The admiring portrait included a voice-over of her own reflections that she had recorded at the conclusion of the filming—not an interview per se, but an unusual personal statement similar to little noticed remarks she had made in previous films about racing and the Commonwealth. “Most people have a job and then they go home, and in this existence the job and the life go on together, because you can’t really divide it up,” she mused. “You have to sort of work out in your own mind the hard work, and then what you enjoy in retrospect from it.” She said she was accustomed to living “very much by tradition and by continuity,” adding rather forlornly, “I think this is what the younger members find difficult, the regimented side of it.” Most pointedly, she observed that hers was a “job for life,” putting to rest rumors floated by friends of the Prince of Wales that she would abdicate on her Accession Day.
The press greeted the film respectfully, praising its depiction of the Queen as a model of duty, sensibility, understatement, and wisdom. But even a well-crafted reminder of her worthy conduct couldn’t compete with the multiplying distractions of her family’s troubles, not to mention what one tabloid called “the dynamic sexiness of Princess Diana or the glorious naffness of Fergie.”
DIANA HAD REACHED a new and perilous stage in her relationship with the media—from realizing that she was a magnet for attention, to craving the attention, to seeking the attention, and now to using it as a weapon against Charles. In February, during their tour of India, she took aim with deadly accuracy by posing for photographers in “wistful solitude,” as the Daily Mail put it, in front of the romantic Taj Mahal. Her unspoken message was that “the marriage was indeed on the rocks,” wrote Charles’s biographer Jonathan Dimbleby.
Andrew and Fergie officially announced their separation in March, the divorce of Anne and Mark Phillips became final on April 23, and Fergie moved out of Sunninghill Park in May. But no one was prepared for the seismic events in June—a festive season that would ordinarily have been filled with tributes to the Queen’s milestone year.
On the 7th, The Sunday Times published the first of two excerpts from Andrew Morton’s explosive book, Diana: Her True Story. It was filled with vivid details about Diana’s severe emotional problems, but far more dangerous was its indictment of Charles as a cold and unfaithful husband (with chapter and verse about his affair with Camilla) and an uncaring father, and its depiction of the royal family as remote and strange. When asked several times by her brother-in-law Robert Fellowes if she had cooperated with the book, Diana lied and denied any role. Despite persistent rumors that she had been involved, Fellowes chose to take Diana at her word and sanctioned a condemnation by the Press Complaints Commission.
He was with the Queen on a state visit to Paris later that week when it became clear that Diana had deceived him. He immediately offered his resignation for embarrassing the press commission, but the Queen insisted that he remain in his job. Known for his integrity and lack of guile, Fellowes was astonished and angered by Diana’s dishonest behavior, which severely damaged their relationship and distanced the princess from her sister Jane Fellowes as well.
The Queen proceeded with her program in Paris even as she was fielding media queries behind closed doors from her forty-eight-year-old press secretary, Charles Anson. “Not once was there the slightest hint of annoyance,” recalled Anson, an unflappable and urbane veteran of two decades in the diplomatic service. “The doors would open and the Queen would walk out into the public gaze as if she didn’t have a care in the world.” She was, in fact, distressed. In consultations with Fellowes and her other advisers, she emphasized that despite Diana’s betrayal, she wanted to try to keep the marriage together, if only for the sake of William and Harry and to avoid any constitutional repercussions that might result for a divorced heir to the throne.
The second Sunday Times excerpt landed on June 14 when the Queen was back at Windsor, and the book came out two days later, on the first day of Royal Ascot. That Tuesday afternoon Charles and Diana met with his parents at the castle. It was an emotional encounter, according to Diana, who spoke about it with her butler, Paul Burrell, as well as Morton’s collaborator, James Colthurst. The possibility of separation and divorce was discussed, but according to Burrell’s account, the Queen and Philip told the couple that they should stay together and “learn to compromise, be less selfish, and try to work through their difficulties for the sake of the monarchy, their children, the country and its people.”
