No one prepares you for what it's like to be separated.
It's a strange sort of no-man's-land.
Or no-woman's-land.
Neither married nor single.
Neither royal nor normal.
Diana!
Like a harpy.
One of those mythological creatures.
Half woman, half bird.
And one minute, you're flying high, the center of attention.
And the next thing, you're down to earth with a bump.
Hmm.
Not even a bump. A crash.
-No one to talk to.
And there's no one for company.
At least when I had the children here, we had each other.
Now William's about to start at Eton.
I can't believe he's already at that age.
Thank you.
So grown-up.
And he's always been my rock.
Now that he's gone, I don't know what I'll do.
-Ow! -Sorry.
Everything all right back there?
Bit off my game today.
Listen to me going on about my silly problems
with everything you and Joe are facing.
Have they set a date for the surgery yet?
Next week.
You must let me come and be there for you.
No. You're far too busy.
Not with anything important.
William!
-William, just wave! -Over here, William!
William, give us a smile!
You're looking very smart today!
William, how are you feeling about your first day at school?
Are you gonna miss your dad?
Terrible handwriting. We still let him in.
-I think I made a mistake. -I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.
What religion?
Church of England.
Which you'll one day be head of.
Well done.
Welcome.
You didn't have to make such a fuss of him.
He was nervous. He signed in the wrong place.
Maybe because you were standing behind him. Smothering him.
-Mothering him. -Smothering.
Thank you. I'm really looking forward to it.
Well done.
It'll all be fine.
If you ever feel sad or lonely,
you can just look out of the window and give Granny a wave.
-Okay.
Bye.
Prince William's first day at Eton today.
Yes.
Thirteen already. Where does the time go?
Indeed.
I forget. Robert, were you…?
I was, ma'am.
And your boy?
Alexander? Due to go next year, ma'am.
Might be nice to have William here for the occasional tea.
If it's allowed.
Lovely idea.
But I don't want to break any rules.
I'll have a word with his housemaster.
4Thank you.
Charles Spencer, brother of Princess Diana,
is the latest high-profile figure
to fall victim to private correspondence being leaked to newspapers for money.
Earl Spencer's own head of security, Alan Waller,
allegedly gave a letter to the Today newspaper
in which the Earl was critical of the Princess' behavior.
Just read a nice piece on your post-natal depression episode.
-Would you like some flattery? -Absolutely.
"Martin Bashir treats the subject with surprising gravity and depth,
steadfastly refusing to exploit private suffering
for cheap voyeurism or melodrama."
Not that it did anything for the numbers. -Mmm.
World In Action absolutely hammered us.
Tell me about it. Crushed, once again,
by the juggernaut of commercial television.
It just so happens that I might have an idea to turn that around.
-Go on. -The Princess of Wales.
What about her?
The American networks are all over her.
Their view is that with Charles having done his interview with Dimbleby,
Diana should be given a chance to respond.
Apparently, she's thinking of talking.
-We should throw our hat into the ring. -But why would she talk to us?
The Yanks can fly her around the world and pay millions
into a charity of her choice.
What can we offer her?
Sausage rolls from the BBC canteen?
Well, that's the point. The BBC… canteen.
Not CBS or ABC, the national church. Trustworthy.
-Important. -But we're Panorama.
Our brief is investigative reporting. Diana would be celebrity tittle-tattle.
I disagree, Steve.
Diana is the wife of our future king and the mother of the next.
And from what I hear, she's at breaking point
because of the way she feels she's been treated by them.
What's more Panorama than a national institution in free fall?
A monarchy plummeting in public esteem and credibility
destroying one of their own.
It's a huge story.
How would we even get to her?
Okay, we just need it to look like a normal bank statement,
showing payments from News International.
"News International." Okay.
-Can that one… Bit bigger? -Uh-huh.
Yeah.
Islington residents have questioned plans
for a new international terminal at St. Pancras.
It is scheduled to go through Islington…
Into which account?
Alan James Waller.
W-A-double L-E-R.
Okay, let's make up another
with payments from Penfolds Consultants with "Jersey" underneath.
-Okay.
It needs to look suspicious, like an offshore account.
Channel Islands somewhere. That'll get his attention.
-Let's have a look.
Penfolds.
