Grace of Monaco

by Robinson, Jeffrey

  When they next spotted Stephanie and her two children at a local ski resort without Gottlieb, they claimed the pregnancy had been the cause of the couple’s breakup.

  Camille Marie Kelly Grimaldi was born on July 15, 1998.

  Although Stephanie had raised her first two without in-house help, Camille’s arrival left her with very little time and she finally gave in to her father’s, brother’s, and sister’s advice and hired a live-in nanny.

  Stephanie continued to appear at various music awards’ shows taped in Monaco, and also co-produced and co-hosted the annual Champions of Magic show on America’s ABC Television Network. Her only demand in the taping schedule was that she wouldn’t work Wednesday afternoons. “My kids have sports activities. That’s a non-shooting day for me.”

  She cut her hair short, donned large glasses, stayed pencil thin and chain-smoked.

  Into her mid-30s, with nothing to prove to anyone, she was still constantly confronted like a rebellious youth and, much to her own annoyance, forever trying to convince the media, “I am not a rebel princess. I have simply lived the life of a girl my age. I’ve always respected my family and protocol.”

  She showed up at all the events where her presence was required and at most of the events where her presence had been requested. She maintained her dignity. But still the media trailed after her, looking for other stories to tell.

  But when they got it, which they did at the Circus Festival in 2000, it wasn’t the wild child, rebel princess story they’d been hoping for.

  Rainier was in hospital.

  Stephanie was there when the announcer asked the crowd to acknowledge the work Rainier had done for the festival and the principality.

  The entire audience rose to their feet and tumultuously applauded her father.

  And his baby daughter broke down in tears.

  Chapter 28

  The Accident

  One afternoon in Monaco, late in the 1970s.

  Grace was driving alone in her converted London taxi. It was an amusing car, easy to handle in the narrow streets. And with its big back seat there was always plenty of room for her kids, for other people, and piles of packages.

  She was a slow, deliberate driver. So slow in fact that whenever her children came along they’d tease her, “We could walk there faster.”

  Now she pulled the old cab out of the Rue Grimaldi and into the Place d’Armes. She had her glasses on—she always wore them when she drove—but she must have come into the intersection without looking because an Italian, with the obvious right of way, shot across the square directly in front of her.

  She rammed him broadside.

  Startled but unhurt, she got out of her car to apologize. She was clearly in the wrong and she was willing to admit it.

  But the Italian was too furious for polite conversation.

  He jumped out of his car, pointed to the damage, and screamed at her.

  She tried to calm him down, saying, you’re absolutely right and please don’t worry because my insurance will cover all the damage.

  The Italian didn’t want to know. He yelled at her and insulted her.

  Within seconds, the policeman guarding the road that goes up to Le Rocher rushed over, saluted her, and asked the irate Italian to calm down.

  The officer told the man, “Madame says she’s sorry and will take care of all your expenses.”

  But the Italian was too far gone. “This bitch ran into me.”

  The policeman strongly advised the man to keep quiet.

  With arms flying about, the Italian shouted at her again, his vocabulary descending into the gutter.

  Now the officer took control, warning the Italian in no uncertain terms, “If you open your mouth one more time you’re going to jail. If you insult the Princess of Monaco one more time, I’ll arrest you.”

  That stopped the Italian. He spun around to take a close look at the woman who’d smashed into his car and finally realized who she was.

  She continued to reassure him, “It was my fault and everything will be taken care of.”

  A car soon arrived from the Palace to fetch her.

  The damages to the Italian’s car were made good by her insurance company.

  And Grace began telling friends, “I’ll never drive again.”

  It was a promise she failed to keep.

  GqH

  September 1982

  On Friday morning the 10th, Stephanie returned to Monaco from Antigua where she’d been spending the last few weeks of her summer holidays. While she was in the West Indies, she’d suffered a water skiing accident and split open her head so badly she needed stitches. A chauffeur brought her from Nice airport to Roc Agel where she spent the next few jet-lagged days trying to reassure her parents that she was all right.

  On Saturday morning the 11th, Nadia Lacoste rang Grace at Roc Agel.

  Stephanie and Grace were booked to catch the train from Monaco to Paris on Monday night, arriving early Tuesday morning so that Stephanie could start school on Wednesday.

  Lacoste was concerned with how Grace planned to keep the paparazzi away from Stephanie on her first day back. She suggested Grace and Stephanie should not spend Tuesday night at the family apartment in Paris.

  She told Grace, “The photographers will undoubtedly be hanging around the apartment on Wednesday morning, so why not spend Tuesday night at someplace like the Hotel Maurice? It’s close to the school and no one will find you there.”

  Grace thought it was a reasonable idea. Although she did have to concede, “No matter what we do, they’re bound to find out.”

  On Sunday the 12th, Grace’s former secretary, Phyllis Blum, now Phyllis Earl, rang from London to talk about Grace’s trip to England in 10 days’ time, and the poetry readings that were planned for the third tour of America. At one point in their conversation, driving was mentioned and Earl told Grace, “Don’t forget to wear your seat belts.”

  That same afternoon, Caroline flew to London to spend the week at Forest Mere, a health farm in the Hampshire countryside.

