Imagining Diana

by Diane Clehane

  “Papa has been told he can’t hire private security.”

  “That doesn’t mean there aren’t things we can do,” said Diana. “When I first began dating Papa, I had no idea what I was getting into. Kate has been with you for a while now, but you were living in something of a protective bubble at St. Andrews. The arrangement the Palace made with the press is no longer in effect. So they’re free to go after you both, and there’s nothing legally we can do to stop them.”

  “This is so unfair to her,” fumed William.

  “She chose to be with you, and this comes with the territory,” said Diana. “No one ever tried to help me. I understand what she’s going through more than anyone else possibly could, so there is no one better equipped to help her.”

  April 30, 2007

  h

  Before she slipped out of Rhett’s downtown loft, Diana put on her sunglasses and pushed a borrowed baseball cap down on her forehead. She was wearing the same Ralph Lauren pantsuit and Jimmy Choo stilettos she’d worn to dinner the previous evening. She kept her head down as she sprinted to the waiting town car at the curb. It was a little before seven o’clock in the morning and a light rain was falling in New York City. On the all-but-deserted street in Tribeca, a woman picking up after her dog was too busy to notice that the most famous woman in the world had just dashed by her. As the car made its way uptown, Diana leaned back and closed her eyes. The past week had been a whirlwind. She had taken a suite at The Carlyle (her penthouse apartment at the hotel had sold in one day after she returned to England) and enjoyed being back in New York, the city that had always been so welcoming to her. Diana was grateful for the people she’d met while living there, many of whom had become good friends. But no one more than Teddy. They had remained close after their breakup, but Diana wasn’t going to see him on this trip because he was out of town. They promised each other they would have dinner the next time Teddy was in London. That was fine with Diana. She had been looking forward to having some time to herself and catching up with some of her New York girlfriends.

  Diana’s main reason for visiting New York was to do a photo shoot and series of interviews for an upcoming issue of Vanity Fair. She had been inundated with media requests as the tenth anniversary of the crash approached. We would like to give you the opportunity to talk about what happened on August 31, 1997 in your own words. . . . There has been so much speculation over the years, people all over the world want to hear your version of events. That was how most inquiries began. Every talking head on television sent flowers and gifts. Oprah had flown to London to personally make her pitch to Diana. In the end, Diana ruled out television in favor of print and decided to go back to Vanity Fair. She had loved working with them the first time. The same woman who interviewed her about the Christie’s auction of her dresses talked to her for the new piece. Mario Testino, the man who had created those instantly iconic photographs for the magazine ten years ago, photographed her once again.

  As she peered out the tinted windows of the town car, Diana recalled that the first time, everything had taken place in Mario’s studio in South London. She remembered how positively giddy she had felt while she was being photographed that day. At the time, she was looking forward to the next chapter in her life. She was in love with Hasnat and wanted to marry him. She was hopeful about a new beginning. A decade later, Diana had indeed started over—more than once—and nothing except her relationship with her sons had turned out the way she expected.

  This time, she was not photographed laughing while modeling designer dresses. Diana had agreed to sit for a cover portrait wearing a simple white shirt. A portfolio showing Diana inside the United Nations would grace the interior spread. She was thrilled that she and Mario, along with the magazine’s editors, had come up with the idea of photographing her at the UN surrounded by a group of people whose lives she’d touched—young African girls, landmine victims and AIDS activists. Long after the shoot wrapped, she stayed behind and spoke with each of them individually. It was no surprise to the two men who had traveled with her in Bosnia ten years ago that she remembered both of their names and asked after their families.

  In preparation for the shoot, Diana had visited the plastic surgeon in New York who had worked wonders on her scar. This time, he’d tightened her jawline and erased some of the lines around her eyes with just enough Botox. Her skin was not as luminous as it once was, but her hard-won self-awareness gave her a kind of radiance she had not possessed a decade ago. At 46, she was still recognized as one of the world’s most beautiful women. In the ten years since the crash, Diana’s greatest transformation was on the inside, and that’s what she hoped to convey to the world with this story.

  Diana had loved the experience of being treated like a supermodel at Industria Studios for the cover shoot. She felt relaxed as she sat wrapped in a plush white terrycloth robe in front of the enormous studio mirror framed in round white bulbs as her hair was blown out, her makeup applied and her nails buffed. The whole thing was so much fun, she’d thought, as Freedom by George Michael blared in the background (the studio had queued a mix of some of Diana’s favorite music), especially since so much of her time was now spent in some of the most remote parts of the world tending to the most forgotten people.

  Diana had also enjoyed yesterday’s lunch at the Monkey Bar with the writer from Vanity Fair who was doing the piece. During their conversation, Diana had been struck by how different the tenor of their conversation was, ten years later. There would be no talk of the ghosts of Kensington Palace or her days as a desperate royal wife to a publicly unfaithful husband. Diana’s story was now one of a survivor who had evolved, almost against the odds, into a woman who wielded enormous global influence. Officially, the story was pegged to coincide with the upcoming tenth anniversary of the Christie’s auction, the success of which was what had convinced Diana that she could play an even larger role on the world stage. But that would not be enough. Diana knew she would also have to talk about the crash and its aftermath. She finally felt ready to do so—within reason. And she would only answer the questions provided to her in advance.

