TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, ALEX WENT TO London to show the commissioning editor what was known as an ‘offline edit’ of the programme. He was worried the channel would ask for bits of footage he didn’t have when there was no time or budget left for a major reshoot.
‘They’ll probably want a nice neat ending that wraps up all the mysteries, and I’ll have to convince them it’s not possible.’ Questions had to be left floating in the air that might or might not be answered at some point in the future.
Rachel got an email from Gazelle Films offering her a substantial sum of money in return for the use of her clothes – easily enough to pay off her overdraft and credit-card loan. It meant the shop was safe. She closed her eyes in silent gratitude, the months of worry finally at an end. If only Alex could have good news too, the day would be perfect. Whenever she had a spare moment, she wondered how he was faring.
Late afternoon, he called from the train. ‘They love it! They completely understand the need for open-endedness. They even asked if I’ll make another Diana programme next year, about her private humanitarian work: the hospital visits, the regular phone calls to people with terminal illnesses, the flowers and gifts she sent to sick children, the letters to the bereaved. I’ve amassed loads of material already. There was a lot the public never knew about while she was alive.’
‘Brilliant!’ Rachel cheered. ‘I’m proud of you. You’ve become television’s go-to Diana man.’
‘Darling, I have a confession to make,’ he said. ‘With everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had time to get you a Christmas present. Is there anything you want and I’ll hunt it down tomorrow?’
‘A Schiaparelli jacket,’ she replied, deadpan.
‘OK. Any serious suggestions?’
‘That is serious.’ Her cash-strapped customer had come back that very day, saying she had been unable to find anyone else to buy it, and Rachel had snapped it up.
‘Oh God, what have I let myself in for?’
She told him about all the time-pressed husbands she was selling last-minute Christmas gifts to, and added, ‘But yours is by far the most expensive.’
On Christmas morning, Alex was moved beyond words when he opened the photo album of his childhood. They sat in bed going through it, Rachel wearing the Schiaparelli jacket and Alex with a Christmas ribbon tied round his head. The memories flooded back as he told her the stories behind the photographs.
‘Mum loved clothes, just like you. I remember being so proud when we walked down the street because people would gawp at her . . .’ He turned the page. ‘I caught that fish in the Lake District but Dad had to kill it for me because I was too squeamish . . .’ Another page: ‘Did you know I was my school swimming champion at the age of ten?’
He couldn’t remember some of the scenes but was touched to see evidence of his mother’s obvious love for him. ‘You just gave me my childhood back,’ he told Rachel.
‘Speaking of which . . .’ she said. ‘Susie rang yesterday to say her grandma is not keeping that painting the two of us lugged all the way back from Paris. She’s having a print made for herself then sending the original to Mary and Ernest’s son, who lives in Israel.’
‘That seems fitting, I suppose. How old is he?’
Rachel did a quick calculation. ‘He must be in his late fifties.’
‘He’ll love it. It’s a gift full of history – like the one you gave me.’
Rachel had also given him a biography of Wallis Simpson, and after breakfast, before starting to read it, he looked up von Ribbentrop in the index. ‘The seventeen roses are mentioned here,’ he said, and read out a passage from the book: ‘“Von Ribbentrop was sent to London with a brief to infiltrate and influence upper-class society. He began an affair with Wallis and reported every conversation he had with her directly to the Führer, who took a special interest, even acquiring film footage of her that he watched at his Obersalzburg hunting lodge.”’
Rachel frowned. ‘I’m not sure I buy the theory that Ribbentrop bought her seventeen flowers because they’d slept together seventeen times. Why stop at seventeen? If he was seducing her to get to Edward, it would at least have been gallant to pretend he wanted to reach number eighteen. And if the affair was over, why still send her flowers and engrave a bracelet with that number? Besides, in the heat of passion, who counts?’
Alex agreed with her. ‘Wallis became a hate figure after the abdication and I think there’s been a lot of misogyny in the way she’s been written about ever since. Lustful traitorous predator or the most misunderstood woman in history? I want to make a documentary that addresses that question.’
They visited Rachel’s family on Boxing Day, and Alex’s on the 27th, then on Sunday the 28th they planned to have a lazy day before going back to work. They ate breakfast in bed, then Alex went to boot up the computer and check his emails while Rachel was in the shower.
‘Oh my God!’ she heard him shout, then seconds later the bathroom door burst open.
‘What is it?’ For a moment she feared bad news, but he was grinning from ear to ear.
‘I had an email from Monsieur Belmont back on Christmas Eve. I hadn’t checked my mails since then. Get this: the French police aren’t pressing charges against me because they don’t think the bracelet was Diana’s. They sent photos of the heart to her family and her butler, and word came back that none of them recognised it.’ He punched the air in triumph.
‘Of course they didn’t!’ Rachel shrieked. ‘That’s wonderful news.’
He furrowed his brow. ‘They must be able to see that she was wearing it in photos taken earlier in the day. I wonder if they don’t want the added complication of prosecuting me over such a tiny piece of metal, when the investigation is already so multifaceted. Whatever the reason, it’s something of a relief not to face a year in jail.’
‘I would have rescued you,’ Rachel said. ‘And we could have gone on the run. It would have been exciting. But it’s probably better this way.’