Imagining Diana

by Diane Clehane

  “I am keeping the memorial to Dodi in the store,” he said. “Hundreds of people come every day. They want to pay their respects.”

  “I understand,” said Diana, who decided then and there she would never give Mohamed the Bulgari ring she’d received from Dodi since she was unconvinced he wouldn’t put that on display somewhere else, like the Ritz, where she and Dodi had been just before the crash.

  “You are still very beautiful,” said Mohamed, his expression softening. “I have wonderful surgeons who I can arrange for you to meet if you wish. I am taking care of the bodyguard’s medical expenses and I will certainly do the same for you.”

  Diana feigned a smile. “That’s kind of you, thank you, but everything is being taken care of. I’m in good hands. I will be fine.”

  She desperately wanted to leave and go back to Kensington Palace so she could rest. The meeting had taken more out of her than she expected. But she still had to talk to Mohamed about his wild conspiracy theories and his claims Dodi had been murdered.

  “Can we also talk about the accident?” asked Diana.

  “It was not an accident, it was murder. They tried to kill you, too!” said Mohamed.

  “I know you are upset, but the investigators found . . . ”

  Mohamed cut her off before she could continue. “I won’t stop until the truth comes out,” he said as he got to his feet signaling he was done talking. “They took the life of my son. You could have been killed, too. I will find out the truth.”

  Diana quickly stood up sensing he was about to leave and said, “Mohamed, please, this isn’t going to help anyone . . . ”

  He waved her off and walked out of the room. A few minutes later, Diana heard his car drive off. Clearly, Mohamed’s affection for her and his dreams of what might have been if she had married his son would go only so far.

  For Mohamed, now that his Muslim son would be forever linked with the mother of the future king, the Establishment would do everything it could to silence him. He had convinced himself the Establishment’s hatred of him had cost him his son. He may have been one of richest men in the world, but Diana knew that with Dodi gone, Mohamed felt he had nothing left to lose.

  December 10, 1997

  h

  Christmas at Sandringham was always such an interminable affair. Diana had always hated it and was relieved that after the divorce, her presence was no longer desired or required. The annual family gathering at the Queen’s country estate had always been filled with emotional peril. Even the walk to church exposed Diana to relentless criticism and often aroused jealousy within the family. Princess Margaret had once accused Diana of dressing too flamboyantly the year she wore a purple coat dress and hat. “Doesn’t she get enough attention the rest of the year?” she sniped.

  Diana liked to joke that she didn’t understand why the frumpiest family in the world insisted that Christmas Day required no fewer than five wardrobe changes. “And they think I’m obsessed with clothes!” she’d laughingly told her friend Gianni Versace when they discussed why she had come to loathe the holidays with the royals so much. “It’s torture,” she told him.

  Even before she and Charles had separated, she found events where she was “held captive” with the Windsors tricky. Divorce meant she was free to do as she chose on Christmas even if the boys had to be with their father. The previous year, Diana spent the day alone at KP and made a surprise visit to the children’s ward at the Royal Marsden Hospital in the afternoon. She had her dinner of cold poached salmon and some Christmas pudding on a tray while she watched Coronation Street and went to bed early.

  William and Harry had been asking her to go with them to Sandringham this year. “I can’t bear to think of you here alone, Mummy,” said William. Harry was in agreement and had another reason for wanting his mother to join them. “If you come, we can all be together again like it was before.”

  Diana knew it was highly unlikely that she would be invited, since the Queen controlled the guest list. A few years ago, after she and Charles separated, Diana had declined an invitation from the sovereign and after that found the Queen was decidedly more formal and distant whenever she had dealings with her estranged daughter-in-law.

  But she also knew this year was different. Now that the papers had finally eased up on the stories about Diana and Dodi’s ill-fated love affair (she had not spoken to Mohamed since their meeting, and the roses had stopped coming), they had moved on to analyzing how the royal family should deal with Diana. Would they take her back into the fold now that she was disfigured and alone?

  When the boys came home from school, Prince Charles had joined them a few times at Kensington Palace to have dinner with Diana. William and Harry were clearly thrilled to have both their parents together in one place. Diana had grown skilled at applying the make-up to minimize her scar and had started wearing her hair down on the sides of her face. She had the beginnings of a short bob and was pleased with the new style. Luckily, Harry was too excited about being home for Christmas to give much thought to Diana’s changed appearance, but William, who had always been protective of his mother, was very concerned. He took her aside when Charles and Harry were watching television and asked her if she was worried about how her face looked. Diana tried to laugh it off saying, “Well the good thing is those photographers won’t want to take my picture anymore.”

  She didn’t want to tell him that hadn’t exactly been true when she ventured out for the first time since the gym fiasco to buy Christmas presents. Diana took Paul along, and when they got out of the car, he ran interference for her as she dashed into Harvey Nichols. Then he stood in front of her blocking the photographers who were just a few feet away from her on the sidewalk taunting her. “Come on, Di, let’s have a look,” said one of the more persistent shooters. “Please leave me alone,” pleaded Diana as she instinctively held her large Gucci tote up to her face.

  h

  There had been lots of laughs over dinner as the boys took turns imitating their least favorite teachers and regaling their parents with practical jokes they’d played on their classmates.