Charles and his mother said little during the meeting, while Diana tearfully unloaded on her husband and Camilla, and Philip vented the family’s distress about the Morton book. For the first time since the Morton crisis began, Diana lied directly to her in-laws and her husband, reiterating that she had not helped the author. “Mama despaired as she listened to me,” Diana told Burrell. “All I seemed to be doing was relaying to her my anguish.”
With the lines of communication now open, the Queen asked Diana and Charles to return for a second meeting the following day. Not only did Diana refuse to come, she packed up and left Windsor Castle, prompting Philip to write her a two-page letter expressing his disappointment while offering some suggestions for dealing with her troubled marriage. It was the first of five thoughtful letters he wrote from June through September “in a friendly attempt to resolve a number of family issues,” each followed by a lengthy reply from Diana.
Acting in his role as head of the family, Philip tried to persuade his daughter-in-law to recognize her own faults as well as those of her husband, even as he praised her for the good work she had done. To promote compromise, he emphasized what she and Charles had in common, and he cited his own experience in giving up his independent career when his wife became Queen. In an effort to provide perspective, he wrote that being the wife of the heir to the throne “involved much more than simply being a hero with the British people.”
Although Diana described her father-in-law’s words as “stinging,” “wounding,” and “irate,” Philip’s private secretary, Brigadier Sir Miles Hunt-Davis, said later in sworn testimony that there was “not a single derogatory term within the correspondence.” Diana’s replies began “dearest Pa” and ended with “fondest love.” She told him she was “particularly touched” by his guidance, thanked him for being “heartfelt and honest,” and expressed admiration “for the marvelous way in which you have tried to come to terms with this intensely difficult family problem.” When Philip wrote that he was eager to “do my utmost to help you and Charles to the best of my ability” while conceding “I have no talents as a marriage counselor!!!” she responded, “You are very modest about your marriage guidance skills and I disagree with you! This last letter of yours showed great understanding and tact.” Implicit in Philip’s entreaties was the Queen’s support, which Diana acknowledged at one point by sending “much love to you both.”
In the end, Philip’s advice failed to move her, according to a friend who saw the letters, because “he never touched Diana’s heart. He couldn’t, because he argued in terms of duty and not love.”
The entire royal family had swung over to Charles’s side now that they understood the full scale of Diana’s treachery. Before the Morton book, Charles had been unable to talk to his parents about his troubles. “I think it took a long time to accept that the faults were not more his than hers,” said Patricia Brabourne. “The Queen could see through Diana’s manipulation, but in personal situations it was difficult to really know the truth. There were two sides to the story and you had to work out how to put them together.” Charles welcomed his parents’ newfound sympathy; Philip even sent his son a long letter referring to his “saint-like fortitude.”
Andrew, who among the siblings had been closest to Diana, moved into his older brother’s corner, along with Anne, whose relationship with Diana had always been cool, and Edward, who had kept his sister-in-law at arm’s length. The one family member with whom Diana had enjoyed the greatest kinship was Princess Margaret, who shared
her love of ballet and quick sense of humor. Margaret had shown compassion for Diana’s vulnerability, and Diana could relate to the sadness of Margaret’s star-crossed love life. But Margaret viewed the Morton book as an attack on her sister, and never had another kind word for Diana.
The Queen confided her unhappiness to members of her close circle while trying “to keep a calm view,” said one of her relatives. Over dinner with John and Patricia Brabourne, she said, “Can you imagine having two daughters-in-law like this?” “It was nonplussing,” Patricia Brabourne recalled. “You don’t know how to behave when someone is making such a mess. You want to help them mend, but how to do it?”
George Carey, who by then had been Archbishop of Canterbury for over a year, gathered intelligence from two ladies-in-waiting, Susan Hussey and Richenda Elton, the wife of the 2nd Baron Elton. “If I wanted help in understanding I would talk to them,” he said. “I would never worry about the Queen’s mood, which was constant. I would say to them, ‘What is on her mind?’ and they would tell me directly.”
