Diana's Nightmare - The Family (12 page)

THE more theatrical side of the Prince's nature now came into play. A frequent guest at other people's weddings, he had spent years planning his own nuptials. 'My marriage has to be forever,' he reminded himself. As a milestone in his life, the wedding eclipsed even his investiture as Prince of Wales, which took place at Carnarvon Castle, coincidently, on Diana's birthday. She was only eight but she had watched the ceremony on the family TV. The investiture was primarily an historical set piece. This was his own show. Above all else, he intended to use the occasion to focus on the role he had struggled so hard to carve for himself.

Charles, and his beautiful bride, would be centre stage in the kind of richly regal tableau Hollywood directors could only dream about. As a piece of theatre, the ceremony would have a rare quality which would not only celebrate England's musical and religious heritage, but express his own aspirations as well. It would be Charles's Triumph, 'I think I shall spend half the time in tears,' he said. At that point, he did not realise that Diana would completely steal the show.

The Lord Chamberlain and other dignitaries whose duty it was to plan the enterprise found the Prince's mastery of stagecraft truly impressive. He selected St Paul's Cathedral as the venue, he explained, because it was more spacious and less gloomy than Westminster Abbey and because the acoustics beneath Wren's vast dome would give greater clarity to the rousing sounds that would accompany the service. As a modern man, he chose the works of twentieth-century composers from Elgar and Walton to Vaughan Williams and Benjamin Britten. The ceremony would reflect his concern for family values; there would be grandeur, and simplicity, in equal measure.

There was another, more sentimental reason behind the choice of the huge cathedral squatting foursquare between the thundering presses of Fleet Street and the mercantile and business heart of the City of London. St Paul's might be Sir Christopher Wren's masterpiece, but it was Charles II, so often portrayed as a squandering womaniser, whose warrant had guided this jewel of English baroque into existence. The Prince knew of his namesake's dedication to the arts and science and, mindful that he would one day rule as Charles III, he turned his wedding into a showcase of everything he cherished about the country he was born to rule. The bells, Great Tom and Great Paul, would ring out the chimes.

'Charles sees himself as a latter-day Renaissance Man,' said the Palace insider. 'He is, in fact, a well-rounded person. He paints well, reads extensively, writes easily and plays the cello passably. He's a romantic, but never forget that he's tough, too.'

Her nerves on edge as the wedding day approached, Diana tried to match the spirit of this enthusiasm. But she was frightened. Her biggest performance to date had been in school plays, nonspeaking roles preferred. If Buckingham Palace overawed her with its silent miles of red-carpeted corridors, creeping footmen and sanctified calm, the prospect of walking down the aisle of that vast amphitheatre in front of 2,500 guests filled her with stomach-churning panic. Other people's expectation of her were so great that she realised she must feel part of the event before it happened or risk the consequences. Her biggest fear was that her father, handicapped since the stroke that nearly killed him, would stumble during the long walk down the aisle, bringing them both crashing down.

Diana desperately needed friends and allies. She drew great strength from the encouragement of Elizabeth and David Emanuel, the twenty-eight-year-old designers she had chosen to make the wedding dress after wearing an Emanuel skirt and blouse for a
Vogue
fashion session with Lord Snowdon. The designers operated from a cramped salon in a tall, narrow building off Brook Street, Mayfair. It was there that they worked on their one-off creation for 'Miss Deborah Smythson Wells', as they code-named the bride.

'We had a meeting with Lady Diana and promised total secrecy - as far as was in our power,' said Elizabeth Emanuel. 'Naturally the project tied in with a lot of people, but we tried to arrange it so no one knew more than they needed for their section. Not even our machinists knew entirely what was happening. They all worked on various dresses so they may have worked on
the
dress and not known it. There wasn't even a sketch. The one we submitted to Lady Diana was torn up immediately and we worked from what was in our heads.' The dress would make the Emanuel label synonymous with the most glamorous wedding for years. Diana may have felt slightly unnerved if she had known that the couple were secretly estranged.

The bride quietened her wedding day nerves by eating an enormous breakfast and, after seemingly endless preparation, stepped into the Glass Coach for the journey from Clarence House to St Paul's. 'My dear, you look simply enchanting,' the Queen Mother had told her. As the Emanuels folded the twenty-five-foot long train into the coach, Diana threw back her head and serenaded them. 'Just one Cornetto,' sang the bride, in the words of a TV ice-cream commercial. 'Give it to me ....' The coach door closed and she and her father set off for St Paul's through streets packed with a million well-wishers, the waves of cheering reaching a crescendo as they approached the cathedral.

