Free Diana--A Closely Guarded Secret by Ken Wharfe Page A

gather local delicacies.
    Most trips out of London took a day or less, but often enough we would travel farther afield, necessitating a stay away from Kensington Palace. When accompanying the Princess on an ‘awayday’ as she called regional visits, we would often usethe Royal Train, which, after HMY Britannia , is the grandest form of royal transport, its old Pullman carriages and opulent long dining room easily putting the Orient Express to shame. For long journeys the train would leave late in the evening and, at a suitably secure place en route, pull into a siding so the royal personage on board could eat and, more importantly, sleep in comfort before carrying out a day-long visit in whichever region of the country was being visited. I was stood down on those occasions, as the British Transport Police would surround the carriages and provide night security, while a static corridor man from our department kept watch inside the train.
    We had just such a journey to Cheshire in July 1988, the train stopping short of our destination to allow the Princess a decent night’s sleep. Next morning, however, she came to breakfast looking haggard and somewhat dishevelled. She clearly had not slept well.
    ‘Are you all right, ma’am? You look a little out of sorts,’ I said, as I tucked into an enormous English breakfast in the elegant surroundings of the long dining car.
    Well, not really, Ken, I didn’t sleep a wink.’ ‘Why not, ma’am?’
    ‘Well … there was a man outside my window marching up and down all night,’ she replied. There was an edge to her voice that boded ill for the nocturnal marcher.
    Listening, I found I could indeed hear the sound of regular footsteps crunching past the window on the gravel bed of the permanent way. Curious, I went to find out what was going on. Outside, to my surprise, I spotted a uniformed constable of the British Transport Police pacing his way alongside the train.
    ‘Excuse me!’ I yelled. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
    The startled officer came to an abrupt halt mid-step and said; ‘Well … I’m engaged in security, sir.’
    ‘Fine, but why do you have to march on the bloody gravel? If you must march up and down, would you do it on the bloody grass – there’s a thousand acres of it out there to march about on,’ I replied sternly.
    At this point the Princess, who had followed me to the carriage door, began to giggle as I continued to give the unfortunate chap a dressing down. Then, in typical Diana fashion, she decided to defend the man she had dispatched me to admonish.
    ‘Ken, don’t be too harsh – he’s got a job to do.’

CHAPTER 4
    ONLY A FEW WEEKS AFTER MY APPOINTMENT I had my first taste of life working alongside the Princess abroad. It proved to be a crucial, perhaps even a defining moment in our relationship. Fourteen summers [at the time of writing] and seemingly a lifetime ago on a cliff-top with breathtaking views of Palma, the principal city of Majorca, she and I sat talking beside a swimming pool in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. The pool was in a courtyard within a magnificent palace complex and the Prince and Princess were there as the guests of King Juan Carlos of Spain. To an onlooker, our conversation must have appeared to be intense. Occasionally, I would try to lighten the mood, and our discussion would then be broken by her laughter. Within seconds, however, she would turn serious again.
    ‘After Harry was born our marriage just died,’ Diana said inhushed, conspiratorial tones. There was genuine sadness in her brilliant blue eyes, but, although my heart went out to her, I simply nodded and said nothing.
    ‘What could I do?’ she continued. ‘I tried, I honestly tried, but he just did not want me. He just wanted her, always her. Do you know, I don’t think I ever stood a chance.’ It did not take a detective to understand that the ‘he’ referred to the Prince of Wales, and the ‘her’ to his mistress,