In 1994, Diana betrayed by her lover James Hewitt
25 years ago, the confidences of her former lover James Hewitt had shaken Diana, princess of hearts in the midst of the War of Wales ... With Rétro Match, follow the news through the archives of Paris Match.
On the War for Wales front, 1994 ended with a series of setbacks for Diana. At the end of August, a Scotland Yard "leak" involved the Princess in harassing a friend, possibly lover, Oliver Hoare by telephone. Her image of a scorned woman is tarnished. But the most painful setback comes from Major Hewitt's betrayal. James, five years her lover, has poured out a book about their love. The scandal is even greater as indiscretion and dishonor come at a price: 3 million pounds, the equivalent of more than 5 million euros today. More tragically, the revelation of their relationship will cast an unfortunate shadow over the entire family: Could James Hewitt be Prince Harry's father?
Prince Charles, for his part, had a book of confidences published in November, along with a confessional interview on British television. He concedes the infidelities but not before their marriage is "irretrievably broken", then concedes his affection for Camilla half-word. The offensive allows him to regain the ascendancy in the media. For just a short time ...
Here are excerpts from James Hewitt's confidences, published in Paris Match in 1994 ...
"My three years of love with Diana"
"Officer maybe, gentleman ... never". If Major James Hewitt, who sold his soul and the honor of his lady for 3 million pounds, nearly 25 million francs, is unanimously condemned by the British, the book inspired by his memories, "The Princess in Love", which comes out on October 12 at the Presses de la Cité, promises to be a bestseller. After Charles 'televised confession about his infidelity and the Princess of Wales' involvement in a phone harassment case, the divorce between Charles and Diana now seems inevitable. James Hewitt has left England.
Extracts from "The Princess in Love" by Anna Pasternak, 1994, Presses de la Cité - The book that causes scandal and that England is tearing off:
The Princess of Wales and Major James Hewitt first meet in the summer of 1986. They are introduced to each other at a reception in Mayfair. These few moments will decide their relationship. James Hewitt told Anna Pasternak their love at first sight.
Fortunately, the noise level and the animation that reigned made that no one noticed the kind of shock that seized them. They decided to overcome their confusion as quickly as possible by launching headlong into a conversation which amazed them by its naturalness. There was no awkward silence, none of the hesitation that comes when a subject is exhausted. They talked about everything and nothing.
Diana was literally glowing. Most of the men were drawn to his aura but kept a safe distance, as if intimidated. She wasn't used to meeting a man who openly took the lead and freely exposed his own interests.
Unlike many soldiers, James Hewitt was not afraid of women. His strategy to conquer them was to gently tease them, to flatter them without appearing to be by dint of harmless little spikes. Diana struggled to get into her game, little broken as she was at these pleasant verbal jousts. It had been a long time since she had been so eager to shine and charm.
She felt so confident with this stranger that she quickly came to speak openly. Half an hour later, having made sure that James was the staff captain of the Royal Guard and, as such, tended to the Royal Stables, Diana told him of her fear of horses. She explained to him that she had had a fall when she was young, as she accompanied her sisters and her governess in the gardens of Park House.
James is delighted, to put it mildly, to be able to help the princess overcome her fear. He was an accomplished rider, and his mother owned a stud farm in Devon. Nothing could be easier, he assured her, than organizing a series of riding lessons at Knightsbridge Barracks.
Secretly relieved at the idea of having so quickly and efficiently found an excuse to meet again, they greeted each other and each returned to blend in with the crowd. Diana had promised to call, and he understood, without her needing to point out, that the utmost discretion was required if he wanted to keep this budding friendship. [...]
She called him earlier than expected. James sat in his neatly tidy office in Knightsbridge Barracks, which overlooks Hyde Park, his nose deep in his papers. He hadn't imagined that she would contact him so soon, because he knew how busy his schedule was. He had convinced himself that he was low on his priority list.
He was wrong. She phoned only a few days after they met, asking him if he was serious when he had raised the possibility of giving her riding lessons. "Of course," he replied, laughing.
