Imagining Diana
Page 10
The Princess Diana Foundation was flourishing. Millions of dollars poured in every month, thanks to Diana’s relentless efforts to pry money out of the hands of rich, publicity-hungry (and sometimes just plain generous) philanthropists. In the years since the crash and with the dawn of the Internet age, Diana had become even more of an icon. Countless blogs and fan sites were devoted to her.
In March, she had made her first television appearance in a decade when she presented the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature to the producers of a film that chronicled the plague of leftover landmines in Cambodia and Laos. Teddy had not gone to Los Angeles with Diana—he was in Asia on a long-planned business trip—but had arranged for a bouquet of white roses to greet her when she arrived at her suite at the Hotel Bel-Air. She’d noticed that it was not quite as extravagant a floral arrangement as he’d sent her in the past.
The show’s organizers had managed to keep Diana’s presence at the awards under wraps until the moment the curtains parted and dramatically revealed the princess clad in a form-fitting black Versace standing center stage. She was moved to tears by the thunderous ovation. Later that night at the Vanity Fair party, she enjoyed flirting with one of her favorite young actors, Rhett Donovan, who launched an all-out charm offensive in hopes of getting Diana to go home with him. It was then that Diana realized it had been a long time since she and Teddy had had sex. Had it been two months? Three? Longer? Why hadn’t she noticed? Diana enjoyed an evening of harmless flirting and replayed their risqué conversation over and over in her head when she finally slipped into her own bed—alone—at Hotel Bel-Air just before dawn.
The next day, she was the headline in hundreds of stories around the world that barely mentioned who had won the gold statuettes the previous evening. Donations poured into the foundation’s offices in New York and London, which both received a record number of pledges after the telecast. Charles had called to tell her she was “fantastic” on the show. Diana wondered whether Camilla had ever told Charles about their encounter after the Queen Mother’s funeral. He acted as if he didn’t know. William told her he’d never mentioned it to his father because he knew it would upset him. She supposed it was possible that Charles didn’t know anything, but it seemed highly unlikely—unless Camilla was afraid to bring up Diana’s name for fear of his reaction.
A few months before he proposed, Teddy had asked Diana outright if she still loved Charles, and she had answered, “I will always love him. He is the father of my children. It’s different from the way I love you.” Diana had hated Charles for years leading up to the divorce but since the accident had grown fond of him again. Not just as the father of her sons, but as someone with whom she shared a rich, albeit complicated, history.
It had taken the British tabloids a surprisingly long time to pick up on the extent of Diana and Charles’s post-marital friendship, but now that they had, they were laboring to cast Diana as “the other woman” in a romantic triangle. Diana laughed it off to friends, making clear that there was no interest on her part but acknowledging that she loved the fact that this gossip would drive Camilla mad.
A recent story had alleged that a “good friend” of Charles’s said that Charles “regretted the divorce and was trying to win Diana back.” She wondered whether there wasn’t a grain of truth to the tabloids’ wild speculation. Diana sometimes caught Charles staring at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. The first time, she automatically put her hand to her face to cover her scar. He shook his head slightly and said, “Diana, don’t, you are still very beautiful.”
Regardless of how Charles may have felt about Diana, Camilla was still there at his side whenever possible. But the Queen would not break protocol for a woman who was still just her son’s mistress. Camilla was not included in family-only gatherings such as Christmas at Sandringham. It was out of the question that she attend William’s graduation from St. Andrews, and Charles dared not ask his mother to bend the rules. Whatever was preventing Charles from marrying Camilla was fine with Diana. When she told Charles about her engagement to Teddy, he seemed genuinely happy for her but had failed to follow suit.
William’s commencement had been a wonderful day for Diana. The Queen had even commented that she was pleased to see the family getting on so well. Such occasions weighed heavily on Diana, who knew that becoming Mrs. Teddy Forstmann would carry a price. Once married, she would have to relinquish the title of “princess.” She had decided along with her attorneys that the foundation would be renamed The Diana Global Foundation once she and Teddy were married. After all, she was a far bigger star than any other celebrity who went by one name. But she had been “Princess Diana” for twenty-five years and was likely to remain so to the millions around the world who felt deeply connected to her, no matter what was written on any legal document. Diana understood that the trappings of her life as a princess even after the divorce had enabled her to go about her humanitarian work with the golden patina that only a royal title could bring.
As much as her history with the royal family had been contentious and dysfunctional, she had risen through the ranks of the British aristocracy, born Diana Spencer, later to become Lady Diana Spencer, then Her Royal Highness, Princess Diana. When she was stripped of the title “Her Royal Highness” in her divorce, experts were stunned, because the decision was “without historical precedent.” But this time, the loss of her title would not only be required, but expected.
