Diana--A Closely Guarded Secret (29 page)

Diana was in carefree mood. At last liberated from the shackles of her marriage, she was a woman determined to enjoy herself after the years of frustration. Yes, she was still technically married to Prince Charles, but she was free. As Princess of Wales, she always craved normality. She had been to Paris the previous November on the first solo trip there since her youth, but she had been on official business, surrounded by an entourage, and had created a stir wherever she went. Now she was determined to go again, incognito – or as near to that as we could manage. ‘I just want to go shopping with a couple of girlfriends. I just want to be normal. Please fix it for me, Ken,’ she pleaded. I told her I would do my best, but added that I could not guarantee that she could go in and out of a great city like Paris without being detected.

‘But Ken, I just want to be normal,’ she said again. Perhaps her rather obviously manipulative pleading was getting to me, for I replied, ‘Don’t we all, ma’am.’ She looked daggers at me, but said nothing more. Relenting slightly, I again promised that I would do my best, and left her to begin the process of setting the trip in hand: Her travelling companions were Lady Palumbo and Lucia Flecha de Lima. Through Hayat Palumbo,
wife of the billionaire property developer Lord (Peter) Palumbo, we had use of a private jet and we flew undetected to Paris on a beautiful May afternoon. I had arranged the hire of a plain Renault Espace people-carrier at Le Bourget airport, and in that we headed straight for Paris’s high-fashion quarter, where Lady Palumbo had arranged for Diana to have a private viewing at Chanel, her favourite French couturier. She spent a couple of hours trying on the latest designs before we went on to some other boutiques in the area. The Princess and her friends spent a few thousand pounds, not very difficult to do in places like that (their purchases including an Hermes tie for me!), and we then headed for the Palumbos’ award-winning house in the exclusive district of Neuilly, close to the Bois de Boulogne, where we were to stay.

So far, no one had any idea we were there, and I had taken the decision not to ask for help from local police this time for fear of leaks to the press. Next day, however, through no fault of ours, the secret trip was detected. Once again Diana ate a little, drank a little, shopped a little, and, like many other tourists, took in a few sights. Her visit, give or take the money she and her friends had at their disposal, had been as ‘normal’ as she could have wished. As for me, I thought we had given the press the slip completely; no one from the British media had an inkling that the Princess was even in Paris. Diana, who loved to think that she had hoodwinked the media, was like a bird released from its cage. She was almost skipping along as we approached the chic Marius et Jeanette restaurant. As I followed our party in, my heart sank. There, sitting on his scooter outside the restaurant, was one man and his lens – Jean-Paul Dousset, who at that
time worked with the notorious paparazzo Daniel Angeli. The year before, they had together exposed the Duchess of York’s love affair with John Bryan with those infamous toe-sucking photographs, shot from cover with a telephoto lens. Luckily Diana did not spot him and so remained oblivious to the fact that her secret trip was suddenly a secret no longer. As his shutter clicked and clicked, I racked my brains to work out how we had been found out. Then I realised that we hadn’t. For in the corner of the restaurant sat the actor Gérard Depardieu, one of France’s most celebrated sex symbols, and the reason why Dousset had been waiting outside. The photographer had struck double luck, and doubtless could scarcely believe it.

Depardieu recognised the Princess at once, and like the perfect French gentleman he is, came over immediately to stand by her table, talking of her great beauty and of what a privilege it was for France, for Paris and for him personally that she should be there. She was putty in his hands. And we were all putty in the hands of the freelance photographer outside, who must already have been working out exactly how much he was going to make by selling a set of pictures of the world’s most famous woman at a secret assignation with France’s sexiest movie star. I decided to act immediately. Without saying anything to Diana other than a mumbled apology I slipped out and confronted Dousset. He looked surprised, but was perfectly courteous. We talked around matters for a few moments and then, knowing that he was not a security threat, I offered him a deal. If he kept a discreet distance so that the Princess did not know he was watching her, I would not interfere with his job. In return, he would not release the pictures until we were safely out of
France, so that she would not be mobbed and thus have her short break ruined, and her security put at increased risk. He agreed, and was as good as his word. For the rest of the day Jean-Paul trailed us, but always at a distance and never too close to alert the Princess. True to our deal, he dispatched his pictures only after we had left Paris (and I have to say that his covert photography was very professional). I was happy too. Through my secret deal – for I never told the Princess – I had kept the number of paparazzi to the smallest number possible – one – and Diana was able to enjoy a trouble-free break. Obviously, she would not be too happy when she found out that photographs had been taken, but I reasoned that by the time she discovered what had happened she would be safely back at Kensington Palace, refreshed from her brief interlude in Paris, and my job would have been done.