  On Monday the 13th, at around 9 a.m., Grace woke Stephanie, then went into Albert’s room to say good morning. He’d been to Italy over the weekend to see a soccer match with friends and had got back to Roc Agel late the night before.

  “Mom came to wake me up,” he recalled, “and we talked a bit. Then she said, ‘See you later.’ I had to come down to the Palace for something that morning, so I said, ‘Sure, see you later.’”

  While Grace was getting ready to leave for the Palace, her chauffeur brought the ll-year-old, metallic green Rover 3500 out of the garage and parked it in front of the house.

  Normally Stephanie would have done that.

  All three Grimaldi children had been allowed to drive the car from the garage to the house at Roc Agel before they had a license. All three had scooted around in Rainier’s golf cart or played with his jeep there. All three practiced driving at Roc Agel.

  But Grace and Rainier had also laid down very strict rules that, as long as they were under age, they could only drive on the family’s private property. Until they had their license, none of their children could take a car beyond Roc Agel’s gates.

  When Grace came out of the house, her arms were full of dresses that she spread flat across the rear seat of the car. A maid followed with other dresses and large hat boxes and together they filled the rear seat. Then Grace called for Stephanie who was still trying to wake up.

  Grace’s chauffeur was standing by the car ready to drive the two of them down to the Palace.

  She liked the Rover. There wasn’t a lot of mileage on it because she didn’t use it much, but she still insisted it be well maintained. It hardly, if ever, went any further away from the Palace garage than Roc Agel. And even then it was usually driven by a chauffeur.

  Now, however, with the back seat covered, there wasn’t room enough for Grace and Stephanie and a chauffeur. Grace told her chauffeur that it would be easier if she drove.

 
; He knew she didn’t much like driving and didn’t do a lot of it any more, so he tried to convince her, “There’s no need to do that. If you leave the dresses here I’ll drive you down now and then come back for them.”

  She said, “No. Please don’t bother, I’ll drive.”

  He argued, “It’s better if I drive. Why don’t I call the Palace and ask someone to come up for the dresses straight away?”

  She said, “No, believe me, it’s all right like this.”

  He kept trying to change her mind. “I really don’t mind coming back for them.”

  But she kept saying, “It’s just easier if I drive.”

  So Grace got behind the wheel and Stephanie climbed into the passenger seat. And at about 10 a.m. they pulled away from Roc Agel. The chauffeur watched them leave.

  The road from the farm winds down the hill and eventually into La Turbie. There you must skirt the large Roman monument in the center of town to arrive at a narrow point in the two-lane road where you turn left, across oncoming traffic, and past an old woman who sells wicker baskets from a stall at the edge of the village car park.

  The road from La Turbie down to the Moyenne Corniche, which takes you into Monaco, is called the D-37. It’s two lanes, but in most places the road is so narrow and winding that you can hardly ever overtake another car.

  It goes straight for a while, running between old, yellow stucco two-story houses with green shutters and geraniums in window boxes, and sometimes you see laundry hanging out of a top-floor window to dry.

  Then comes a slight bend to the right where you find yourself going fairly steeply downhill. A few hundred yards more and there’s a bend where you pick up speed again as the road down gets steeper still.

  To your right, an angular valley cuts through the mountains, leading to the sea with houses teetering on the edge of cliffs, just waiting to tip over and tumble down.

  For a moment, the road straightens out, but it is never straight for very long—bending right, bending left, then snaking back again—always getting steeper as it brings you down the hill.

  A sign says, “Beware of falling rocks.”

  Far below, the stubby thumb of St. Jean-Cap-Ferrat juts out from where the water comes to meet the valley and forms a small beach. And now the whole expanse of sea is there in front of you, a huge greenish-blue semi-circle. And now there are several very sharp turns.

  Approximately two miles from the monument at La Turbie, there is an especially steep bend where you have to brake very hard and fight with your steering wheel to follow the road 150 degrees to the right.

  Grace missed that turn.

  The Rover slammed into the small retaining wall, then went through it, somersaulting as it crashed 120 feet through branches of trees, careening off the side of the slope, tossing Grace and Stephanie around inside.

  GqH

  Rainier was called at Roc Agel. He rushed into his car and immediately drove to the hospital in Monaco. His uncle, Prince Louis de Polignac was already there. Albert came down from Roc Agel in his own car and met them at the hospital. Members of the government started to arrive.

  Everyone stood around waiting for the doctors’ reports.

  It took a long time before the news came that Stephanie was badly hurt but that she was going to be all right. Grace was hurt, too. And at this point the doctors felt she would be all right as well.

  As late as three hours after the accident, all Caroline had been told was that Grace had broken her collar bone, fractured her hip, and had lacerations. She was assured that Grace’s injuries were not serious enough to warrant her return home that night. So she made reservations on the first flight from London to Nice on Tuesday morning.

  Over the next few hours, with the entire hospital staff mobilized and specialists called in, three medical bulletins were released by the hospital. None of them suggested the true extent of Grace’s injuries.

  Stephanie, only semi-conscious and in terrible pain, was diagnosed as having cracked her vertebra. No other serious injuries and no internal bleeding were found. Doctors secured her neck in a brace and eventually announced that with proper care she could be home in about two weeks.