Okay. That's fine. Good.
-Lord Spencer, I'm Martin Bashir. -Pleasure to meet you.
-Thank you for seeing me. -Come on in.
Well, um, can I start by saying, sir,
how much I always enjoyed your work as an on-air correspondent for NBC News?
You've seen some of that?
-I didn't think anyone watched that here. -I've made a point of it.
Indeed, you've served as an inspiration to me for my own reporting.
Well… thank you.
So, how can I help?
I'm sure you're aware of stories of phone hacking in recent years
involving public figures
where recordings of intimate conversations have been leaked to the press.
Of course I'm aware. Happened to me.
I know.
When I first heard about the injunction
you'd taken out against your… former head of security, Alan Waller,
I did a little digging.
And it turns out the money paid to Mr. Waller
wasn't just coming from the newspapers.
Bank statements showing payments made to him.
Firstly, by News International, owners of the Today newspaper.
-Mm-hmm. -But then, more sinisterly…
also by a second company,
registered in Jersey,
for services not defined.
I believe that second company is a front
potentially for the security services.
What?
Meaning that MI5 or GCHQ may, in fact,
have been the main instigators behind the leaks.
God.
I then thought, if they're bugging you…
what if your sister may also have been the victim
of the security services' dirty tricks campaign?
And that's when I found this.
Details of another account, also registered in the Channel Islands,
showing payments going to one Patrick Jephson.
-Her private secretary. -Yes.
You think he's in on it too?
It is my belief… that Jephson
and possibly others close to the princess
are actually spies… being paid to report on her private life
by the security services
and possibly at the behest of the Duchy of Cornwall too.
Steve Hewlett.
Hello, this is Charles Spencer speaking.
Lord Spencer. How can I help?
I just had a meeting with one of your reporters, Martin Bashir.
Oh yes?
And I just wondered to what degree you could vouch for him.
Martin? He's-- He's one of our best.
So you're saying I can trust him and what he says.
Yes.
He's a top-class, award-winning journalist.
All right. Thank you, much obliged.
It's confirmed. They're taking him in now.
Try to think positive thoughts. Which hospital again?
Royal Brompton.
That South Ken?
Yes. But you really don't need to do this.
Stop it. I insist. You're always there for me.
I'd better go. They're putting him under now.
Hello?
Blue team to ICU, please. Blue team, ICU.
-Mrs. Toffolo? -Yes.
The initial operation went well,
but about half an hour after he went into ICU,
I'm afraid your husband experienced significant post-operative bleeding.
We had to act straightaway and operate on the unit.
But I'm happy to say Joseph's now stable.
Thank you.
But what I'd like to do now is to take him back into the theater,
formally, and make sure everything is all right.
We see these complications in between 5-10% of bypass patients.
The crucial factor is the time of intervention,
and the fact is, we've recognized it at an early stage.
Thank you, Doctor.
Joe will get through this. You heard what the doctor said.
Quite dishy, wasn't he?
Who?
Dr. Khan.
His name was on his shoes.
-I didn't see his shoes. -Were you looking at his eyes?
No.
His eyes were gorgeous.
And warm.
Kind.
His hands were nice too.
The only thing that interests me about that man's hands
is that they don't shake when holding a knife.
Mmm.
-Do you think he's Pakistani? -I don't know.
Probably.
With a name like Khan.
Hello?
Hello, darling.
-Hi, Mum. -How are you?
Um…
Yeah, okay.
You settling in all right?
You getting help with your collar? Those studs are impossible to do up.
-I don't want you choking yourself. -It's fine. I've gotten used to it.
What are the other boys like? Have you made any friends?
One or two.
Is that all you've got to say?
Talk to me a bit.
Do you miss me?
Yeah.
I miss you terribly.
My wise, monosyllabic owl.
Granny's invited me to come and have tea.
Oh, that's nice.
Just the two of you?
-Yeah. -Make sure you put in a good word for me.
-Why? -I hardly see her anymore.
I think she's cross with me.
-What was that? -What?
I heard a click. Did you hear it?
No.
We have to be careful.
There are people out there who want to listen in on our calls.
There are bugs everywhere.
Okay. I'd better go.
Okay. Bye.
Hello?
But I'm not imagining it, Patrick.
