Prince William (13 page)

It was also at the Harbour Club, in 1990, that Diana had met Oliver Hoare, Carling's predecessor in her affections. Like Carling, he was married, but his wife was more long-suffering than Carling's. She put up with their affair for four years, only threatening to divorce him when the press exposed it. When he chose his marriage over Diana, the Princess bombarded his Household with phone
calls: up to twenty a day, three hundred in all, many of them silent. After the Hoares reported the calls, a police investigation discovered that many of them were traced to Diana's private number at Kensington Palace.

Carling's wife was not as tolerant as Diane Hoare. Although he never admitted an affair, Julia Carling, a pretty, blonde and feisty television presenter, was convinced that it was more than friend-ship. The marriage ended in a bitter, protracted and very high-profile way. And although there was no proof of adultery, the public, who had followed the story closely in the tabloids, were left in no doubt that Diana had been instrumental in the break-up.

Having always been portrayed in the media as the victim, and been sustained by the love of her public, it was an uncomfortable sensation for Diana to feel the chill wind of disapproval. But it didn't last long – she had something much bigger waiting to detonate.

On 20 November 1995, a large proportion of the nation sat glued to their television sets in disbelief as Diana gave the performance of her life. The rousing
Panorama
theme music played over glamorous shots of the Princess, and as it faded we saw her walking up the aisle with Charles on her wedding day, which the voice of journalist Martin Bashir dramatically reminded us ‘was the wedding of the century … but the fairytale wasn't to be. Tonight on
Panorama
, the Princess of Wales …'

After shots of the iconic kiss on the balcony, with the roaring and cheering of the crowds, Diana was revealed in Kensington Palace and the mood was very different. Sitting forlornly on a chair, occasionally pausing to recover her composure or wipe away a tear, HRH the Princess of Wales told Bashir about her marriage, her in-laws and life after separation.

Looking pale and vulnerable, with heavy black kohl lining her eyes, head to one side and slightly tilted down, she talked about her feelings of isolation and emptiness, of being a strong woman, a free spirit. She talked about her bulimia, her self-harming, her cries for help. She talked about the Prince's friends who waged a war in the media against her, indicating that she was ‘unstable, sick and should
be put in a home'. She talked about his obsession with Camilla, and ‘the enemy' that tried to undermine her – her ‘husband's department', jealous that her work got more publicity than his. She admitted to the telephone conversation with James Gilbey, and that she had made calls to Oliver Hoare, but denied there were three hundred. She also confessed that she had been unfaithful to her husband with James Hewitt, whom she had adored, and that she had been devastated when his book came out ‘because I trusted him, and because … I worried about the reaction of my children … and it was very distressing for me that a friend of mine, who I had trusted, had made money out of me.' She said that when the books arrived in the bookshops ‘the first thing I did was rush down to talk to my children. And William produced a box of chocolates and said, “Mummy, I think you've been hurt. These are to make you smile again.”'

Had she forgotten, as she told that story to an audience of over twenty million people, that William was thirteen years old and in his first term in a new school?

The most memorable moment of the broadcast was her simple description of what had destroyed her marriage. ‘There were three of us in this marriage,' she said, ‘so it was a bit crowded.'

The most damaging remarks, however, were reserved for her husband, though couched in velvet. She had been devastated, she said, when she heard on the news that he had disclosed his adultery to Jonathan Dimbleby, but she had admired his honesty, which for someone in his position was ‘quite something'. When asked whether the Prince of Wales would ever be King or would wish to be, she said, ‘being Prince of Wales produces more freedom now, and being King would be a little bit more suffocating. And because I know the character, I would think that the top job, as I call it, would bring enormous limitations to him, and I don't know whether he could adapt to that.'

And for the final thrust to the heart, when asked if, when he came of age, she would wish to see Prince William succeed the Queen rather than his father, she said, ‘My wish is that my husband finds peace of mind, and from that follows other things, yes.'