Not long afterwards, on 12 May, a signed memorandum from Sir Robert Fellowes arrived on Diana’s desk giving her official sanction for the next stage of her solo international career – a trip to Zimbabwe. The last line read simply, ‘Her Majesty would be quite content with such a visit taking place.’ The Princess was delighted. She knew that the Palace’s hands were tied, for if they thwarted her she would leak the story to a friendly journalist, leaving the Palace looking, at best, petty, and at worst, spiteful and vindictive. The Queen, however, wanted a favour in return, and asked Diana and Charles to put on a public show of unity to honour World War II veterans, to which she agreed with alacrity. Outwardly, as she and her husband arrived together at Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral to
mark the fiftieth anniversary of the Allied victory in the Battle of the Atlantic, the Princess was in an excellent mood. Prince Charles, at first a little apprehensive, found his estranged wife charming company and soon relaxed. Watching them smiling and laughing together in the blustery wind and rain, some onlookers found it difficult to understand why they had separated, and a number of misguided reporters even wondered in print whether their appearance together marked the start of a reconciliation. Nor could Diana resist the chance to show her husband what he was missing. One veteran of the battle, George Stansfield, dared to put this to the Prince. ‘You both look wonderful. It is so nice to see you together again,’ he said.

Charles made one of his flippant, off-the-cuff replies, which seemed to me to speak volumes about the true nature of the relationship. ‘It’s all done with mirrors,’ he said, without looking up at his wife, who was standing a few feet away. His response was perfectly truthful. Deep animosity and mistrust governed their relationship, and on that day they were simply following the Queen’s orders in a public show which, like a trick with mirrors, was really only an illusion. Diana put on a perfect performance for the crowds, but she did so for her mother-in-law, thus letting the Queen know that if Diana got what she wanted, she was happy to repay the favour.

In general, 1993 was still going well for Diana, but she was brought down to earth with the news of the death of my colleague and friend, and her former police protection officer, Chief Inspector Graham Smith. She broke down in tears when I told her the news even though it had not been unexpected. A few days earlier we had smuggled the desperately ill Graham
from the Royal Marsden Hospital and taken him to dine at San Lorenzo. Skeletally thin, he was hardly recognisable, but he still maintained his sense of humour to the end, and we spent hours talking over old times. All three of us knew that it would be our last meeting, but nothing was said and it proved to be an evening of joy. At the funeral the Princess was distraught. She hugged Graham’s widow, Eunice, and consoled his children, Emma and Alexander. He was in his mid-fifties.

A few weeks later, Diana was back on her official duty abroad, her personal campaign trail, more determined than ever to make her mark. It was a scorching July day when we touched down in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, and she embarked on what I believe to be the highest point of her royal career. Before agreeing to go she had not only sought clearance from the Queen, but also from Princess Anne. Until then she had shied away from African tours because, in royal terms, the continent was regarded as Anne’s territory. Although both the Palace and the British High Commission in Harare had ruled that this was to be a low-key visit, it was in effect a major set-piece tour that followed the pattern of all previous official visits made by the Waleses together prior to the separation. The only difference was that Prince Charles was not included, and thus Diana had the speaking part.