The night before, Charles had assured Diana in a note: 'I'm so proud of you and when you come up the aisle I'll be there at the altar for you. Just look 'em in the eye and knock 'em dead.'

ROW upon row of guests craned to catch a glimpse of the bride. To the soaring brass and booming drumbeat of the Trumpet Voluntary, she appeared at the West Door in the Emanuel dress, a crinoline of ivory-silk taffeta embroidered with mother-of-pearl sequins and pearls. Crumpled in the coach, the dress had survived in all its glory. Lace flounces, meeting stylishly in a bow, set off the V-shaped neckline. For good luck, a shiny new horseshoe and a blue bow had been sewn to the waist. The 'something old' on the bodice was Carrick-ma-cross lace, which had belonged to Queen Mary. The 'something borrowed' were diamond earrings belonging to her mother. Right on cue, Earl Spencer moved unsteadily forward, his youngest daughter on the arm of his grey morning suit. Following cautiously in the wake of the twenty-five-foot-long train came her friend Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, three other bridesmaids and two pages dressed as midshipmen.

As Diana walked slowly down the nave, her head bowed briefly beneath the Spencer family's diamond tiara and, through the tulle veil, her eyelashes began to flutter. She tried to 'look 'em in the eye' and Fergie, for one, beamed back brightly. Princess Grace and Lady Tryon smiled encouragingly. No one knew enough to check Camilla's reaction.

The ivory-silk wedding slippers gripped the red carpet and it appeared more than once that Diana was in charge, guiding her brave father on the longest journey of his life. For strength, her right hand gripped the bridal bouquet, a fragrant array of gardenias, freesias, stephanotis, white orchids, lilies-of-the-valley, a sprig of myrtle from a bush planted at Osborne House from Queen Victoria's posy and, in his memory, golden roses named after Lord Mountbatten. A world-wide television audience of 750 million was gripped by this moving picture of youthful elegance. In Charles's words, she knocked 'em dead. To those closest to her, Diana appeared even more beautiful: a vision drawn from the misty hues of a Gainsborough palette.

At last, she reached Charles, resplendent in the full-dress uniform of a Royal Navy commander, on a raised dais at the foot of the chancel steps. Smiling, he said: 'You look wonderful.' 'Wonderful for you,' she replied. If she had rehearsed that bit, it had the desired effect. Her nerves calmed down, but only momentarily. When she had to repeat Charles's names after the Archbishop of Canterbury, she fluffed her lines. She called her groom Philip Charles Arthur George by mistake, causing Prince Andrew, who was acting as supporter to Charles along with Prince Edward, to quip: 'She's married my father!' Charles showed that he, too, was not immune to the tension by saying: 'And all thy goods with thee I share' instead of 'And all my worldly goods with thee I share'. Significantly, Diana did not promise to obey her thrifty husband.

'Here is the stuff of which fairy-tales are made,' the Archbishop, Dr Robert Runcie, told the congregation. 'All couples on their wedding day are royal couples. Let us pray that the burdens we lay on Charles and Diana be matched by the love with which we support them in the years to come.'

To Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance and Walton's Crown Imperial, the Prince and Princess of Wales walked out of the cathedral, coincidently a temple to the goddess Diana in Roman times. Until that moment, they had been distant cousins through many generations of their family trees. He was her seventh cousin once removed through William Cavendish, third Duke of Devonshire; tenth cousin twice removed through King James I; eleventh cousin through Queen Elizabeth of Bohemia; and fifteenth cousin once removed through King Henry VII.

Charles had become the first Prince of Wales to marry on the sacred site since 1501. To Diana went the distinction of being the first Princess of Wales to be married in the present St Paul's. But she had surrendered her Christian name in the process. Her correct form of address was now Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales. The 'Princess Diana' title was just an honorary accolade from Fleet Street. In terms of royal precedence she ranked third to the Queen and the Queen Mother among women throughout the United Kingdom. It was a moment to savour.

Queen Victoria had described Princess Alexandra, her predecessor as Princess of Wales, as 'one of those sweet creatures who seem to come from the skies to help and bless poor mortals and to brighten for a time their path'. The words would prove a fitting epitaph to Diana's marriage.

