to Kensington Palace, only a few hundred yards away, and then walk to Tower Records together. Again, no answer. Then, right on cue, tears began to well up in those bright blue eyes, though more out of frustration than emotion, I felt. Seconds later, she pulled up at the palace, jumped out of the car and ran back towards the high street, declaring over her shoulder that she was going shopping.

‘That is
it
,’ I said out loud. I knew there and then that this was the end. It seemed ridiculous that a relationship that had lasted so many years was to end in a row over illegal parking, but there was no going back now. Still sitting in the car, I composed my letter of resignation in my head and began to evaluate my options. Yet even the prospect of leaving Royalty Protection and returning to uniform did not worry me. After the antics of the Princess over the last few weeks, I honestly thought that anything would be better than this ridiculous existence. Egos
aside, I knew that, professionally, I had no option – she had made my job impossible, and consequently was jeopardising her own security.

I did not chase after the Princess, because I knew from years of experience that it would not be long before she returned to the car. She had no money with her – something quite common among royalty. She would need cash to pay for whatever she bought. Sure enough, she was back within minutes, asking me for money to pay for the handful of CDs she had bought. I dutifully handed some over and went with her to the shop to pay. We then returned to Kensington Palace. Once at her apartment, I turned and calmly broke the news to her. ‘Ma’am, I have decided to resign as your personal protection officer. I will be speaking to Colin this afternoon and will be asking to be switched to other duties as soon as possible.’ My voice sounded curiously cold and remote to me, but the Princess said nothing. She stepped out of the car and walked, head bowed, into Kensington Palace. She did not look back.