I hear clicks on the line all the time.
It's my understanding that every call,
incoming and outgoing, goes through the main Palace switchboard,
making it very difficult indeed to set up a tap.
But not impossible.
What about the light fittings? Checked those?
-Not yet, ma'am. -But I specifically asked you to.
It'll be done today. I promise.
And, just to say, your brother called.
Requesting an urgent meeting.
What for?
He didn't say.
Your Royal Highness.
Look, it's her!
-Look. Hi!
-Hi. -Quick, give me the camera.
Let's get a picture!
-Hey! Hey!
-How's it going, Diana? -Look! It's Diana, look!
God.
Oh my God.
Oh my God!
Hello, Carlos.
Quickly. Close the door behind you.
Charming. After a two-year silence, that's how you greet your sister?
I think you'll find the silence was your choice.
And hello.
Come in.
A few days ago, I had a meeting with a journalist from the BBC.
A chap called Martin Bashir.
He, um…
came to talk to me about surveillance of public figures by the security services.
-Do you remember my security man, Waller? -The one who leaked our letter, yeah.
Turns out he was receiving regular payments.
Bashir showed me copies of bank statements.
One from News International,
the other… from a Jersey-based shell company,
which appears to be a front
for the security services.
Anyway,
it's clear Bashir thinks people are watching you too.
Well, you know what I think. They've been spying on me for years.
They're all in on it. That's why I got rid of my personal protection officers.
It's not just the policemen.
-Who else? -Commander Aylard.
Charles' private secretary?
And… your own private secretary.
My Patrick? No.
Bashir says he has proof.
Anyway,
you should meet him. Hear it from the horse's mouth.
I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't sure he was above board.
Everything else all right?
I think they fiddled with the brakes on my car now, as well.
What?
Though it might just need a service.
Uh…
Right.
So, come along, tell me about school.
It's just so much bigger than Ludgrove.
I get lost all the time.
And there are special names for everything.
I couldn't find the way back to my house.
One of the older boys told me to "turn right at the Burning Bush."
I'd no idea what he was talking about.
-Turns out, it's a-- -Lamppost.
Yes.
Hmm.
Terms are not called terms. They're--
Halves.
Lessons are not lessons.
-They're-- -Divs.
-And teachers are… -Beaks.
And the big boys are huge. I mean, like apes.
-The school shop sells razor blades. -Well, you'll be needing those soon.
No, I won't.
Yes, you will. And your voice will break, and your feet will grow and smell,
and you'll be towering over the rest of us like a giant.
Especially if you keep eating like that.
So good.
You forget, I also went to Eton.
Not as a normal pupil.
But to be taught history and the constitution
by Vice-Provost Marten.
I wanted to send your father there, and he was so excited to go.
But Philip had other ideas.
-And so he was sent to school in Scotland. -I know.
He still talks about it.
Not still, surely?
Mm-hmm.
-How are you two getting on? -Pa?
Mmm.
He's Pa.
And Mummy?
She asked me to put in a good word today. Says she never sees you anymore.
Well, it's no great mystery where I am.
It's usually on the news.
Plus, they put a flag out on the roof of any house I happen to be in.
She's welcome any time.
Good.
Do you worry about her?
Sometimes.
It's not right for a child to worry about a parent.
I just… want her to be happy.
What does he do though?
…chains from the doors and let him come in.
Wow.
Hello.
Hello!
Hello.
She's very good, Mummy.
Oh, thank you, darling!
I felt it was very much grounded…
She's been coming in most days.
At first, it was to see her friend,
but then she started talking to the other patients as well.
-It's lifted everyone's mood. -No press? Photographers?
No. She comes in all alone.
Not even a bodyguard.
I'll be right back.
Hi.
I just wanted to say thank you for what you've been doing.
All I do is talk to them and keep them company.
It's nothing compared to what you do.
I just do the technical part. I can't do the miraculous part,
make people feel happy, give them joy.
What you do is entirely miraculous.
I'm just a friendly Sloane Ranger.
Nice seeing you again.
Yes, and you.
Will you still be here in an hour? I could take my lunch then.
At midnight?
Yes.
Okay. Yeah.
If you go to the third floor, right next to the elevator,
there's a vending machine.