CAMILLA Parker Bowles had lived rent free in Diana's head in the five months between the engagement and the wedding. She had the unnerving knack of turning up unexpectedly, always
au fait
with what was happening. Diana's faith in Charles had become touchingly naive once the sapphire ring was on her finger. She believed that he would forsake his former girlfriend and learn to love her instead. But the Curse of Camilla continued to blight Diana's life; it seemed to follow her everywhere. Her presence at almost every royal social occasion was an affront that she was powerless to combat. When she blurted out her suspicions, her sisters Sarah and Jane told her she was on edge; her imagination was exaggerating the importance of the other woman.

Diana stifled her doubts and carried on bravely, but her Cancerian instincts had been correct. Just before the wedding, according to Andrew Morton, Diana opened a parcel to find a gold bracelet with a blue enamel disc and the entwined initials 'F' and 'G'. She knew they stood for 'Fred' and 'Gladys', said Morton, the pet names secretly used by Charles and Camilla. Others said it stood for 'Girl Friday', the Prince's term of endearment for his mistress. There was an outside chance that both were right. Certainly the bracelet activated Diana's alarm system. When she challenged her fiancé, he reacted in exactly the same dismissive manner as he had over other incidents. Diana was left to guess whether his relationship with Camilla was still alive and, in the absence of any firm assurance to the contrary, she concluded that it was. Her bulimia resurfaced and she was frequently ill and tearful. This was the reason she had nearly cracked up at the Queen's reception in front of her own family.

Unknown to her, though, Charles had also been anguishing over his decision. Proud of her though he undoubtedly was, he knew in his heart that he did not love her. if they had been honest with each other, they could have saved themselves from so much pain,' said a friend. But so committed were the Windsors and the Spencers to this union of the heir and his fair lady that there could be no turning back.

Arthur may not have found his Guinevere, but the Professor had married Eliza. Not before some hesitation, the couple sealed this royal version of
Pygmalion
with a kiss on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. As the crowd chanted: 'Kiss her, kiss her,' Prince Andrew nudged his brother to comply.

'Go on,' he urged. 'Kiss her!'

'I'm not getting into that caper,' replied Charles, embarrassed. He turned to his mother.

'May I?' he asked.

Her Majesty gave her blessing. The audience cried for an encore.

The honeymoon began with a three-day break at Broadlands, which Diana hoped would give her and Charles a chance to relax in each other's company. She knew that the great mansion held many painful memories of Lord Mountbatten for her husband; perhaps she could reach him there. After weeks of hectic, late-night planning and partying, the newlyweds virtually collapsed during the ninety-mile ride from Waterloo Station to Hampshire in the Royal Train. Diana had scored one small, but symbolic victory: neither Camilla nor Kanga had been invited to the wedding breakfast at the Palace. They lunched elsewhere, Kanga with friends at San Lorenzo.

Diana sipped her champagne and cheered up. But the Royal Train was, in itself, a painful reminder of an assignation which had taken place between Charles and an unidentified blonde eight months earlier. Diana told friends she had been astonished when the
Sunday Mirror
reported that she had joined Charles while the train was standing overnight in a siding at Holt in Wiltshire on 5 November. She claimed she was at home, nursing a hangover after attending a party thrown by Princess Margaret at the Ritz. 'I am telling you the absolute truth,' said Diana. 'I stayed in all that evening with my three flatmates, Virginia, Carolyn and Anne. I had some supper and watched television before going to bed early. I don't even know what the Royal Train looks like.'

Reporters who worked on the story, based on a tip-off from a reliable informant, were reluctant to admit they got it wrong, but one finally conceded: 'Right train, wrong girl. I thought it might have been her sister Sarah,' he said. The story had tormented Diana ever since. She now believed that Charles had, indeed, received a late-night guest: Camilla Parker Bowles.

At Broadlands, the Prince and Princess of Wales slept in the Portico Room, overlooking the lawns that ran down to the River Test and shaded from the westering sun by massive columns. The past crowded in. The Queen and Prince Philip had slept in this four-poster during their honeymoon in 1947. So had Lord Louis and Edwina. Guests like to search the curtains for a motif woven into the 1854 chintz fabric. It traced the profiles of young Queen Victoria and her beloved Prince Albert. The intimacy Diana had prayed for was difficult to capture in the excited bustle of the great mansion. They rarely seemed to be alone. By day, Charles went fishing while she sat silently on the bank.