"Is that settled, then?" she asked with a sigh of relief. As soon as you can devote a moment to me, I'll be there. ” As he put the receiver down, he felt a wave of excitement run through his body. To keep crazy thoughts from flooding his mind, he stood up and left his office. He went directly to his superior, Lieutenant-Colonel Paine, a neat little man with a great sense of humor, and explained to him that the Princess of Wales wanted to come and see them at the barracks, so unofficial, to learn to ride a horse. Classes would be early in the morning to respect his schedule. They would start in the barracks riding arena and then, if all went well, continue with classes in Hyde Park. [...]
My marriage is a lure ... My husband and I live practically apart
For four months Lady Diana took her riding lessons with Major Hewitt. During one of their walks, the soldier is impressed by his melancholy. Their relationship will take a new turn.
James felt like she was missing. Physically, she was present, carefully holding her reins, head held high and gazing straight ahead, but he knew she was a thousand miles from him. James could hear her every mood swings. He could almost touch the sadness that inhabited him. His first movement urged him to console her, but his modesty prevented him from doing so. It was too early.
He wondered about the cause of this sadness. At his side stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, adored by all, with charisma greeted by the whole world, having everything going for her. She had a bright future, no doubt. Why then did despair sometimes appear on his face? Normally, James hardly asked himself psychological questions. He was not used to analyzing his feelings, preferring to simply live them.
Returning to his first intention - that of comforting her - he suggested that she leave the freshness of the morning and the splendor of the park, which he suspected that they only accentuated her melancholy, to return to the barracks for a coffee.
Usually they would sit comfortably on the faded sofa, warming their hands over a hot cup of coffee, admiring the military elegance of the room with its display cases filled with sparkling medals and trophies.
But today Diana had no eyes for anything. All she saw was the tunnel of distress opening before her. It was dark and she felt trapped.
Deeply aware of this almost palpable fear, James asked him, in a soft voice, the reasons for it. He added that she had to forgive him for asking her that question, but he couldn't help but notice that she was very unhappy and it troubled him. If he could help her in any way, if he could do anything, she must know he would be only too happy.
Unable to contain her feelings, Diana leaned over him, collapsed under the weight of the ordeal she had carried alone for so long and, slowly, she told him the truth.
“What you read in the newspapers is true. All this endless speculation, all this media hype that my marriage is just a decoy is correct. My marriage has been unraveling for years. My husband and I live virtually separate. ”
She held back her tears, knowing that if she let her sadness run free, she would no longer be able to stop the flow of her grief. She went on to explain that she did not know the origin of her distress, but that she suspected that it was so deeply buried that she would never have the strength to bring it to the surface.
She spoke in a strangled voice, James couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was shocked, incredulous. How could this be true? How could this diaphanous, exquisite creature be so miserable? He didn't remember ever having been around such dismay and it scared him.
His forehead wrinkled with worry, his chest stiff, he concentrated on the poor words that Diana whispered, listening attentively to his confidences. Because Prince Charles disliked her and the entire royal family supported him, she was an outcast at the palace, trapped and excluded. She had tried everything to make their household a success, discharging her princely duties with the utmost seriousness. Yet instead of congratulating her, she had been bitterly criticized, with a harshness that, in the end, had deeply shaken her.
She looked like a bird with its wings torn off. To stay alive, he had to talk. She couldn't go on living with the weight of her secrets and the terrible feeling of getting bogged down day by day. And now, next to her was this man who seemed so honest and so simple. It was open and strong, representing the normal life she had always aspired to, doubting she could ever achieve it.
In the four months that had passed since she had met him, the confidence she had felt when they first met had never wavered. She finally had a man to lean on. He didn't pull away in disgust as she opened the curtain that obscured the grim reality of her existence. On the contrary, he was getting closer to her.