Um…
It's more private than the canteen.
-I'm so sorry. -No.
What would you like?
Quavers? Cheesy Wotsits?
-Or… ready salted.
Ready salted.
Good choice.
So how come I haven't seen you in the past few weeks?
I was away.
Visiting my family in Pakistan.
I went to Pakistan. On a solo tour in 1991.
I remember. It brought the country to a standstill.
It made a deep impression on me.
Mmm.
This is delicious, by the way.
Aren't they?
I love junk food.
That's unexpectedly sexy.
-I remember visiting the Badshee Mosque. -Badshahi.
Badshahi.
And sitting primly on my little cushion.
And my gorgeous, chic headscarf which they gave me to wear.
Dupatta.
And listening to all the imams talking about interfaith harmony,
thinking how happy I could be there
if I found myself a nice, handsome Pakistani husband.
It's a nice idea in theory.
In practice, you might find traditional Pakistani values a little challenging.
You think the family I married into is any different?
I was instructed to dress modestly.
speak in a low voice,
and walk one pace behind my husband and address him always as "sir."
I was discouraged from expressing opinions or having an education.
I had to make a vow that I was a virgin before being considered fit to marry him.
I'm sorry.
Um, right. Pudding?
Curly Wurly?
-Perfect.
Are you one half of a nice, conventional, arranged Pakistani marriage?
No, I'm not.
I'm constitutionally single. With this job, I can't see that changing.
Why not?
For one thing,
I get very little time off.
Not even for the cinema on a Friday night?
Cinema?
I… I can't remember the last time.
Is there even a film you'd like to see?
Um…
Apollo 13?
Then let's go.
You can't go to the cinema.
You're the most recognizable woman in the world.
It would cause a public disorder incident.
Trust me, I've done it before.
-Martin. -Lord Spencer.
-Good to see you. -You too. My sister's upstairs.
My brother told me about your conversation.
-Which confirmed what I think. -Mm-hmm.
Strange clicks on my phone, things I've said that appear in the press.
Things no one could know about unless they'd been listening in.
So who do you think's been listening in?
Police and security services. Forces loyal to the royal family.
And… why do you think they would do that?
Because they see her as a threat.
Because of her power. Because of her popularity.
And perhaps even because of what you know.
Believe me, I know everything.
They're worried about what you might tell.
Why they try to intimidate me and ridicule me.
Make me seem paranoid or mad.
But I'm not.
No, you're not. You're just a threat.
And the bigger the threat,
the bigger the lies that are used to silence it.
People I've been talking to at MI6,
contacts I've had for years as an investigative journalist,
confirmed to me that your driver, Steve Davies, is also in on it.
Steve?
That a year ago, a decision was made by the establishment
to mount an all-out attack on you.
A concerted effort to tear you down
with the goal of driving you from the country
and forcing you to live abroad.
Canada or the United States.
It won't work.
You mustn't let it.
So, what does she do?
The best thing, in my view,
would be to go public with your side of the story.
Bring it out into the open. Let people know the truth.
And it goes without saying,
at Panorama we would love to help you do that, if ever you decided to.
I think we should think about this.
Remember, you don't have to make any decisions right now.
You know several American networks are already interested.
Yes, I'd heard.
Oprah Winfrey.
Barbara Walters.
-Yeah. -And David's a friend.
-David…? -Frost.
But would they give you control?
They might not want to, but I'm good at all that.
We would definitely give you control.
And you'd be protected by the best brand name in the world
when it comes to journalistic integrity. The BBC.
If you'd like to meet again or discuss it further…
Yes, please.
This is my home number.
Thank you.
Yeah.
Right.
Shall we?
Where is home?
Wimbledon.
I mean, originally.
I was born in Wandsworth, but if you mean my parents, Pakistan.
So, did you grow up speaking Urdu or Punjabi?
English.
Interesting.
Such a coincidence.
-Yeah. -So…
-Right. -After you.
I'd appreciate your discretion…
She's desperate to talk.
Desperate. She opens her mouth and hand grenades come out.
She wants to tear down the temple.
-I think she's got a thing for me. -What?
No, I don't mean like that. I mean, the fact I'm Pakistani.
You're always telling everyone how British you are.
I am, but with her, it was like this special connection.