By marrying Teddy, her break with the royal family would be complete. Diana would have to give up the Kensington Palace apartments where William and Harry had grown up. She would still be the mother of the future king, but remarrying—to an American no less—would no doubt distance her from her sons’ legacy, and her own, within the royal family.
As was often the case when facing a major decision since the crash, Diana found herself thinking about Hasnat. It had been almost ten years since she had been willing to give up her “princess” title, and nearly everything else associated with her life as a royal, to become Hasnat’s wife. It still pained her to think about the life-altering chain of events their love affair, and ensuing breakup, had set in motion.
Diana had written to Hasnat when she moved to New York, telling him she would never forget the time they spent together and wishing him well. He never wrote back. A friend in London had recently informed her that Hasnat had wedded a 28-year-old girl in an arranged marriage. As she had done with so many of the other men who she felt had disappointed her, Diana erased Hasnat from her life and vowed never to utter his name again. But try as she might, she could not purge him from her memory.
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Diana put all that out of her mind when she arrived at Michael’s and strode through the bustling dining room to Table One, the most desirable spot in the restaurant reserved for the most important people in the A-list crowd on any given day. Since arriving in New York, she had been deluged with book deal offers. Top agents and publishers from virtually every imprint had wooed her persistently. But Lois Shadley had been the most persistent.
She handwrote Diana long letters on exquisitely embossed personal stationary about how “free” she thought Diana would feel in telling her own story in her own words. She sent flowers every year on Diana’s birthday and fired off short laudatory notes whenever she saw the princess or one of her sons in the news.
Diana finally acquiesced for one reason: She felt she was ready. A memoir, she thought, could be the ideal medium through which to transition her narrative away from the fodder that had fueled stories about her in the past, sometimes even with her consent—the divorce, the affairs, the heartbreak.
Diana also had her financial future to consider. While she was able to raise tens of millions of dollars for her foundation, she had to face the possibility of having to support her lavish lifestyle independent of both the royals and Teddy. Lois’s reputation for negotiating record-setting advances for her celebrity authors—among them
former U.S. presidents and first ladies—clinched Diana’s decision to sit down with her before anyone else.
The bustling restaurant was full of famous faces. Senator Joe Biden was at a corner table chatting with Katie Couric, who was seated nearby. Bette Midler was hosting a large group of women in the center of the dining room. As Diana was shown to her table, no one in the crowd could avert their gaze, among them Barbara Walters, who smiled and nodded when they locked eyes. The television doyenne had been trying to land an exclusive interview to coincide with the tenth anniversary of the crash. Diana had considered it, but in the end she decided that a book might be the best way to tell her story—not to mention the most lucrative.
“My god!” said Lois when Diana, in an impeccably tailored white Oscar de la Renta suit, was seated at the table. “You really do have this light around you!”
“Thank you for inviting me to lunch,” said Diana. “It is lovely to finally meet you, Lois.”
She was glad to see the table was tucked into its own sunny alcove, ringed by a curtain that went halfway up the window and by a row of tall plants.
But when she looked up from her seat, Diana could see that a small group of photographers had already assembled outside.
Lois was in her seventies, but looked mid-fifties, tops. From her orange Birkin bag to her collarless red silk jacket to her bold, layered jewelry, she was a study in opulent maximalism. She jingled with almost every movement, which had a strangely hypnotic effect. Diana felt that she was in the presence of a force of nature—not a bad feeling for an agent to elicit.
Lois slipped on her gold-framed reading glasses and perused the salmon-colored menu. “Everything here is divine,” she said. “What would you like?”
Diana selected the salmon gravlax and within two minutes, Lois had firmly instructed the waiter—who was visibly star-struck in Diana’s presence—to bring her usual Cobb salad (no bacon) and Diana’s salmon as quickly as possible. She took off her glasses, set them on the table and fixed her intense gaze on Diana.
“So, Diana, tell me, why have you finally decided to write a book?”
“I’m not sure I have,” she said.
Diana shared that she and Elton John had once jokingly pondered the idea of locking themselves away and writing their memoirs together. “Same castle, separate rooms.”
“But really,” Diana continued, “I must say I am intrigued by the idea of telling my story in my own words, as you had mentioned in one of your letters.”
“And people want to know it,” Lois chimed. “Oh my God, do they ever. But first of all, you have to decide, and we can decide this together, what story it is that you’re going to tell. And when you want it to begin. Your childhood? The royal courtship? Personally, my feeling is ‘been there, done that.’ I mean what I think would feel fresh—really come alive—is that this should begin on that terrible night in Paris, when we almost lost you. It’s a story of survival—your will to survive—and ultimately of total and complete reinvention.”
Diana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She took a sip of water. “Yes, I was very fortunate to survive,” she said. “But it was an unspeakable tragedy. Two people died, one of whom was a dear friend.”
“But you have turned tragedy into triumph!” Lois exclaimed. “That’s the stuff people eat up, Diana.”