The archbishop conveyed to Elizabeth II his sense that the estrangement between Charles and Diana was too deep for anyone to make a difference. “The personalities were so different,” said Carey. “The Queen understood that. She could offer support and put them into her prayers.” She was also concerned about the possibility of Charles marrying Camilla. “There was a moment when we were talking very candidly about divorce,” said Carey. “I remember her sighing and saying, ‘History is repeating itself.’ I saw despair. What she was talking about was the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. She thought Charles was in danger of throwing everything out the window by rejecting Diana and forging another relationship. It was a very worrying moment, and my role was to reassure her.”
The Queen was fortunate to have a prime minister with a placid temperament in those tense times. John Major relied on her as a dispassionate and confidential sounding board, and she leaned on him equally to work through complicated family matters. Their Tuesday audiences “became almost mutual support sessions,” wrote royal biographer William Shawcross. “Major knew that the scandals were devastating for her.” Years later Major said, “People don’t realize quite how strong she is. I think the way she behaved in those years has saved the monarchy from far worse problems that otherwise they might have faced.”
In July, the prime minister contacted George Carey to say that the couple would likely separate in the autumn and divorce was now a distinct possibility. The prime minister asked the archbishop to participate in “some preparatory work on constitutional matters” along with Lord Mackay of Clashfern, the Lord Chancellor; cabinet secretary Robin Butler; and Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd. Carey also met separately with Diana and Charles. “It was my pastoral duty to assist them to conclude their marriage with grace and understanding,” he wrote. In the process, he came to see “with some sorrow that Charles was more sinned against than sinning. There was a streak in Diana’s psychological make-up that would not allow her to give in.”
THE ANNUAL BALMORAL holiday brought no escape from the family turmoil, this time created by Fergie, who was there at Andrew’s invitation. On Thursday, August 20, the Daily Mirror ran a page-one exposé headlined “FERGIE’S STOLEN KISSES.” It featured ten pages of photographs showing the thirty-two-year-old Duchess of York lounging bare-breasted on the French Riviera with her two daughters and her “financial advisor,” a thirty-seven-year-old American named John Bryan. In one shot, Bryan was shown kissing Fergie’s toes, and in another they were embracing in front of two-year-old Eugenie.
At breakfast that morning, the royal family, their houseguests, and courtiers were confronted with the humiliating display. “It would be accurate to report that the porridge was getting cold,” Fergie wrote in her memoir. “Eyes wide and mouths ajar, the adults were flipping through the Daily Mirror and the rest of the tabloids.… I had been exposed for what I truly was. Worthless. Unfit. A national disgrace.” She immediately apologized to the Queen, who was “furious” over her daughter-in-law’s stunningly poor judgment. “Her anger wounded me to the core, the more because I knew she was justified,” Fergie recalled. After three more days of chilly stares from her estranged in-laws, the disgraced duchess returned to London. She did not see Balmoral again for sixteen years.
Philip never forgave Fergie for dishonoring the family. “I don’t see her because I don’t see much point,” he told author Gyles Brandreth. But the Queen, in her typically tolerant fashion, remained on good terms. During the Christmas holidays at Sandringham, she even arranged for Fergie to stay at nearby Wood Farm so her daughters could join her after celebrating with the rest of the family. “The Queen had an affection for her daughter-in-law, who often got things wrong,” said one of her senior advisers. “In a sense, though, Fergie was disarmingly guileless and you could see what she was doing up to a mile away.” Diana was another matter—secretive and scheming—and so was more difficult to forgive.
Four days after the Mirror scoop, the rival Sun dropped its own bombshell headlined “MY LIFE IS TORTURE.” The article quoted extensively from a surreptitiously recorded telephone conversation between Diana and thirty-three-year-old James Gilbey, an intimate friend who had also cooperated with the Morton book. The recording had been made at the end of December 1989 while Diana was staying at Sandringham. Their conversation was sprinkled with endearments (he repeatedly called her “Squidgy” and she referred to him as “darling”) and sexual innuendo. She revealed her duplicity when she proposed various cover stories for their assignations. Most damning were her bitter comments about Charles and his relatives. “Bloody hell,” she said, “after all I’ve done for this fucking family.”