Although James was stunned by what she was telling him, he immediately understood that she needed him. If he showed the slightest suspicion as to the veracity of his words, he would lose it forever. He knew she needed help, that the best thing to do right now was to let her talk. Barely stopping to catch her breath, she kept her head down and, wringing her hands, unrolled the skein of her whole existence. She loved her sons above all else and dreaded seeing her home be shattered again. She had been so unhappy as a little girl when her parents had divorced, so alone and so scared, that she had sworn, at the time, never to inflict such suffering on her children. The fact that she couldn't keep her word was devastating to her. She felt crucified
“I am surrounded by people, but so lonely,” she says. So she reached out to touch his. Holding his breath, hardly daring to move, he squeezed that little hand gently and firmly. This simple gesture, he knew, was proof that the first step had been taken. The pressure of his hand was a sort of promise, though at that moment he couldn't tell what it meant.
"You are not alone," he said in a soft voice, "I am here."
... Diana stood up and, without a word, slowly led James to his room.
The princess invites her riding instructor to come for dinner, one-on-one, at Kensington Palace. It's their first secret date, a prelude to a three-year affair.
As usual, James was well dressed. Very good. Very concerned about his appearance, he could not bear that everything was not absolutely perfect. He felt nervous if he didn't have a tall stack of perfectly ironed Tumbull and Asser shirts in his closet, and little in the world irritated him more than a pair of poorly waxed shoes. He turned down the long path that flanked Kensington Gardens and led into the heart of the palace, completely sure of himself. Dressed in gray flannel pants, a blazer and a discreetly original Hermès tie, he knew that Diana would appreciate the sobriety of his elegance.
At the police roadblock, he announced himself and the police let his blue Renault pass. It all felt so natural, so normal. When Diana heard the screeching of the tires, she leaned out the window, then ran down the stairs to greet him. She had a tanned complexion, wore a long flowing skirt.
Diana led him along the endless corridor adorned with magnificent paintings. After crossing a large hall, she led him into her private living room. The room perfectly reflected his personality. Those who have lived in the sumptuous rooms of an aristocratic residence know that they are only the usufructuaries of this grandeur. They learn, like Diana at Althorp, the Northamptonshire residence where her family had moved when she was 14, to live not in the cold ornate reception rooms, but in the cozy nursery nest. Diana's living room at Kensington Palace was actually an extension of the nursery.
If the yellow and blue fringe that lined the blue curtains matched the floral wallpaper, there was nothing fancy about the room. Rather, it gave a feeling of familiarity and comfort with its two expansive striped sofas on which stood out Exinious and Laura Ashley cushions embroidered with irreverent phrases like: "If you think money can't buy love, you can't. don't know where to go shopping. ” Hazel wood tables were loaded with enamel boxes adorned with messages and dates, hand painted, highlighting this or that memorable episode. Obviously, this room was his sanctuary. She explained to him with childish joy that she did not usually drink, but would risk taking a finger of champagne to celebrate this very special event and handed him the bottle that had been prepared. She went to sit next to him on the sofa. Their chatter was irrelevant, they both knew that.
She spoke lightly about her duties as a princess, relating the tedious social events with fun, to the point that, very quickly, an inextinguishable laughter seized them. They exchanged views on the two-part documentary titled 'In Person, In Private, The Prince and Princess of Wales', which aired earlier this fall, with Diana commenting on her appearances, half-laughing, and asking. with anxiety to James what he had thought of it.
She told him about that terrible gust of wind that had almost slammed the door of her car violently on her fingers. They discussed his recent official visit to the Middle East. She was glad, she explained, that the kiss Charles had given her after playing a game of polo near Muscat had been censored by Omani television.
Listening to her, James took her hand and stroked it gently. The sight of fingernails bitten to the point of blood distressed him. Diana quickly withdrew her hand and admitted with a laugh that it was a bad habit that she had not yet been able to shake off. With feigned severity, she reproached him for being so critical. The footman came in and announced that dinner was served. [...]
As Diana invited him to take a seat at the round table which could have accommodated a dozen guests, he noticed the sober elegance of the place setting: the solid silver candlesticks which reflected the polished wood, the brilliance of the crystal glasses, the linen placemats, carefully starched, and the scent of arums, her favorite flowers.
Diana told her that she would not drink any more for the evening: she already felt a little drunk. She had given the staff time off and took undisguised pleasure in serving them herself. Putting her plate in front of him, she brushed his shoulder.
