SARAH VINE: My message to the four-times married colossal cad Earl Spencer: People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones

What to make of the war of the Charleses? On the one hand, Charles the King, barely four years on the throne, beset by poor health, a troublesome younger son and a disgraced brother, doing his best to steer the ship of monarchy through the choppiest of seas.

Not a perfect man, and by no means always the easiest – but one who has nonetheless matured over the years into a thoughtful, some might say even wise monarch, mindful of the mistakes of the past – and doggedly determined in his duty to crown and country.

On the other, Charles Spencer, an aristocrat whose ancestry stretches back to James I, sole heir to a great estate and its manifold treasures, brother of a beautiful yet tragic princess, uncle to a future king and, it now transpires, the latest thorn in the King’s side.

People have asked, why now? Over the past few days, in his various interviews for the publication of his book, Swan Song, Spencer has gone to great lengths to justify his timing. He delivers his excuses with fruity Etonian eloquence, but the bitterness seeps from his every pore like sweat.

Attempting to frame the book as some sort of eulogy to his poor sister is a predictable but futile exercise. The public will see this for what it is. If any of them bother to read it, they will see that it is predominately about himself – which is entirely in character.

Throughout his life, Spencer has only ever been motivated by his own desires, fuelled by a deep-seated sense of entitlement that stems from being the scion of a family that has always considered itself far nobler than the Windsors. This book is no different.

He attacks the King for his allegedly ill-chosen and callous words in the aftermath of Diana’s death; but words can be misinterpreted or misremembered; actions cannot. And when it comes to his actions, Spencer’s speak far louder than words.

The irony of him giving an interview to the BBC having blasted the Institution for duping Diana into the Martin Bashir Panorama interview will surely not have been lost on viewers. But what are principles when it comes to promoting a book?

He chides the late Queen for offering to restore Diana’s HRH title posthumously, asking what the point would be: too late. But you could argue the same about Spencer’s speech at her funeral. Fine words indeed – but also too late.

No. None of this is for Diana, or for her boys, for that matter. This is just another act of vengeful self-indulgence from a man who has enjoyed every privilege afforded by his status and wealth – and who yet never let duty or decency (or even gratitude) stand in the way of indulging his whims and desires.

A man who has – throughout his life – acted in a manner wholly unbecoming of a member of the so-called nobility and for whom this latest act of calumny is perfectly in keeping with his poor character and lack of moral compass.

The tragedy – for Spencer – is that he doesn’t even realise it. Like his nephew, Prince Harry, his lack of self-knowledge is astounding. And like Harry, who clearly wrote his autobiography, Spare, as an ill-fated attempt to win back the support of the British public after that disastrous Oprah interview and other jaw-dropping attacks on his family, this will also backfire.

Because, inevitably, as well as re-examining the relationship between King Charles and Princess Diana, this book turns the spotlight on the colossal cad who authored it, reminding one of that old adage: people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

How Spencer can lecture the King on his treatment of Diana is beyond me. As for being ‘gaslit’ (as he claims the Palace’s statement in response to the book made him feel)… well, he should know. He’s past master at it.

Let us examine the evidence. His first wife, Victoria Lockwood, a fragile, beautiful creature who also – very much like Spencer’s sister – was troubled by anxiety, addiction and an eating disorder. It is claimed he responded by having an affair when she was pregnant with their first child.

He moved his family to South Africa, before divorcing her under South African law (conveniently less punitive than British law) where, even though he was described in Lockwood’s brief as a ‘serial adulterer’ and details of his cruel treatment of his wife were widely reported, he ended up paying her – the mother of his three elder daughters and elder son – a fraction of his immense inherited wealth in settlement.

His second wife, Caroline (aka Pidge), whom he married after her first husband, the publicist Matthew Freud, ran off with Elisabeth Murdoch, was made of stronger stuff. During that divorce, details of his ‘unreasonable behaviour’ were kept private.

But I recall sitting next to the earl at a dinner just before they were due to be married. It was many years ago, but the conversation has stuck in my mind. Spencer was very interested to hear my views – and the views of the rather attractive woman to his other side – on adultery.

Was it acceptable, he wanted to know, and if so to what degree. I don’t recall my reply – I was nervous and probably burbled something stupid – or worse, dull. But I do remember thinking it was an odd question for someone who was just about to walk down the aisle. That union produced two children, a son and a daughter.

His third wife, the entrepreneur and philanthropist Karen Gordon, gave him another child and 13 years of her life, before he ditched her too, for his current wife. Gordon also invested significant time and effort into renovating the earl’s estate, including restoring the walled garden and redesigning the Round Oval Lake (Princess Diana’s final resting place). 

They even made an online series together, Spencer 1508, documenting the restoration work, archival discoveries and day-to-day running of the 13,000-acre estate.

But even she couldn’t keep the earl on the porch – and earlier this year Spencer married the Norwegian archaeologist and author, Dr Catrine Jarman, with whom he co-hosted a podcast.

It seems to me he has tossed aside the women in his life like used tissues. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. What about the claims that his old friend, Darius Guppy, gave him a broken cheekbone after it emerged that he (the earl) had tried to seduce Guppy’s wife while the latter was in jail for fraud? And is there a reason he hasn’t been present at either of his daughters’ weddings (Lady Kitty, in 2021, and Lady Amelia, in 2023)?

Let’s face it, if he weren’t an earl, with access to the best lawyers, friends in high places and, of course, vast tracts of prime inherited land (in July he sold off 310 acres to Persimmon Homes for a cool £60million), he’d not be out of place as a guest on the now defunct Jeremy Kyle show.

Of course, none of this would a) be relevant or b) matter much had he not decided to climb onto the moral high ground and dump on the King from a great height, profiting handsomely in the process. 

Because however badly Charles may have behaved towards Diana, however tumultuous their marriage, whatever mistakes he may have made, however tragic their divorce and her terrible death, Spencer is certainly no hero in this tale. Or anyone’s tale, for that matter.

So while, in the words of the Palace, one can perfectly understand how ‘the pain of fraternal grief can cloud reason [and] affect judgment’, the extent of his high-handed hypocrisy really does beggar belief.

As for the notion that his sister herself would be ‘cheering from the rafters’, I’m not so sure. Princess Diana had a rare compassion, which is one of the main reasons she was so loved. I can’t imagine she would have liked the idea of kicking a sick man battling cancer – even her ex-husband – when he’s down. He is, after all, the father of her children, and the only parent they have. 

Besides, how does any of this help her precious sons? How does it help heal the deep rift between them, which would break any mother’s heart? It only deepens it.

On one thing, however, the earl is right. Those two boys should never have walked behind their mother’s coffin – I thought that at the time, and I think that now. But you cannot change the past, and you will never right past wrongs with bitter vengeance. 

You can only learn to live with it – and move on. If you don’t, you risk wasting your life in anger and regret. As Shakespeare wrote in Othello (Act 1, Scene 3): ‘The robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief; / He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.’

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