‘I think Dad was lonely … so he sent for Miles’
Sir David Frost’s widow tells Rosa Silverman of her mission to stop others dying from the undetected heart condition that killed their son
‘ I’m so lucky I’m able to cry,” says Lady Carina Frost. “Sometimes I can’t see my eyes in the morning; they just disappear.”
The widow of Sir David Frost might seem far from fortunate: when her husband, the celebrated television broadcaster, was taken from her at 74, she lost the man their middle son, Wilf, calls “her best mate in the whole world”.
It was August 2013 and Sir David had been due to give a talk to passengers on board the Queen Elizabeth liner, which was cruising through the Mediterranean hundreds of miles from his family, when he suffered a sudden, fatal heart attack.
“I was just a basket case,” says Lady Carina, 66, of the loss of her husband of almost 30 years. “I cried a lot.”
The devastated family rallied around. But it was the eldest of the Frosts’ three sons, Miles, who offered his mother unrivalled succour.
“They were all amazing, but Miles really did look after me,” she says now. “He just was always there.”
The grief was crushing nonetheless, and it was not until the summer of 2015 that painful wounds started to slowly heal. “I was just beginning to surface and have people around me again,” says Lady Carina, the 66-year-old daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. She had told her boys: “We’re just starting to feel like a family again.”
As she emerged from those two dark years, it was Miles, then 31, who persuaded her to host a big lunch in early July at their country house in Oxfordshire. The event might have marked the start of a new chapter for the famously close clan. Yet two weeks later, in a twist of fate, shocking in its cruelty, Miles dropped dead on the driveway of that same country house.
“It really knocked us sideways,” reflects his heartbroken mother, sitting at the table of her stunning 18th-century Chelsea townhouse with her two surviving sons. “The only way I can get round it sometimes is I just think Dad was lonely, so he sent for Miles.” Her voice cracks. “I can’t understand it otherwise.”
“Except he wouldn’t have sent for him,” Wilf, 32, interjects.
“No, he would,” his mother argues. “You know what Dad was like.”
It was George, the youngest son, who found his brother’s body. Miles, who was fighting fit and a keen sportsman, had been out for a run on the morning of July 19. When he didn’t return in time for lunch, George, now 30, was dispatched to find him and spotted Miles lying halfway down the approach to the house; his head on the driveway, his body on the grass.
At first George assumed he’d fallen asleep while sunbathing, but realised rapidly something was wrong. He
‘We’re unbelievably proud of Mum, given the two tragedies in the last five years’
called 999 and attempted CPR, in vain. They later learned Miles had died of an undiagnosed genetic heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM), chief among several heart conditions which, left undetected, kill 12 apparently fit and healthy people aged 35 and under every year in the UK.
What made his untimely death even harder to bear was that, unbeknown to everyone, Sir David had suffered the same hereditary
condition, although it had not caused his death. Despite being found in post-mortem examination, it was never flagged up to his family. Had they known, his sons could have been tested and – with a few adjustments to his sporty life – Miles’s death avoided.
“I was furious,” says his mother. “But the boys quite rightly said: ‘You can’t sue the doctor.’ ”
“That wasn’t really a consideration,” protests Wilf.
“Oh, it was in my eyes,” she replies. Instead, what anger they bear has been channelled into something positive: in the past two years, through a variety of fundraising activities and events – from a club night in London to two sponsored 400-mile cycle rides across Europe – they have generated £1.5million for the Miles Frost Fund, set up in partnership with the British Heart Foundation (BHF).
In 2016, there was even a one-off revival of Sir David’s legendary summer drinks party, an annual event that his wife insists she always loathed. “It was just horrendous and I did it really badly because I was in such a state,” she says of the revival. “But I hated that party anyway. I used to hide behind the marquee.”
The money they have raised is helping to fund six specialist inherited cardiac condition clinics, with more centres due to receive funding next month, to make genetic testing far more widely available. Fourteen new Miles Frost FUND/BHF specialist cardiac genetic nurses, genetic counsellors and family history coordinators have been appointed nationwide, seeing an additional 800 patients each year.
“This whole process has enabled us to sit here and feel Miles’s passing wasn’t in vain,” says Wilf. George agrees: “Miles’s death was preventable and [we want] to prevent other families going through what we’ve gone through; to prevent brothers losing brothers, mothers losing sons.”
The day Lady Carina lost hers had begun well. It was a Sunday and she and Miles had eaten breakfast together. “The last thing Miles said to me [was]: ‘Oh, Mum, do you know you’ve been the most amazing mother?’ And then he went and died,” she says.
“No, he held her hand and said: ‘I’m so, so proud of you’,” George corrects her. Wilf was not present that morning. In Sweden at a music festival, he was due to fly home later that day. His mother and younger brother drove to Heathrow to meet him off the plane.
“There was 15 seconds from when I saw Mum and George [in arrivals] to when I reached them,” Wilf recalls. “I could see they were unhappy, but you just don’t expect it to be that. I came through and Mum just said: ‘Miles died.’ I physically collapsed. We were just sobbing on our knees while other people were having happy greetings with their families.”
Now a presenter at CNBC in New York, each time he passes through that same spot in Terminal 5, memories of that dreadful day return.
As brothers go, the three of them could not have been closer. “They were like triplets,” says their mother. “Miles was just the kindest, best older brother.” It was Miles, she adds, who persuaded her to give up alcohol 11 years ago. “Miles said: ‘You’ve got to stop drinking,’ and I said: ‘But why?’ He said: ‘You keep falling over.’ The other two were amazingly helpful but it was Miles who said: ‘Mum, I’m sorry, you’ve got to give up.’” Have the two tragedies she’s suffered since ever tempted her to return to the bottle? “Both times,” she admits. “When Miles died, George’s rum bottle [was there and I thought] it would be so easy to just have a sip of that. But I felt Miles, I really felt him tell me: ‘No, Mum, don’t do that.’ And I know now I will never drink again, because I’ve coped.”
She brings out the rum in question – from George’s own brand, The Duppy Share – and shows me the label proudly; in very small writing is one of Sir David’s favourite phrases: “Never waste a second.”
But if she’s proud of her sons for what they’ve achieved in the wake of their losses, they are no less so of her. “We are unbelievably proud of Mum,” says Wilf. “[Her abstinence] is just one of them, but given the two tragedies in the last five years, that that hasn’t flickered is one of many amazing testaments to her strength and resilience, and she continues to be remarkably strong.”
“But I’m not that strong,” protests his mother, breaking down in tears. “Everyone thinks I’m so strong.” “You are, Mum,” Wilf insists.
“It still hurts so much,” she sobs, as George reaches out to take her hand.
Sitting with this warm, passionate, funny family, who use humour to make it through the bleakest moments and frequently complete each other’s sentences, it is impossible not to laugh and cry with them. As they reminisce, interject and take the mickey out of each other, Sir David looks down from two blackand-white photos on the walls at the tight-knit, loving clan he created, who clearly brought him joy. “We were such a happy family,” says Lady Carina. “We were renowned for that.”
Since they were torn apart, she has relied on bereavement counselling sessions – and her Catholic faith – to help her through. “I really believe I will see them again,” she says. “That’s the only thing that keeps me going. And my two boys.”
“And Eastenders,” adds George. “And Eastenders,” she agrees. This ability to see light where others would only see dark has no doubt been key to their resilience. “The shape of the family has changed drastically, but we’re still very lucky we’ve all got each other,” says Wilf. He adds: “There are times when you’re crying and you really miss them.”
“We miss them every day,” exclaims his mother. “It never goes away.”
‘The shape of the family has changed drastically, but we’re still very lucky’