Unlike Diana, James drank and ate hungrily. As a child, he had been taught to appreciate good food and good wine, and questions of diet were foreign to him. He could stand the salad only drowned in mayonnaise and saw no harm in swallowing a bottle of good Bordeaux before moving on to port and then to really serious things: a good and long evening watered with whiskey.
Diana admired his fearless way of devouring. She admired, envied his normality, his energy, the total absence of obsessions, of feelings of guilt, of anguished thoughts.
James looked at her without having the slightest idea how much willpower she had to put in to have this naturally studied appearance. He was focusing on her stunning beauty. Tonight, no cloud came to darken his face. Diana had never been more magical, more sensual. She threw her head back as if to think about a remark, slowly bending her elegant neck to get a better look at him. He had never felt such attraction, such magnetism. He was staring her straight in the eye, well aware that this woman wanted him. "You moron," he said to himself suddenly, "don't be ridiculous. You and the Princess of Wales, it's unthinkable. You're just friends."
Diana led him to the living room for coffee. James took a seat in the corner of the sofa near the fireplace and watched her fill the cups. She had settled down in front of him. With the grace of a dancer who would have performed a prepared figure, she stood up and walked towards him. She sat down on his knees and put her hands behind his neck. That she could come to him so directly, without the slightest ambiguity, without pushing the flirtation any further, seemed truly incredible to him.
He kissed her romantically. He told himself that this tender embrace was all she wanted. He was still unaware that she was waiting for passion, that she wanted to regain confidence in herself as a woman. Little did he know that she suffered excruciatingly from her husband's lack of desire, that she felt ugly and spent hours naked, detailing her body and listing her flaws. Subsequently, she would confess to James that she had felt different from other women, excluded, as if they were part of a club of which she was not a member. But now that was all going to change, Diana was determined to do so. The man she needed was there. Diana stood up and, without a word, reached out and slowly led James to the bedroom. [...]
James lay awake, too restless to sleep, savoring next to Diana every second of their union.
Later she cried in his arms. She cried for all the times she had felt alone, all the times she had longed to unite with her husband as she had just united with James. She cried for all the times she called out something she didn't know and finally discovered. She cried for this poignant torment that invaded her whenever, lying beside her husband, she felt repulsed, while, tonight, she was cherished. James didn't breathe a word. He remained motionless, hugging her close to him.
Looking at her, so soft and so vulnerable in his arms, he felt a deep happiness wash over him and knew from then on that he would do everything in his power to give her the help she needed. Lying in Diana's bed, a bed that had never seen Charles' body imprint since he and the princess were sleeping apart, James thought he had never known such bliss. He watched her sleep, so beautiful, helpless, her soft face pressed to his body, and he felt himself overcome with passionate emotion. [...]
In the half-light, he examined the room, struck by the childish character of its occupant. On a sofa at the end of the bed, were neatly lined up about thirty of the stuffed animals she had tucked into her Park House bed. Later, he would tease her endlessly about those toys by casually throwing them across the room. She would watch them flutter on the thick cream carpet and bounce limply against the lightly patterned walls punctuated with exquisite paintings.
He lay awake, too restless to sleep, savoring every second of their union. When the clock struck 2 in the morning, carefully, he removed the arm that was wrapped around him and slipped into the bathroom to get dressed. He examined the many photos of William and Harry, the frames of which cluttered the area around the sink and bordered the sumptuous tub. The room was not fancy, but light, airy and fragrant, with its mirrored walls and exotic scented soaps. Only one face was missing, that of Prince Charles. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her gently, waking her up with little kisses so he could say goodbye.
She was clinging to him. Her bed, she said, was going to be cold and empty. He assured her that leaving her was one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do. But for the sake of her, and for him too, she had to be strong and resolute. Once again, she asked him if she was attractive enough, sensual enough, if she had satisfied him. He took her hand and assured her, "Diana, you have no reason to torture yourself like this." You are a tender, exceptionally beautiful woman. You have filled me up. Of course I find you attractive. Of course you set me on fire. I love you. And he went out.