After claims that her trips were a waste of taxpayers’ money, Diana had decided to fly out Economy class, although British Airways did ensure that she was ‘in the bubble’ (on the upper deck of the 747) and that she had three seats to herself so that she could stretch out and sleep. With Patrick Jephson, her sister
Lady Sarah McCorquodale as lady-in-waiting, Geoff Crawford, who had replaced Dickie Arbiter as her press secretary, and me heading up security, Diana had what she called her ‘A team’ to support her. In her desire to become a roving ambassador, she was helped by the fact that many heads of state in foreign countries were only too delighted to accommodate her. Robert Mugabe, President of Zimbabwe, was completely smitten by her. He had not addressed a press conference to the Western media for years, but after spending half an hour with Diana seemed positively anxious to share the experience with the travelling British press corps. ‘She brings a little light into your life, naturally you feel elated,’ he told the astonished journalists who had gathered outside Government House. Diana later confided to me that she had found him a ‘frightening little man’ who had not stopped sweating throughout their meeting, adding with a mischievous smile, in typical Diana fashion, ‘It was rather hot, Ken.’ The Princess had been steered away from political controversy by Foreign Office advisers, particularly the issue of land acquisition that was to erupt so bloodily a few years later. Instead she focused on the work of three charities, the International Red Cross, Help the Aged and the Leprosy Mission, of all of which she was patron. She even avoided the controversial subject of AIDS.

Initially, when the trip began the press were more interested in the Spencer sisters’ reaction to the marriage of their former stepmother, Raine, Countess Spencer, to a French count. ‘As far as I am concerned that woman is ex. She is no longer my stepmother,’ Diana said, and then proceeded to giggle with her sister Sarah over newspaper photographs of Raine in her
wedding dress. This bitter feud with Raine would end before Diana’s death and the two women would become close, united by their mutual love of, and respect for, Diana’s late father, Johnny Spencer. That aside, the Princess’s excitement about the job in hand rubbed off on the rest of the team. She led by example, and our sense of kinship and our morale were high. In many respects she was the perfect ambassador for her causes, prepared to endure all that the Third World had to offer, focused on what she was there to achieve. Nevertheless, she did have her off moments, although they were usually over fairly quickly.

One evening, during a particularly overcrowded reception in Harare, she became increasingly frustrated as it seemed that the entire population of Zimbabwe had turned up to shake her hand. It irritated her, too, that the ratpack had managed to buy tickets for the event, and in particular that her sister, Lady Sarah, was having a sneaky cigarette with them. By the time I freed her from the mêlée she was fuming, particularly at the unfortunate Patrick Jephson, who bore the brunt of her anger. ‘I’m very unhappy,’ she told him, loudly enough for the High Commissioner and his wife to hear. And with that she retired.

Patrick was distraught. Had all his planning gone awry? What would the Princess’s mood be like in the morning? Listening to him airing his worries, I decided that the poor man needed a drink. There was another big day ahead of us all tomorrow, and he needed to wind down if he was going to get a wink of sleep. Diana, as Patrick had predicted, was in a foul mood with all of us, including Lady Sarah, the following day. During these moments of schoolgirl petulance there was
nothing one could do but meet her head on. That evening, at my suggestion, after the official engagements for the day were over and the Princess had gone to bed, the entire royal party gathered downstairs in the High Commission around the grand piano. After I had led an enthusiastic sing-song, Diana descended the stairs, ostensibly to complain about the noise. In reality she was feeling left out. Within a few minutes she was joining in with the rest of us, and the tension that had threatened to spoil the tour immediately disappeared.

My enduring memory of the visit is an almost biblical scene. The Princess flew deep into the African bush, to the Mazerera Red Cross feeding centre. There, standing by a huge iron cooking pot she served the tiny children from the ancient Karanga tribe one by one. I watched one hungry little boy hold up his bowl to this beautiful lady. Four-year-old Tsungai Hove had walked seven miles through the heat and dust to the feeding centre. As his turn came to collect his only daily meal he boldly pushed the bowl towards her like an African Oliver Twist. Diana looked down and smiled at him, and the shy smile he gave her in return was almost heart-rending. She relished the part she was playing, ladling huge portions of bean stew from the cooking pot into the bowls of the patient children. The press lapped up the photo opportunity and one British newspaper ran the headline the next day, ‘Dinner Lady – Diana serves up royal treat for hungry children’.