SHE EVEN ASKED ME FOR A RECEIPT FOR STAMPS!
IN 1992, I picked up the phone only to hear Ivana Trump. ‘Lizzie,’ she purred, in her wonderful throaty accent. ‘I understand I need to meet you. Can you have lunch?’
That invitation was the start of a long working relationship that became a warm friendship, during which I saw Ivana both in work mode and at play. She brought the same energy — and exacting standards — to both, and I grew used to being greeted at my office by yards of faxes (Ivana was a late adopter of email) of her instructions.
When we first met, she was ending her 15-year marriage to Donald and needed PR advice. Post-divorce, she was anxious to be taken seriously as a businesswoman rather than just a famous ex-wife and wanted to forge a life in London.
Raised amid the deprivations of communist Czechoslovakia, Ivana had emerged with an inner steel and a craving for the finer things in life: private jets, superyachts and lavish parties at her home in Palm Beach. A glass of champagne in one hand — and usually with a new man in tow — she was in her element.
But behind that coiffured beehive Ivana didn’t suffer fools, scrutinising my invoices down to the last penny — she once asked me for a receipt for a set of stamps — while if you upset her you knew about it, as Richard Branson once discovered. At the Business Traveller Of The Year awards ceremony, Richard made the mistake of whipping Ivana up off the floor and turning her upside down — one of his party pieces.
I knew she’d be worrying about her beehive, and the fact it emerged intact didn’t lessen her fury.
She vowed never to fly with Virgin Airlines, or speak to him, ever again. But they made up at her engagement party. The next time I saw them, they were laughing uproariously. That was Ivana all over: fervent, but with a wicked sense of humour.
She remained close to her ex-husband, who called her regularly even as President, and while she had less need of my services over the last three years, we remained friends.
I spoke to her just last week, when she was in good spirits and looking forward to flying to her adored townhouse in St Tropez, where I planned to visit her.
Alas, it was not to be. I shall miss her terribly.