The importance she attached to it.
It was strange.
Aren't you going to say hello?
Hello.
-Oh…
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
Ignition sequence start.
Three, two, one…
Ignition.
Houston, we have cleared the tower at 13:13.
Okay guys, we've got it.
So tell me, Mr. Serious, Important Doctor.
How does one actually perform heart surgery?
Once we've anesthetized the patient, I open up the chest.
How?
With a scalpel.
You make a ten to twelve inch cut.
Starting where?
Here,
um,
moving down.
If I may.
You may.
To here.
Then you break the sternum.
-Ouch.
You're under general anesthetic. You don't feel it.
Trust me, I feel everything.
To expose the heart.
Where is the heart?
The heart is here.
It's not here on the left?
Hopefully not.
Hopefully in the middle where it should be.
If I may?
You may.
Right here.
Can you feel it?
Yes.
Is it broken?
In a great many pieces? After years of neglect and cruelty.
No, it feels fine.
Quite a strong pulse, actually.
I've had to make it strong.
To survive.
Go on.
Then we connect the patient to a heart-lung bypass machine.
Then I create a new path around the blocked artery.
Is that fiddly?
It sounds fiddly.
Gets easier with practice.
And after about, uh, six weeks' recovery,
good as new.
Thank you.
You've just mended my heart.
I should go.
Thank you very much.
Good night.
Don't I get a proper kiss?
I don't understand what you see in me.
I'm a totally average,
socially inept,
slightly overweight, workaholic doctor.
I'm worried you think I'm this… huge thing.
This big, glamorous, celestial thing to be scared of.
-You are. -No, I'm not.
I'm no one anymore.
Really, I'm no one.
I have nothing.
No real friends,
no purpose, no role.
No family.
You forget I already had a prince.
He broke my heart.
I'm just looking for a frog to make me happy.
This is a pleasant surprise.
I wanted to pick your brains.
About your neighbor.
Which one?
At Kensington Palace, one has so many.
The troublesome one.
That doesn't narrow it down.
The illustrious one?
The ever-so-slightly unstable one?
Ah.
That neighbor. Hmm.
Because I had tea with William the other day,
and I got a sense he was consumed with worry for his mother.
I'm sure. Poor thing.
And I thought you might know more. You and Diana talk, don't you?
What makes you think that?
You always say how much sympathy you have for her.
I feel for her.
As an outsider.
As someone who is emotionally complex.
As someone who struggles to lead a straightforward life.
As someone with
flair and character.
And star quality.
Yes.
The system isn't easy for people like us, you know.
But that doesn't mean we talk.
Or share confidences.
Diana comes and goes,
and I have no idea what she's up to.
-Hi. -Hi.
Okay. Since we last met, I've called in a few favors.
The phone lines at the Palace,
it turns out that at least three of them have been tapped for sure.
I'm afraid you've been followed twice this week. Not by the paparazzi,
but by members of the security services posing as such.
-Your private secretary… -Patrick.
Before, it was a hunch. Now, we know for sure.
The bank statements confirm it.
He's been receiving payments
into the same Channel Islands-based account
as Charles' private secretary, Commander Richard Aylard.
God.
What about my friends?
What if they're being spied on too?
I'd be careful about approaching your friends.
If there's one thing I've learnt, it's to trust no one.
There's an Urdu proverb.
Jitne muh utni baatein.
"The more mouths, the more talk."
Right.
I'm so sorry.
But I do know in some small way
how it feels to have forces arrayed against you.
I grew up on a council estate.
For my first nine months, in a homeless shelter.
I've had to work twice as hard as my peers
just to get my foot in the door in the whiter-than-white BBC.
And the more I succeed, the more I'm resented.
They don't say it.
But you feel it in the looks.
The euphemisms.
I know what it's like to be disparaged and persecuted.
What it feels like to be an outsider
in one of Britain's most cherished institutions.
But if they think they can intimidate us,
they've got another think coming.
You don't know what it means to me.
To be understood.
And finally have someone on my side.
For so long, I've wanted people to know the truth
about what it's been like to be part of this family.
The sheer loneliness of it.
But…
I didn't know who I could tell.
Or who I could trust.
You can trust me.
And I promise I will protect you every step of the way.