Tara, me and the tawdry truth about our lives as it Girls
By JULIA STEPHENSON whose endless partying and self-publicity disgusted her aristocratic family and, finally, her
MY PHone rang as I was waiting for the limousine to whisk me off to the first of the evening’s glitzy parties. I picked it up expecting yet another congratulatory call about the four-page spread on yours truly in Hello! magazine that day.
There had been many such calls. I was the toast of the town and felt as if I had the world at my feet.
It was a close family member on the line, someone with whom I’d spent all my holidays as a child. He was furious because I’d mentioned him en passant in the article.
This, he said, was ‘the final straw’. I was bringing the family into disrepute. He harangued me without pause for ten minutes and then hung up.
My world imploded. Before that phone call I’d been floating on cloud nine, feeling fabulous. now I was ‘despicable’, ‘superficial’ and ‘dragging the family name through the mud’. His words were ringing in my ears. I slumped on my sofa completely devastated, and then cancelled my night out.
At that moment, I would have given back everything — the designer dresses, the glamorous nights, the glossy magazine spreads and each and every wealthy boyfriend — to regain the love and approval of my family.
For, like Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, I was caught up in the intoxicating whirl of life as an It Girl. If there were a league table, I was definitely Woking FC to Tara’s Manchester United, but nonetheless we were glamorous, privileged, well-connected — and famous mostly for being famous.
This was the nineties. Princess Diana was in her prime and a slew of young Sloane Rangers swept along in her wake. In the past, they would have been debs, but in this egalitarian age they had been rebranded It Girls.
I had the right credentials: I was a pretty blonde, dating a marquess and with aristocratic connections (I’m a cousin of Lord Sam Vestey of the Vestey food empire).
The stock market was booming and London, fuelled by fat-cat City bonuses and excesses, hummed. Greed was good. Flash was fab. And we It Girls were more fabulous than most. or so we were told.
In truth, it was a superficial, hedonistic life of excess, false values and false friends. I had never been so unhappy.
So, how did I find myself there? I was older than most of them at 30, but recently divorced from my husband of seven years and, like many people coming out of a marriage, I was searching for fulfilment.
I had started writing my first book, Pandora’s Diamond, and my publishers decided my unique selling point, given my background, was ‘It Girl writes novel’.
Desperate for my book to be a success, I signed up to the PR agency M&M Management. Tara was another of their famous It Girl clients.
Martine Montgomery, the doyenne of M&M, was more than happy to take me on. She was thrilled with my aristocratic connections and the handsome marquess I was dating, with his stately home in the centre of London (which we nicknamed Paddington Palace).
Very soon, my fax machine was whirring with invitations.
I was interviewed by all and sundry and frequently photographed for the gossip columns ‘sharing a joke’ with many well-known men and women about town.
My book launch, held at Paddington Palace and attended by the cream of fashionable London, was a dazzling success.
Yes, I knew fewer than a quarter of the people there but, fuelled by pink champagne and quail eggs, I was everyone’s best friend, lavishing air kisses on folk I’d never met before and whom I would never see again.
Socialites such as Henry DentBrocklehurst, co-heir to Sudeley Castle in the Cotswolds, his wife, Lili, and Beverley Bloom and her brother, Baron, heirs to a property empire — who made a startling entrance in a bright yellow Aston Martin — smiled for the paparazzi.
And then, halfway through the party, Tara materialised, glamorous and self-assured in a slinky, chocolate-coloured slip.
She was on a three-line whip from Martine, who pushed us together for the all important photo-op that would hopefully guarantee coverage in the next day’s papers. Tara’s face was set in a glazed smile and I knew she didn’t really want to be there.
We didn’t exchange a single word and once the photographers were satisfied, she was whisked out the door and on to the next party in her packed schedule.
I later learned the agency was often paid for our personal appearances at premieres, launches and openings but, back then, I was so naive and lacking in confidence that I was flattered to be asked.
We were from a generation and family background in which girls were brought up with low expectations that didn’t extend much beyond a good marriage and becoming a mother.
After a childhood of being seen and not heard and years spent at boarding school, suddenly being the focus of attention was intoxicating.
of course, I can’t speak for Tara, but I know that for people with insecurities and self-doubt, publicity can become an addictive drug that bolsters confidence and reassures them of their place in the world.
The hunger for validation, I suspect, was a common characteristic of It Girls. Many people seek fame to fill some void in their lives, but however much attention they receive, it’s never enough.
My family abhorred the publicity that surrounded me. They thought it scandalous to be in the newspapers for any reason other than your birth, marriage and death.
To my eternal shame, I was so busy at that book launch greeting the great and not-so-great that I didn’t even talk to my mother — the one person who had actually read my novel. She told me afterwards she left the party in tears. And after the launch, there was a constant round of promotional parties for anything and everything — from new shampoos to the opening of a chi-chi restaurant.
It was exhausting and began to feel increasingly pointless. My boyfriend loathed this superficial merry-go-round, but when I ignored invitations, Martine was . . . well, let’s just say she wasn’t happy.
‘Tara manages to attend four parties a night,’ she screamed down the phone. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Tara had the pick of the invitations. If she couldn’t attend a photoshoot or interview, Martine sent me instead — desperately talking me up to the client who might not have a clue who I was.
The agency did, though, get me heaps of publicity, which translated into book sales, and I got the green light for a second novel.
It was then that the publicity began to focus more and more on my family. The fact I was a vegetarian and patron of the animal rights charity Viva!, while the Vestey family fortune was largely built on the Dewhurst butcher empire, was too irresistible for the media to ignore.
Martine’s piece de resistance was organising a double-page spread in Tatler magazine in which I appeared completely starkers — except for a body-painted apron — and holding some veg to promote my beliefs.
My family, particularly my grandparents, Sir Derek and Lady Phyllis Vestey, whom I loved very much, hit the roof. My father was incandescent and our relationship was frosty for a long time.
The stress played havoc with my health, and for me that was the turning point. My so-called friends had no time for an invalid, but thankfully my family did and for that I am eternally grateful. I count my blessings that I was never into drink or drugs. Had I been, goodness knows how my story might have ended.
When I look back at photos of that time, I know the reality behind those air-brushed faces and collagen-enhanced smiles. So often I was feeling utterly lonely and insecure.
My life today bears no resemblance to that giddy, pointless existence as an It Girl. I have been in a relationship for 12 years and keep busy running a dog sanctuary, Chimney Farm, in Surrey.
I look forward to nothing more than a quiet night with a good book and a hot bath.
Recently, I was out walking my dogs when I bumped into a self-styled Italian prince who had come to my book launch all those years ago.
As we reminisced, he said: ‘That night you looked like a princess. Your wonderful family, the aristocratic boyfriend, the designer dress, all your society friends — and you had just published a novel . . . yes, you were the girl with everything. oh, how everyone envied you!’
I’m not too sure he understood when I told him it was one of the bleakest times of my life. But it was.
‘Fuelled by pink champagne, I was dazzling’