No one beyond the
Panorama
team knew what was in the programme. It had been filmed and prepared in total secrecy and announced at the last minute. The BBC governors had not even been told for fear they would pull it. And although she hadn't been able to resist telling Patrick Jephson, her Private Secretary, that she had done an interview, she refused to tell him what it was about. ‘It's terribly moving,' she said. ‘Some of the men who watched were moved to tears. Don't worry, everything will be all right …'

But when the opening credits rolled at 9.30 p.m., Jephson was not alone in knowing it wouldn't be all right. He resigned as a result of the interview and so did her Press Officer, Geoff Crawford. Everyone else, friends, courtiers, family, were left speechless. It had been pure, brilliant theatre, as those who knew her recognised. She had again made their private war public and chosen to punish Charles in the most damaging way possible. But the Prince wasn't the only one who was damaged. Did she not think about how her boys would feel when they saw the film, or what taunting schoolmates might say? She had struck right at the heart of the monarchy, which was not just about the Queen and the Prince of Wales. It was the throne that William would one day inherit.

According to Ingrid Seward, who spoke at length with Diana before her death, when Andrew Gailey heard that an interview was about to be broadcast, he telephoned Diana and told her it was imperative that she come to the school and explain to William face to face what she was intending to do. She refused, asking, ‘Is that really necessary?'

The next day he phoned again and insisted that she come to see her son. She agreed reluctantly but the meeting lasted no longer than five minutes. She told William that the programme would contain nothing controversial and that he would be proud of her. Before he had a chance to ask any embarrassing questions she left.

He watched it in Andrew Gailey's study and was deeply upset, as any child, watching one parent assassinate the integrity of the other, let alone talk about their infidelity, would be. He was angry and incredulous that his mother could have done such a thing.

The Queen called time. Her principal concern was for William and Harry and the effect all of this public bickering was having on them. After consulting with the Prime Minister and the Archbishop of Canterbury, she wrote formally and privately to her son and daughter-in-law asking them to put the country out of its uncertainty and to divorce as early as could practicably be done.

It was the following year before a settlement was reached. In the intervening months the war continued and the newspapers continued to report it. On what Diana called ‘the saddest day of my life', she put out a premature and unauthorised statement to the press. ‘The Princess of Wales,' it said, ‘has agreed to Prince Charles's request for a divorce. The Princess will continue to be involved in all decisions relating to the children and will remain at Kensington Palace with offices in St James's Palace. The Princess of Wales will retain the title and be known as Diana, Princess of Wales.'

The Queen was furious and, having kept well out of all previous spats between her son and daughter-in-law, immediately issued a response. ‘The Queen was most interested to hear that the Princess of Wales had agreed to the divorce. We can confirm that the Prince and Princess of Wales had a private meeting this afternoon at St James's Palace. At this meeting details of the divorce settlement and the Princess's future role were not discussed. All the details on these matters, including titles, remain to be discussed and settled. This will take time. What the Princess has mentioned are requests rather than decisions at this stage.'

When the divorce was finally settled in July 1996, by two top-weight lawyers – Anthony Julius, from the well-established firm Mishcon de Reya, acting for the Princess, and Fiona Shackleton from the royal solicitors, Farrer and Co., acting for the Prince – Diana received a generous financial package thought to be worth more than £17 million. Negotiations could not have been more difficult or more acrimonious, but the Prince had always intended to be generous. They retained equal access to William and Harry and equal responsibility for their upbringing. Diana was still to be regarded by the Queen and the Prince of Wales as a member of the
Royal Family and would carry on living in Kensington Palace, but her office would be there rather than at St James's Palace. The one detail in the settlement that was widely perceived as petty was that Diana was stripped of the title Her Royal Highness. It was the Queen's decision, not the Prince's, and in public relations terms it turned out to be a blunder, as her brother made so painfully clear in his eulogy at Westminster Abbey a year later.

When she asked William if he minded her losing her royal status, he replied, ‘I don't mind what you're called – you're Mummy.'

