11 JUNE 1994, Page 7

DIARY

NIGEL DEMPSTER There is a bulging file marked Sara Keays in my cabinet to which another legal letter was added this week — detailing the latest state of play from my solicitors, the estimable Peter Carter-Ruck and Partners, over a misguided case brought by Ms Keays accusing me of breach of copyright. The latest missive informed me that, although His Honour Judge Rich, QC, found for me with costs on 1 February and the formal bill of costs had been prepared, lodged at court and served on Ms Keays' solicitors, it appears that the taxation of my costs (and therefore repayment) cannot be dealt with until September or October because of the backlog. The sum is not insignificant- Ms Keays, through her lawyers, has been presented with Carter-Ruck's bill of £66,449.67 incurred in defending the action over a photograph of her and Cecil Parkin- son taken by a passer-by on her camera in Central Park, New York, which appeared In a book which I wrote for Lord Weiden- feld four years ago. The offending snap which was out of focus — had been published twice before, the first time in the Mirror, when the late Cap'n Bob paid Ms Keays £100,000 or so to serialise her story to coincide with the 1985 Tory party conference. It had lain in the Mirror picture library and was among 1,000 or so pho- tographs assembled from various reputable sources by a picture researcher employed solely by Weidenfeld. It should not have been released by the Mirror, but, in all innocence, was included in the book. The first I knew of a problem was when I received an incredibly rude letter in December 1990 from Lipkin Gorman, act- ing for Ms Keays. I replied that I had no knowledge of the provenance of the offending snap and that they should address all inquiries to Weidenfeld. Yet they issued a writ that January and the case finally came to trial 37 months later. I am told that in some small way I have made legal history by winning a court action brought by Ms Keays, who has been award- ed a substantial six-figure sum in various libel actions. However, looking at the sheer waste of time and money, it gives me no satisfaction, and I can only surmise as to why Lipkin Gorman were instructed to pro- ceed with this wildly expensive but petty action in the face of my protestations. The normal fee charged for reproduction of photographs in a book varies between £57 and £170, but obviously rarity value could inflate that figure. Apart from paying my taxed costs, Ms Keays told a reporter after the court's decision that hers were less than mine, but in any case it must be a record of sorts for such a minor matter to end up with a bill in the region of £100,000. No wonder many university leavers hope for a career in the law. Aslim and elegant journalist friend wrote about the Duchess of York the other day, making a reference to the lady's rather generous backside, the product, no doubt, of a lifetime's hearty ski-ing and horseback riding, and describing it as a 'famous rump straining sad floral prints'. Within hours of publication, she was called by her editor and told that the Duchess had telephoned the newspaper and demanded that the offending author call her back with an apology, supplying the telephone number of her rented Wentworth house, Romenda Lodge. Somewhat bemused, my friend did so, out of courtesy, but I'm happy to say that no grovelling took place. The only royal request I ever received was from Princess Margaret, who, on hearing that I planned a biography of her, telephoned in order to be reassured that I did not repre- sent her as a 'flibbertigibbet'.

hese have been anxious times for the Earl of Kimberley, for whom I worked in the early Sixties, promoting various film companies and stars like Sophia Loren and Charlton Heston, and helping launch Smirnoff vodka on an unsuspecting British public. By the second of his six marriages, to the former Carmel Maguire, one of the five daughters of a champion Australian boxer, he has a son and heir who bears the courtesy title of Lord Wodehouse (P.G.

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it's great to get away from the human race.' Wodehouse was a cousin). Carmel was murdered in July 1992 in a villa in Sotogrande, southern Spain, where she lived with her husband Jeremy Lowndes, 65, a multimillionaire former Norfolk landowner who sold his estate to the ruling Maktoum family of Dubai. He leapt from a balcony shortly after she was found dead on the first floor of the villa, breaking both ankles, and was charged with her murder. He has been in jail ever since. Wodehouse, 43, was staying with his mother and step- father along with brother-in-law Robert St John, and found himself implicated in his mother's death after Lowndes, who said he was completely drunk on the night of the murder and could hardly remember any- thing that happened, told the court trying him in Cadiz: knew anyhow that I didn't kill her. But I know now that someone else killed her.' Kimberley is bemused that his eldest son should have been accused of involvement in the tragedy, and feels 'des- perately sorry' for Lowndes, who was sen- tenced on Monday to nine years for the murder. 'About 15 years ago he tried to shoot himself dead but the bullet passed straight through his head, performing a perfect lobotomy,' says Kimberley. 'He's mad as a hatter. But I'm sure he didn't mean to murder his wife.'

Afew years ago I rented the Playa del Rey beach-side house, near Los Angeles, of Colin Clark, younger son of Lord Clark of `Civilisation', and through him got to know big brother 'Al', the former minister for defence procurement, who finds his private life so unwelcomingly in the news at the moment. While staying at Hythe for a half- term weekend with my daughter Louisa, I telephoned Clark asking for a guided tour of Saltwood Castle, the former ancestral home of the Deedes family who once owned much of that area of Kent. Al greet- ed me with a chilled bottle of vintage Krug in one hand and two glasses in the other, which he filled, and proceeded to show me around. As we progressed he would point out a Bernini sculpture or a Turner or other work of art, informing me simply as identification that they were worth 'one k, two ks' or in the case of the Turner 'over three ks'. Somewhat lost, I asked him what a l' was, only to be informed crossly that it was a unit of one million pounds. The Turner of a sea scene off Folkestone bay was sold later for an amazing seven k to pay off, in part, obligations to Colin. It wouldn't leave much of a gap on Saltwood's walls, in other words, to fund Mr Clark's forthcom- ing libel action against the News of the World. Ms Sarah Keays, alas, has no Turn- ers to use as part exchange for my bill of costs.