The Palace declined to comment, while Elizabeth II strove to maintain her equilibrium. After Margaret left Scotland for a holiday in Italy, she wrote to the Queen that she “personally found great comfort in being with you” at such a difficult time and said she hoped her sister could find some solace in the beauty of the Highlands.
Diana didn’t flee Balmoral as Fergie had done. Instead, she turned, in the words of her private secretary Patrick Jephson, “alternately despairing, defiant, or lost in self-pity” and announced she would not accompany Charles on an official visit to Korea in November. Once again, the Queen intervened, this time with the help of Philip, and persuaded her to make the trip. It was a fig leaf at best. Back in London that autumn, both Charles and Diana consulted lawyers, but neither was able to take the difficult first step toward official separation.
The rush of sensational stories whipped up further attacks on the Queen for her exemption from taxes. Early in September, government officials began suggesting she might be ready to reverse the policy. That autumn the working group had nearly completed its review, with further details to be ironed out in the final proposal. David Airlie intended to present the plan to the Queen when he and his wife came to stay at Sandringham for a shooting weekend in early January—an approach he often used for difficult issues. That way, he could meet with Elizabeth II in a relaxed setting, “take time and talk round it and have Philip there,” said a senior adviser. Once she gave the go-ahead, officials reasoned, the announcement could be made in the spring of 1993.
FATE INTERVENED ON Friday, November 20, the forty-fifth wedding anniversary of the Queen and Philip. She was going into an audience in the late morning when Andrew rang from Windsor to tell her that part of the castle was ablaze. A number of rooms were being rewired when a spotlight ignited a curtain in the Private Chapel, causing a fast-moving fire that spread from the Chester Tower to Brunswick Tower, destroying or damaging nine state rooms—including St. George’s Hall, the State Dining Room, Crimson Drawing Room, Green Drawing Room, Grand Reception Room, and Octagon Dining Room—and more than one hundred others. Because of the ongoing restoration work, much of the artwork had been removed from the rooms hit hardest. Andrew joined scores of volunteers including members of the Household Cavalry and the Dean of Windsor to rescue nearly all
the remaining paintings, furniture, and other valuables threatened by the fire.
The Queen arrived at around 3 P.M. “It was the most shaken I ever saw her,” said one of her senior advisers. Windsor was the home that meant the most to Elizabeth II, and the conflagration seemed like cruel retribution for the misbehavior of her wayward family. Bundled in her macintosh, a rain hat, and wellies, her hands thrust into her pockets, she stood in the middle of the courtyard looking bereft as the fire roared, and the roof above the state apartments began to collapse. The image captured her ultimate solitude more tellingly than either of her Annigoni portraits.
She spent about an hour in the gray drizzle before going to the private apartments to help her staff move out precious possessions in case the fire spread further. After the firefighters brought the blaze under control, she and Andrew inspected the damage.
Though Philip was away at a conference in Argentina, he spoke with his wife at length on the phone. The Queen Mother invited her daughter to spend the weekend with her at Royal Lodge, an occasion for extended conversation and some soul searching. “It made all the difference to my sanity after that terrible day,” the Queen wrote to her mother the following week.
Heritage Secretary Peter Brooke announced that the estimated £20 million to £40 million cost for restoration would be borne by the government. It was entirely appropriate because royal residences cannot be commercially insured. Moreover, the expenses of running and restoring Windsor Castle—including those under way when the fire broke out—were customarily paid by the government. But to the astonishment of both the Queen and John Major, the Daily Mail led an angry populist crusade against this plan, fueled by cumulative resentment of the royal family’s younger generation. At a time of economic recession the cry went up for the Queen to pay for the restoration, and to start paying taxes as well.
In a matter of days, Palace officials scuttled their timetable and gained the Queen’s approval of their tax plan. She and Prince Charles would voluntarily pay tax on their private income from the Duchy of Lancaster and the Duchy of Cornwall, respectively, starting in 1993. The Queen would also reimburse the government from her private funds for the £900,000 a year in Civil List payments to Andrew, Anne, Edward, and Margaret to cover their official expenses. To help finance the Windsor Castle restoration, she agreed to open the state rooms at Buckingham Palace to members of the public for an admission fee.
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