OUTSIDE THE GILDED CAGE

Many years later, when William first started to visit the Middleton family home in Berkshire, one of the things he most loved about them was that they were normal. They lived in a comfortable, spacious but unremarkable red-brick house with no armed policemen at the gate, and no butlers. They could come and go as they pleased without being photographed, they could take the dog for leisurely walks across the fields with no PPOs on their tail, meet locals for a pint or two in the pub at the weekend, or visit friends without the building having to be swept for security risks first. And they clattered about in the kitchen and sat down to chatty, friendly, family meals together.

This scenario, taken for granted by most people in Britain, was something William never experienced at home. There were no intimate family meals when he was growing up – the closest he came to it was in the nursery.

Diana had also craved the normality of a happy family life – which she had never had either – but she found it, vicariously, with her friends. She and the boys would be folded into other families and became involved in the everyday to and fro. Diana would arrive with huge bunches of beautiful flowers and, while entertaining everyone with dirty jokes and tales out of school, she would set to, unloading the dishwasher, chopping onions, peeling potatoes, laying the table and doing all the ordinary things she never did at home. ‘They can feel imprisoned in palaces,' says one friend about royal life. ‘It's like living in a gilded cage.' She is also convinced that this is why William is so determined to keep staff
to a minimum in his own Household and to cling to normality for as long as he can.

Lady Annabel Goldsmith (after whom the eponymous London nightclub is named) has a large Queen Anne house on the edge of Richmond Park, full of barking dogs and on Sundays full of her large, colourful family. Hers was one of several homes into which Diana and the boys folded comfortably and frequently. She had known Diana's parents long ago but didn't meet Diana until 1989.

As Annabel wrote in her memoirs, ‘Sunday lunch at Ormeley remains an institution … The lunch itself is usually chaotic. There is a huge sideboard in the dining room and all the food from the first course through the main course and the pudding is laid out buffet style and everyone helps themselves. Lunch is eaten so fast that Diana started to time us. “Right,” she would say, “today was an all-time record. Fifteen minutes!”

‘She would ring and ask if I was going to be at home and if she could come and join me. She would land like a butterfly, have lunch and dart off again, sometimes bringing the boys with her, sometimes not. She would drive herself down … dash through the back door often clutching a present, greet the staff who all loved her, try to evade the mass of dogs yapping at her feet and settle down to amuse us … Her repartee became an essential part of these Sunday lunches, interrupted occasionally when she vanished to the kitchen to do the washing up.'

The two women, despite the difference in their ages, became good friends. As she wrote, ‘Although I felt she responded more to my surroundings than to me personally, I think she did regard me as something of a surrogate mother.' Diana would say, ‘William's like a caged tiger in London, can he come down?' Lady Annabel's youngest son, Ben, was also at Eton and she would sometimes collect the two boys on a Sunday morning and drive them together, with William's PPOs in the car behind trying to keep up.

Friendships for Diana were often as inconsistent as everything else in her life. The closest, warmest and most loyal of friends, like employees, could suddenly find they'd been dropped without the
slightest inkling of what they had done to deserve it. Phone calls stopped, everything stopped; some people heard from her again a year or so later, while others never did. Annabel Goldsmith wasn't one of them, so William and Harry weren't suddenly cut off from the friends and welcome they'd come to enjoy at Ormeley. It was harsh for them to be suddenly deprived of others.

After the separation, Diana had nowhere in the country to take the boys other than to the houses of her friends. Keeping them amused in London, where they were all so instantly recognisable, was more difficult now they were older. Their outings to theme parks, cinemas and burger restaurants were a great way of bringing normality into their lives but there was a limit to how many they could visit. So while she didn't much like the country herself, she knew how much the boys did. The solution seemed simple. She would ask her brother for a cottage on the Althorp estate, which he had inherited after their father's death in March 1991. She knew exactly the one she wanted; it was the Garden House, far enough from the big house to cause him and his family no nuisance yet safely enough within the grounds to afford her and her children privacy.