  When Diana had gotten back to The Carlyle after the shoot, she called William to see how he was getting on since news of his breakup with Kate hit the newspapers. The split had been coming for months. Diana knew things had been a bit rocky between them, so she wasn’t surprised when he told her before she left for New York that he and Kate had broken up. The public dissection of their relationship and constant expectation of an engagement announcement had all gotten to be too much, he told her.

  Charles told Diana he had found their normally sensible son nursing a hangover on several occasions after nights of drinking at Boujis with fellow officers. William was also mourning the death of one of his closest friends from Sandhurst, who was killed in Iraq, and had been going through a quiet, moody patch.

  Kate had been cruelly dubbed “Waity Katie” in the press and chided for having no official role in William’s life—and no engagement ring. (Both the Queen and Diana had suggested Kate get involved with a charity and she’d been looking into suitable ones at the time of the breakup.) Kate, along with most of England, had been hoping William would propose for her twenty-fifth birthday in January. When the day came, photographers were camped outside Oak Acre, the Middleton family home in Bucklebury, to make sure they were on the spot to get the very first photo of the newly engaged royal bride-to-be. But there had been no announcement, and Kate was crushed. In a bit of unfortunate timing, commemorative mugs and plates with images of William and Kate celebrating a yet-to-be announced wedding date were unveiled on the same day. William was not amused. Finally, the following Easter, Kate had given William an ultimatum.

  News of the split was all over the newspapers in London and the popular weeklies in the States were filled with stories about the couple, quoting unnamed supposed friends. There were all sorts of theories being floated about why the couple had
split, but most publications snickered that the Windsors considered the Middletons “too middle class.” The truth was that the royals, including the Queen, liked Kate and thought she was good for William. Diana had been especially pleased that Kate seemed willing to give her son a wide berth, especially now that he’d begun his military career. She also felt a sense of relief that Kate came from a stable, loving family and had had, by all accounts, a very ‘normal’ upbringing.

  Ironically it was Camilla who told Charles that she thought the future king of England should marry an aristocrat, not a commoner. Diana didn’t know what angered her more—hearing her husband’s mistress put on airs or Charles’s thinking nothing of passing on her ridiculous comment. Charles was quite fond of his son’s girlfriend, but his tendency to be swayed by whomever he last spoke to—in this case Camilla—infuriated Diana, especially when she considered the source.

  “I like Kate very much, but her family . . . ,” Charles had said.

  “My grandmother was the Queen Mother’s best friend. A lot of good that did us.”

  “We need not go down that road.”

  “I want our son to be happy. And she seems to make him. They get on quite well, Charles.”

  “But . . . are we really sure she’s the most suitable wife for him?”

  “You married me because I was ‘suitable.’ Do you remember?”

  “Please, Diana.”

  “For God’s sake Charles, we were perfect on paper. Everything was ‘suitable.’ But look at what happened.”

  “All of that is in the past.”

  “No, Charles, it’s very much in the present. The family cannot make the same mistake again. If William wants to marry Kate, we can’t keep him from her. We must not.”

  “Perhaps living a life like ours wouldn’t suit her.”

  “She’s been with him for years and seen firsthand what his life is like.” Diana hesitated for a moment.

  “And if they do get engaged,” she continued, “I can help her.”

  “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a sensible young woman, Diana, with a good head on her shoulders who’s had a good education. You were just a girl of nineteen. She seems more than capable of learning on the job if it comes to that.”

  “If William does marry Kate, I won’t stand by and watch her be thrown to the wolves. It is unfair to expect her to enter into a life of duty without the benefit of learning from someone who was in the same situation.”

  “Diana, I think you should stay out of it. If the time comes, the Queen can have her staff handle everything.”

  “I see no reason why I shouldn’t be the one to help her. I understand what she’ll be going through better than anyone.”

  “William and Kate are different people. It’s a different time. And they are quite in love, so if he indeed does choose her, it will all work out.”

  “Being in love does not ensure that things ‘will all work out,’ as you say. If it only were that simple.”

  “Oh, Diana.”

  h

  Diana wrapped up her New York trip with dinner at the Waverly Inn for a quick meeting with the two filmmakers from the BBC she’d already met with in London about partnering with her foundation to produce a series of television documentaries. When she walked into the candlelit dining room, the high-wattage crowd pretended not to notice her, but more than a few people looked up from their chicken pot pies, mouths agape. Tucked in at a corner table, Diana picked at her Dover sole while she and the documentarians discussed how, as co-executive producers, they could create a template for bi-annual broadcasts that would each focus on a particular social issue or global cause. Diana would introduce and narrate the films, which would include footage of her own humanitarian missions around the world.