  Tonight, Charles stayed after the boys had gone to bed and poured himself a whisky. Diana sensed he wanted to talk about something important and thought an invitation to spend Christmas Day with the royal family might be in the offing.

  “The boys seem to enjoy these dinners,” he said. “I hope they’re not too much for you.”

  “Of course not,” said Diana. “It’s not like I do the cooking. It’s been wonderful for me to have them home again.”

  “What do the doctors say?”

  “They’re pleased with my progress. I’m feeling stronger every day.”

  “William says you’re not sleeping well.”

  “You know I’ve never been a sound sleeper,” said Diana. “I go through phases.”

  “He’s heard you cry out,” said Charles. “Are you having nightmares?”

  She wanted to tell him her life had become a living nightmare, but she didn’t. “I have bad dreams now and again. I’m sure I’ll be better now that they’ve come home.”

  “But they’ll only be here for a few more days before they come to Sandringham for Christmas.”

  “I know.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Diana, I’ve spoken to the Queen and she’s in agreement that you should be with your sons on Christmas.”

  “So they can stay here with me?”

  “We’d like you to join us for Christmas Day at Sandringham.”

  “I think that’s a bad idea, Charles. I’m sure the last person your family wants to see at Christmas dinner is me.”

  “They are concerned about you, Diana, and they know the boys have been, too. After everything that’s happened, I think we can all put aside our differences for one day and spend Christmas together.”


  “Have you told Camilla I might join in the festivities?”

  “She understands the circumstances.”

  “How sporting of her.”

  “Diana, we must think of William and Harry. They won’t be able to enjoy their Christmas if they are thinking about their mother sitting alone at home for the holiday.”

  “What makes you think I’d be alone?”

  Charles looked at her blankly for a moment. “I know you’ve barely left the palace except for a handful of appointments with your doctors and visits to a few friends’ homes. If you have other plans, the boys haven’t mentioned them.”

  “I was thinking of going to New York.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, there is a plastic surgeon there I’ve been planning to see who Liz Tilberis has recommended. Besides, she always says New York is a magical place at Christmas. It will be very quiet, but you won’t have to worry about my being alone. I’m touched, Charles, truly, about your concern, but I need to concentrate on figuring out my future, whatever that may be, not go back to the past.”

  “New York for Christmas?”

  “Actually . . . ”

  Diana felt herself hesitate for just a moment.

  “I’m thinking of moving there.”

  June 23, 2000

  h

  The car was waiting downstairs to take Diana to the heliport on the west side of Manhattan. There, Teddy Forstmann would be meeting her for the forty-five minute flight to his estate in Southampton, where they were spending the weekend.

  Since moving to New York the year before, Diana and the American financier, who was more than two decades older than she, had become nearly inseparable. Tonight they were hosting a dinner for an intimate group of friends that included Martina Navratilova and Boris Becker—both of whom had volunteered their time to play tennis on Saturday with some deep-pocketed donors at Teddy’s annual fundraiser for children’s charities.

  Diana stood in the center of the light-filled living room of her penthouse apartment at The Carlyle and looked around in search of her mobile phone. She’d been up late the night before talking to her therapist, who had told her she could call any time the nightmares or panic attacks returned. It had been close to two o’clock in the morning before she’d hung up. Diana canceled her usual Friday-morning session with her Pilates instructor because she’d slept in and taken a long bath to calm her still-jangled nerves. Even though it had been nearly three years since the crash, there were still triggers—especially during the summer—that could bring the memories of that night flooding back when she least expected them. It happened the night before when she’d gone into her dressing room to select her wardrobe for the weekend. Diana stacked some swimsuits, her favorite La Perla lingerie, her tennis clothes and a few cashmere sweaters on the bed. Then she opened a dresser drawer and took out a pair of white jeans. As she folded them in her arms, she flashed back to the night of the accident and saw herself standing at the back door of the Ritz beside Dodi wearing white jeans with a black blazer. She felt unnerved enough by the memory to stuff the jeans back into the drawer and call her new therapist here in the city who assured her that she was not regressing and reminded her that the trauma she suffered could take years to subside completely—if ever. Diana felt a bit better this morning, especially after William had called to tell her that he and Harry would be able to come to Southampton for a visit in August. It had been months since she’d seen them and was ecstatic about having the boys with her for a few weeks.

  When Diana finally found her phone wedged between the cushions on the couch in the living room, she tucked it into her Chanel handbag on the glass table near her luggage in the entrance hall. As she walked over to the desk to pick up the room phone and call downstairs for the bellman, Diana caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror and stopped to examine her reflection. Thanks to her renewed devotion to her daily workouts, her figure had never looked better. Pilates helped strengthen and lengthen the look of her already fabulous legs; swimming kept her upper body sculpted and strong.

