reconnaissance visit to Nevis he had discovered the Montpelier Plantation Inn owned by an English couple, James and Celia Milnes-Gaskell. The first few days of the holiday were idyllic: intricate arrangements had been made to ensure that no one – particularly the press – knew where the Princess and her princes had gone and they were able to sunbathe and swim from a deserted beach watched over by Wharfe and three other Scotland Yard policemen, each armed with a Glock self-loading pistol. The Milnes-Gaskells reckon it was one of the happiest times in Diana’s life, a time when she strongly re-bonded with her sons.
Harry, nevertheless, preferred to spend as much time as he could at the nearby (and larger, much to Diana’s annoyance) beach house occupied by their police protectors. Encouraged by them to find diversions from what he considered to be his mother’s girly company, he was the one who came up with the idea of the Nevin Giant Toad Derby. With the help of his brother and the Milnes-Gaskell children he managed to capture a dozen of the creatures and then, having selected the most athletic-looking toad for himself, invited the adults to place betson the others. He made quite a few dollars that day and it gave him an entrepreneurial sense that continued to develop and, in later years, would influence his choice of friends.
Soon after her return Diana took Harry and William to Thorpe Park, the adventure centre in Surrey to which she had introduced them two summers earlier as her shaky marriage continued its helter-skelter descent. But on this later occasion she was a changed woman: Daredevil Di, wet hair slicked back as she thundered down the rides in black trousers, leather jacket and suede ankle boots. ‘This,’ she said ‘is what the boys need – especially my danger-loving Harry!’ While other pleasure-seekers had been astonished to find the royal trio in their midst, the half-dozen freelance photographers and a television crew showed no such surprise, having been tipped off in advance. Harry, clad in jeans and bomber jacket waved to them as he shot down Thunder River getting soaked in the process. One photographer, particularly familiar with the trio, said it had been made clear to him that this was a major PR exercise:
I don’t want to risk money-in-the-bank jobs by ratting on my source. Let’s just say no one from Thorpe Park had told me they would be there and Diana wasn’t surprised to see me and the other snappers. Harry seemed to know exactly what it was all about and played his part to perfection.
The PR operation was far from over: the following day Diana took her sons to lunch in Knightsbridge at San Lorenzo onBeauchamp Place, a short thoroughfare of bijoux shops in Knightsbridge where her friends, the Italian owners Mara and Lorenzo Berni, made her feel nothing if not wanted, needed and loved, and once again the forewarned paparazzi were there in force. Despite the mischievous spring in her step as she approached the restaurant, Diana, dressed in a figure-hugging navy blue suit with a skirt short enough to be called eye-catching, paused at the doorway with her sons, both smartly dressed in jackets and ties. All three displayed broad smiles for the photographers (although, according to the waiter who served them, Harry’s briefly turned to a frown when he was told that fish fingers were not on the menu). Diana had clutched the hand of each son as she descended the nine stairs to the basement level, aware that all eyes were on her. As she made her way to her usual table beneath the potted palms she made a point of pausing to greet those she knew and to make sure Harry and William cheerily acknowledged them too – especially the photographer Terry O’Neill, of whom she was particularly fond: ‘How are you today, Terry? Did you enjoy the motor racing?’ – a reference to their last encounter at Donnington Park a few days earlier. She and the boys were warmly greeted by Mara. On this one
Harry, nevertheless, preferred to spend as much time as he could at the nearby (and larger, much to Diana’s annoyance) beach house occupied by their police protectors. Encouraged by them to find diversions from what he considered to be his mother’s girly company, he was the one who came up with the idea of the Nevin Giant Toad Derby. With the help of his brother and the Milnes-Gaskell children he managed to capture a dozen of the creatures and then, having selected the most athletic-looking toad for himself, invited the adults to place betson the others. He made quite a few dollars that day and it gave him an entrepreneurial sense that continued to develop and, in later years, would influence his choice of friends.
Soon after her return Diana took Harry and William to Thorpe Park, the adventure centre in Surrey to which she had introduced them two summers earlier as her shaky marriage continued its helter-skelter descent. But on this later occasion she was a changed woman: Daredevil Di, wet hair slicked back as she thundered down the rides in black trousers, leather jacket and suede ankle boots. ‘This,’ she said ‘is what the boys need – especially my danger-loving Harry!’ While other pleasure-seekers had been astonished to find the royal trio in their midst, the half-dozen freelance photographers and a television crew showed no such surprise, having been tipped off in advance. Harry, clad in jeans and bomber jacket waved to them as he shot down Thunder River getting soaked in the process. One photographer, particularly familiar with the trio, said it had been made clear to him that this was a major PR exercise:
I don’t want to risk money-in-the-bank jobs by ratting on my source. Let’s just say no one from Thorpe Park had told me they would be there and Diana wasn’t surprised to see me and the other snappers. Harry seemed to know exactly what it was all about and played his part to perfection.
The PR operation was far from over: the following day Diana took her sons to lunch in Knightsbridge at San Lorenzo onBeauchamp Place, a short thoroughfare of bijoux shops in Knightsbridge where her friends, the Italian owners Mara and Lorenzo Berni, made her feel nothing if not wanted, needed and loved, and once again the forewarned paparazzi were there in force. Despite the mischievous spring in her step as she approached the restaurant, Diana, dressed in a figure-hugging navy blue suit with a skirt short enough to be called eye-catching, paused at the doorway with her sons, both smartly dressed in jackets and ties. All three displayed broad smiles for the photographers (although, according to the waiter who served them, Harry’s briefly turned to a frown when he was told that fish fingers were not on the menu). Diana had clutched the hand of each son as she descended the nine stairs to the basement level, aware that all eyes were on her. As she made her way to her usual table beneath the potted palms she made a point of pausing to greet those she knew and to make sure Harry and William cheerily acknowledged them too – especially the photographer Terry O’Neill, of whom she was particularly fond: ‘How are you today, Terry? Did you enjoy the motor racing?’ – a reference to their last encounter at Donnington Park a few days earlier. She and the boys were warmly greeted by Mara. On this one
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