“Lois, I have to be honest with you. That night is still very difficult for me to think about, no less revisit. There is no way I would ever describe the after-effects of the crash as any kind of triumph.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Lois taking a more soothing tone as the waiter arrived with their lunch. “I do. I’m just saying that you have been so brave and done so much good after the crash, there are people all over the world who want to know how you found the strength. Do you know how many people you could inspire with your story?”
Diana watched as Lois snapped four packets of Splenda and dissolved them into her iced tea.
“Listen,” Lois continued, “I know a lot of stars in the constellation of celebrity—in fact I happen to represent most of them—but you’re different, Diana. Because you’re real. As fabulous as you are, you’re relatable. Your struggles are our struggles, your victories our victories. That’s why I pushed for this. I just think this could be the biggest thing ever. Let’s do this, Diana.”
“Lois, you are persuasive. But as much as this is my memoir we are discussing, I had envisioned telling not only my story, which I am willing to share—to a certain extent—but also the stories of many of the people I have encountered in my humanitarian work and through my foundation. Those are the people who I believe would inspire others most.”
“Yes, of course, Diana. It’s your book. You can tell whatever story you want. But people want to know about you.” Lois tucked into her Cobb salad.
“Speaking of which, I have to ask, is there any truth to the rumors I keep hearing about you and Charles getting back together?”
“Lois, I’m engaged to Teddy Forstmann.”
“Oh, I know. I met Teddy a zillion years ago. Great guy. But Charles thinking remarriage—that is some story!”
“There is no truth to it whatsoever,” said Diana.
“That is why it’s so important to get your story out there and put these rumors to rest!”
“Lois, I have spent every day of the last twenty-five years reading made-up stories about my life. My writing a book—any book—isn’t going to stop them.”
“But you could change the conversation,” Lois countered. “And a book is still the best way to get a movie deal.”
“I have actually been talking to a production team I met in Los Angeles about a series of documentaries that would focus on the foundation and our humanitarian work,” said Diana.
“I think that is absolutely wonderful, Diana, but I’m talking about a real movie. Hollywood is tough these days. Even Spielberg and Scorsese have to really sell their pictures. And that’s why we have to make this enticing, even a little titillating, to the book-buying, movie-going public. People want to know about your sons, your lovers—what the Queen is really like . . . ”
Diana interrupted, “I would never do anything that could in any way exploit my children. And I would never do anything to disrespect the Queen or compromise the monarchy in any way. I was envisioning a memoir of hope, of resilience. Something inspiring. Not a tell-all.”
“I totally understand. But we have to entice people first. Draw them in so that your message has a chance to resonate. I already have a ghostwriter in mind who I think would be perfect for you.”
When their coffee arrived, Diana told Lois that she had given her much to think about, but Diana knew what her ultimate response would be. She shook Lois’s hand in the lounge at the top of the stairs that led out to the street. Diana was grateful that it was just a few steps from the sidewalk to the waiting Mercedes. The photographers had managed to get off a few shots, but she was wearing her Chanel sunglasses and kept her head down. She smiled to herself knowing that none of them had gotten ‘the money shot’ they’d hoped for—her face straight-on.
When Diana returned to the apartment, she sat at her desk and took out a sheet of her monogrammed stationery (which still bore a ‘D’ in cursive topped with a tiara) to write a note to Lois thanking her for the lunch. She had appreciated Lois’s candor and knew she was a woman Diana wanted in her corner. But a book, at least the kind of book Lois was envisioning, was not possible. At least for now.
Diana curled up on the couch and stared out the window with a view of the grounds of the Frick while it was still light outside. She wasn’t sure when she’d nodded off, but the room was completely dark when she awoke to see Teddy in the doorway.
“When did you get back?” she asked, still groggy.
“Just now,” he said.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Fine,” he answered without looking up from the pile of mail he was holding. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up.”
“I must not have turned the ringer back on after my lunch meeting. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I was calling to say I had to take some bankers out for drinks afterward and we wound up downtown.”
As she stared at the silhouette of the man standing in the backlit doorway, Diana realized that she and Teddy would never marry. He had been there for her throughout her ordeal and had helped her start her life over. But they had drifted apart, and Diana knew that they were not destined to make each other happy—not as happy as both of them deserved to be. She was no longer a woman who needed rescuing. She had built a life centered on trying to rescue others and in doing so had found a greater purpose than she had ever thought possible.
In that moment, Diana was overcome by an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. She felt grateful for Teddy, knowing that they had started as friends and would remain in each other’s lives as friends. She felt grateful knowing that she would not have to endure another failed marriage or the threat of being plunged back into despair over a tumultuous breakup. Most of all, she felt grateful to be alive.
The next morning, Diana called William. “I’m coming home,” she told her son.