  Diana looked radiant in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the white jeans she’d defiantly retrieved from her dresser that morning. She’d just had her hair blown out after breakfast. Her new stylist, whose clients included plenty of Hollywood actresses as well as New York’s blondest socialites, was more than happy to come to The Carlyle to do Diana’s hair, which for her was so much better than sitting in the middle of the salon at Bergdorf’s. Try as they may, the usually blasé crowd couldn’t help but gawk any time Diana visited.

  The stylist had encouraged Diana to lop off the shoulder length hair she’d grown out since the accident into a chin length bob. Diana kept her wispy bangs which softened her face. The overall effect was chic and modern. She spent over $800 on blonde highlights every two months that made her light-blue eyes look even more luminous against her lightly tanned skin.

  Today, she wore little makeup—just mascara (always mascara) and a light-pink lip gloss.

  The scar that traversed her right cheek had faded from blazing red to more of a light pinkish hue. The longer hair had covered some of it and she’d learned to smooth on just enough of light but opaque foundation to camouflage it, but hadn’t bothered to do so this morning.

  Diana had become more accepting of her scar. “I have no choice,” she said to Teddy, who had told her repeatedly that she was as beautiful as ever. “To me, you’re perfect,” he said. “Inside and out.” Coming from another man, those words would have sounded like a line. But Diana knew that Teddy meant them. She saw how he gazed at her. How he seemed to bask in the sillage of her scent. How he held her, as lover and protector at once.

  On good days, Diana would even think of her scar as something of a badge of honor. She had survived that summer from hell and come out the wiser for it. While she had established a new pattern to her working life at the time of the accident, her personal life had felt like it was spinning out of control. Diana saw that now. She had been rejected by Hasnat and plunged headlong into a rebound romance with another, of whom she had tired in a matter of weeks. Poor, sweet Dodi, thought Diana. He was so eager to win her affection, and she had encouraged him. He was as lost as she had been. But Dodi paid a much higher price for their ill-fated romance. They had both been looking for someone to erase the loneliness and insecurity that came from feeling like they truly did not fit into the pattern of the lives around them. Diana knew Mohamed had engineered their summer fling by summoning his son to his yacht to entertain her, but she would never fully get over the guilt she felt over her willingness to be swept up in it all.

  To make things worse that summer, just as Diana’s romantic life had hit the skids, everything was going swimmingly for Charles and Camilla, and they were getting quite bold about it.

  That July, Charles made his intentions clear by hosting a 50th birthday party for Camilla at Highgrove, a home he and Diana had once shared. Charles’s bold decision to essentially replace his ex-wife in such a public way had reopened old wounds for Diana. No members of the royal family had been invited, but Charles’s motivations for celebrating the milestone were clear. He wanted the world to know Camilla was the woman he loved. “The Rottweiler,” as Diana called her, had always had a powerful sexual hold over Charles and was now slowly emerging from the shadows. Although not surprised, Diana was infuriated by St. James’s Palace’s fledgling efforts to rehabilitate Camilla’s image from a homewrecker who had ruined Diana’s marriage to an earthy sportswoman who had long been Charles’s closest confidante. All of that had only fueled Diana’s despondency and feelings of abandonment as she tearfully packed for the holiday that Mohamed Al Fayed had promised would be a haven from everything and a chance to be pampered and indulged.

  Now, almost three years since that fateful summer, Diana had come to know—or at least believe—that surviving the crash was a sign. She told fr
iends she believed she had been given another chance to get it right, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. She and Charles had grown closer in the wake of the accident, and Diana saw the emotional, sensitive side of him that had endeared him to her when they first met.

  Since she moved to New York, they spoke twice a week about what was going on in their respective lives—conspicuously avoiding any mention of their significant others—and always discussed their sons. Diana and Charles had equally strong but different relationships with William and Harry. Both parents kept each other up to date on what they’d heard from William, who was spending his gap year doing British Army training in Belize and teaching school to young children in southern Chile. Diana had a special bond with William who, as a young child, was privy to the heartbreak his mother suffered over Charles’s affair with Camilla. Diana often poured out her heart to him, and although he was just a boy, William listened patiently and always had a box of tissues at the ready. She had always gone out of her way to instruct William by example on how important it was to connect and empathize with “the man on the street” so he would be a compassionate king when the time came. She frequently took him along when she visited homeless shelters and hospitals without the cameras in tow.

  Harry, who was more athletic and competitive than his older brother, adored his mother but was very close to Papa and shared his passion for sport and country life. Diana often observed how things seemed to roll off Harry much easier than they did with William. When Harry called his mother, their chats were typically much more light-hearted than her conversations with William. On her birthday, her younger son often gathered his mates around the phone to serenade Diana. Harry loved making her laugh. He shared her talent for dead-on impersonations of the royals. At his most serious, Harry talked of his interest in charities for children with AIDS and wanting to join the military.