  But Grace, now in a coma, was not responding to treatment.

  Doctors suspected a brain hemorrhage. They needed to do a CAT scan but the hospital, ironically named for Princess Grace, didn’t yet have one.

  They debated their options. A helicopter to a Swiss clinic was ruled out because they feared she’d never make it. Even taking her to nearby Nice was considered too dangerous. In the end, Grace was secretly moved about 400 yards in an ambulance to the office of a private physician where the CAT scan was performed.

  The scan showed that Grace had suffered two severe strokes. The first, before the accident, caused her to black out. The second, brought about by the accident, was so massive that the French neurosurgeon, Dr. Jean Duplay who’d been rushed from Nice to Monaco, determined that no surgical intervention was possible.

  Duplay told his colleagues that Grace would have needed treatment within 15 minutes to have had any chance of survival. And even then, as Professor Charles Chatelin, the doctor in charge, told Rainier later, had she somehow managed to survive, at least half her body would have been paralyzed. She was brought back to the hospital and placed on a life support system.

  On Tuesday night, September 14, Rainier, Caroline and Albert assembled outside Grace’s room to speak with Chatelin. He wanted them to know the truth. Rainier and Caroline and Albert listened as he gently explained that Grace’s condition had deteriorated and that she was now far beyond anyone’s help.

  “We had a long talk with him,” Rainier explained. “He was an extremely nice man and very understanding with us. He explained the uselessness of continuing with the life support machine. He showed us the pictures and helped us to understand in a very clear way that the machine should be turned off.”

  Rainier and Caroline and Albert made the decision together.

  The Prince’s voice got very soft. “It was a difficult decision sentimentally.” He paused. “But from a rational, human standpoint it was an obvious decision. There was no reason to keep her on the machine.”

  Rainier and Caroline and Albert went into Grace’s room to say goodbye for the final time. When that was done, the life support system was turned off.

  GqH

  First came the rumor. There’s been an accident. Next came disbelief. It’s not true. The Princess is in Roc Agel and Stephanie is with her and so is the Prince and so is Albert. Then word spread throughout the principality that the rumor was true.

  Disbelief turned to shock.

  Next came confusion.

  People believed only what they wanted to believe. The Princess is all right. Stephanie is all right. The car was badly damaged but they’ve both escaped. People wandered through the streets of Monaco reassuring each other, they’re all right, there’s nothing to worry about, they’re going to be fine.

  The press swarmed in on Monaco like locusts, and now the rumors exploded. She’s dead. They’re both alive. She’s in a coma. Stephanie has escaped unhurt but Grace is critical.

  Shops closed. Offices closed. People went to church to pray. Photos of Grace began appearing in windows, draped in black. People went to stand in front of the Palace, waiting for news.

  The announcement came late on Tuesday night. “Her Serene Highness, Princess Grace of Monaco, died this evening at 10:15 pm.”

  Total silence blanketed Monaco.

  Like a thick, eerie fog hanging heavily, it made its way through the streets and into the corners of every home.

  At the Palace there was shock and disbelief and confusion.

  A state funeral had to be arranged. But no one seemed to want to take the initiative. It was almost as if everyone knew that once they began making arrangements, that would mean it had really happened. For the longest time no one could summon up the strength to begin. Ironically, the one person who might have been able to organi
ze such an event was Grace.

  The burden fell on Rainier, Albert, and Caroline.

  And although the government and the cabinet carried some of the weight, it was Rainier who, despite his enormous grief, somehow found the courage to carry on.

  Albert and Caroline did their part.

  But it was Rainier who took charge.

  “Daddy was wonderful,” Caroline recalled. “He was so brave and strong. He was amazing. It was such a lesson to watch him handle that. I can see now, all these years later, that my mother’s death brought the family closer together. Not that we were far apart before she died. But after she died we learned to work more together, to be more careful about each other, to pay more attention to each other’s lives.”

  Over the next several weeks, thousands of telegrams and tens of thousands of letters poured into the Palace from all over the world. Someone counted 450 baskets of flowers, many of them from complete strangers.

  Grace lay in state for three days in the tiny private chapel at the Palace, constantly surrounded by a guard of honor and flowers—white roses, white and purple orchids, white lilies. Her hands held the green stones of her rosary beads. Her wedding ring was clearly visible on the fourth finger of her left hand. And thousands of people filed past her.

  At precisely 10:30 am on Saturday, September 18, she was taken from the chapel and brought to the Cathedral in a procession marked by the mournful beat of a single drum, led by her husband, her son and her eldest daughter.

  Stephanie, in traction, lay on her back in her hospital room looking up at a television mounted high on pillows so she could watch the funeral. Paul Belmondo was with her. But as soon as it began she broke down and after a few minutes, she was so distressed that she passed out. Belmondo turned the TV off. For the rest of the morning he just held her hand and they wept together.

  Once the high mass was said, Grace lay in state for the remainder of the day. A private burial had been planned for later that afternoon. But at the very last minute Rainier decided Grace would not be buried in the crypt that night. He gave instructions that he wanted it made larger.