  After she said goodnight to her new partners, Diana emerged from the restaurant excited about what lay ahead: the Vanity Fair story, the documentaries with the BBC, and her personal relationships within the royal family were, for the moment, relatively drama-free. She could handle Charles. She no longer cared whether he married Camilla. William would sort things out with Kate, one way or the other. Her biggest worry at the moment was for Harry’s safety, as he had won his hard-fought battle against the men in gray to serve in Iraq. On his twenty-first birthday, Harry told an interviewer: “There is no way I’m going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are fighting for my country.” Diana could hardly argue with her son since she, too, had risked her life walking through a half-cleared minefield—twice—in Angola.

  As she walked up the few stairs that led out to the street, Diana almost bumped into Rhett Donovan, the same young actor with whom she’d flirted at the Vanity Fair party when they met in Los Angeles. They’d stayed in touch mostly through calls and the occasional text. She had accepted his invitation to come to his recent movie premiere and after-party in Los Angeles before she moved back to England. He was standing in front of the restaurant’s ivy hedge smoking a cigarette. Six feet tall with olive skin, black wavy hair and penetrating light green eyes, he was so handsome, he was almost beautiful.

  “Well hello there, Princess,” he said as he extinguished his cigarette on the sole of his boot.

  “Rhett, hello, what a lovely surprise,” said Diana, who liked the gentleness of his bemused smile.

  “You don’t strike me as a downtown girl,” he said as he drew closer to her. “What are you doing in the West Village?”

  “I was having dinner with some people to talk about the films we’re going to be making together.”

  “Really? So now you’re going to be a movie star?”

  “Hardly,” said Diana. “I’m producing a series of documentaries with the BBC.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Are you going in?” asked Diana motioning to the restaurant behind them.

  “No, I’m meeting some friends actually. We’re headed to Soho House. Care to join us?”

  “Perhaps some other time? I am flying back to London in the morning.”

  Rhett clutched his heart as if news of Diana’s departure from New York was a deathblow. He then took hold of her hand and kissed it.

  “One drink? We can go somewhere quiet and you can tell me all about your movie.”

  “You’re very convincing,” said Diana.

  Back in his loft later that night, Rhett took her face into his hands and they finally kissed. Tenderly at first, then more passionately. Diana hadn’t been with anyone for a long while and was now overcome by a sexual urgency that surprised her. Instead of taking her quickly, Rhett took his time, exploring every inch of her body. Diana felt remarkably open with him and allowed herself to be seduced. The sex was blissful. She felt wanted, worshipped even. She felt young. She fell asleep in his arms, and when they awoke in the early morning hours, they made love again. Afterwards, as they lay in bed, he gently brushed her cheek with his hand; the scar was now just a faint line between her past and present. “Diana,” he whispered. “My beautiful princess. Where have you been?”

  September 27, 2010

  h

  Charles and Diana were waiting for William in Diana’s drawing room at Kensington Palace when they finally heard their older son’s Ducati zoom up the gravel drive. William had asked his parents to meet him there at four o’clock. They had just poured themselves some tea when he strode into the room, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed from the brisk air and his blue eyes shone as bright as the cerulean pullover he was wearing beneath his black leather jacket.

  “I wanted to tell you both at the same time,” said William as he placed his helmet on the floor and then stood between his parents with his hands clasped in front of him. “I am going to ask Catherine to marry me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Diana, who smiled at h
earing Kate now referred to by her preferred, more regal-sounding, given name. “When?”

  “I’m going to propose on our trip to Kenya in a few weeks. It’s such a special place, and I won’t have to worry about the paparazzi stalking us.”

  “Does she suspect anything?” asked Charles.

  “We’ve talked about it of course, but I think the timing will come as a surprise. When we got back together, I promised her that we would be engaged when I finished my pilot’s training. She’s been incredibly patient. I love her and I want her to be my wife.”

  “I’m very happy for you both,” Diana said as she bolted over to her son and hugged him. “She’s a wonderful girl,” she whispered to William as they embraced.

  “I’m swearing you both to secrecy,” said William breaking into a broad smile. “I don’t want anything to ruin this for us.”

  “Of course,” said Charles. “Do the Middletons know?”

  “I’m going to ask Michael for his permission at dinner on Saturday night. Catherine and I are driving to Bucklebury on Friday. I’m also going to ask him to keep the news from the rest of the family so we can enjoy our engagement for a little while before announcing it to the world.”

  “You’ll make a fine husband,” said Charles. “And I’m sure Catherine will be a wonderful wife.”

  “Thank you both,” said William, leaning in to kiss Diana and hug Charles. “And to be able to share the news with both of you at once means so much. You’ve come through it all and now you’re friends. Harry and I are both so happy about that. It’s brilliant.”

  “We’re fine. Don’t worry about us. Have you told Harry yet?” asked Diana.

  “I can’t wait to tell him, but I best save him for last,” said William. “He’ll be merciless about how long it took me to get here.”

  Diana and her son walked arm in arm to the front door. “Mummy, you once told me that if I find someone I love in life, I must hang on to that love and look after it,” said William. “Thank you for that. I’ve never forgotten those words.”