Max, lies and videotape - Max Clifford inteview

Published on Friday 23 May 2008 14:39

While the master of PR Max Clifford was exposing philandering politicians for their hypocrisy, he was cheating on the wife he adored. The line between spin and truth is hard to discern after an hour or two in his company – all you can see clearly are his many redeeming features. Honestly

THERE is something very disarming about Max Clifford. People get so wound up by the PR guru and think he's spawn of the devil and the reason for the decline in western civilisation – or at least the decline of tabloid newspapers in western civilisation – and that he's dishonest, immoral and plays God with people's lives. But actually, he adheres to the Clifford Code of Conduct. Not my morality, and maybe not yours, but there are some rules. Offer me an hour with him, or with one of those worthy politicians he's infamous for exposing, the ones who have been nowhere near the dairy but have cream dripping from their whiskers, and I'd choose Clifford any day. He's more honest. How can you not like a man who tells you straight he's a liar?

Anyway, the idea that he's completely in control is nonsense and just part of his spin. Life is unpredictable: Clifford has recently been diagnosed with cancer. He's handling it with typical, admirable ebullience. Ask if he was frightened by the diagnosis and he says, "Yeah," with his voice rising slightly in defiance. I don't think he likes admitting fear. "But there are degrees," he says. "I'm not frightened of living so I'm certainly not frightened of dying."

His longstanding charity work with children at the Royal Marsden and the Chase Children's Hospice forces things into perspective. "If it happened to me, God forbid, at the age of 65, after the most amazing years I have ever dreamt of, I would have to put my hands up and say, 'I don't want this, but I've been bloody lucky.' That's exactly how I see it."

Clifford had been having regular blood tests for five years after his doctor told him he had an enlarged prostate. Just before Christmas the results indicated further investigation was needed, and this revealed cancerous cells. He has just completed 38 sessions of radiotherapy over a nine-week period, during which he kept up his normal regime of swimming four times a week and tennis twice a week. He looks remarkably well, but he had been spotted at the hospital. The man who has brokered so many of the major tabloid scandals of the last 20 years (including David Mellor, Jeffrey Archer, David Beckham and Rebecca Loos, Faria Alam and Sven-Gran Eriksson, and Princess Diana and James Hewitt) decided that if his own story was going to come out, he would control it.

In any case, he says, men don't talk about this stuff and they should. "It's a simple test all men over 50 should have. It's the most common form of cancer in men in Britain. In America, where 79% of men have the test, deaths have gone way down. In Britain the death rate has trebled in the last 20 years. That speaks for itself. If my condition had gone undetected for a couple of years, I would be dead or close to it."

Brushes with mortality tend to prompt introspection, reflection. Clifford has had too good a time to bother with regrets. While he lies about small things (I think he needs us to know he gets one over on us now and then), he tends to be honest about big things. In contrast, the people he exposes often talk up their virtues – for which you'd need a microscope – while concealing their whopping great vices. All in all, you know where you are with him. When he sells you 'Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster', you just say, 'Yes, Max.' Or if he says, through the pages of a red top, that celebrity A is not having an affair, and that celebrity B is not actually gay but has five women a night… well, a wink's as good as a nod. No problem lying about that. But if he tells you about injustice at Guantanamo Bay, or about children with cancer, you don't doubt his sincerity.

Which is not to say that Clifford isn't scheming, because he is. Or odd, because he's that too. He's a mass of contradictions and ironies but even he wouldn't deny that. Most of his exposs have been affairs but he doesn't disapprove of infidelity, just hypocrisy. David Mellor, for example, was exposed because he was having an affair while his party lectured the nation on family values. (And because he's a Tory. Clifford Code of Conduct, rule 1.)

Ask him if the public has the right to know about the private lives of politicians and he'll tell you that often it's the private life that tells you most about a person. And that's certainly true of Clifford himself.

ALMOST TEN YEARS AGO, when I first interviewed Max Clifford, I climbed several sets of stairs to a pokey – and, as I recall, windowless – office. Now he's in a swish, airy set of Mayfair offices including an open-plan area with at least half a dozen staff. The tension in the relationship between PR and the press – one's instinct is to promote and protect, the other's to expose and hold to account – is perhaps best summed up by a chart taped to a desk. It lists press contacts with a checklist next to it. Good egg/rotten egg/favours owed/ comment. 'Lies and crap journo,' someone has written next to one woman's name. 'Snake. Don't trust,' says another. But there's one who is clearly schooled in the Clifford art of blunt talking. 'Bumhole,' they've scribbled.

The last time I saw Clifford was in a London hotel where he had agreed to be interviewed for a television programme. He was dressed smartly in a fancy overcoat and highly polished shoes and looked like something out of the Mafia. Because we'd met before, I walked towards him with a smile. Not a flicker. His light blue-grey eyes can be exceptionally cold until his mouth has decided it's going to smile. By the time he departed he was saying if he could ever help, just pick up the phone. One of his celebrity clients, comedian Lennie Bennett, once said of him, "He can be both quite cold and incredibly kind."

Today, he's in the middle of a crisis. Another celebrity client (whom we can't name for legal reasons) is huddled in his office with her husband. Clifford is very apologetic and after an hour shows me into a room opposite, keeping both doors open. He'll just sit at the door so he can pop out if necessary… His eyes are flickering over to the other office and he really can't stand it. He gets up, goes next door and halts the meeting. (Code of Conduct Rule 2: keep control.) But it's not just control-freakery. I think there's also an element of Clifford that absolutely loves his life; he is constantly interested, constantly curious, and simply can't bear to miss anything.

That zest has coloured his attitude to his cancer diagnosis and the other personal challenges he has faced. His only child, Louise, has been ill since the age of six with severe rheumatoid arthritis. At one stage she spent eight months in hospital and Clifford visited every single day, refusing to leave the country with clients. In 2003 his wife Liz was diagnosed with lung cancer which spread into her bones and nine months later she was dead.

Privately, he wonders if Liz's battle contributed to his own condition. "I first started getting tested around that time because that's when I first started to get the signs. It might be totally wrong of me but I wonder if the stress of the previous nine months contributed to that… It did put an incredible… because Liz never knew she was dying. She didn't ask. When Liz's mum died, we knew she was dying. But Liz said, 'No, she hasn't asked, so don't tell her.' So when Liz was in the same way, they told me but I didn't tell her. We always hoped and prayed there would be an upturn. Right up to the day she died, we were talking about plans for the future."

Clifford is not a man for emotional outpourings. But when he talks about Liz, something very deep-rooted spills into his conversation. His relationship with her is fascinating. Liz, originally from Rutherglen, didn't like his celebrity world and didn't care for the media. First time I interviewed Clifford, he phoned her up. "Tell her you're from the Rutherglen local," he said, handing me the phone.

What came across was Clifford's absolute devotion to Liz and Louise. But now he admits he was serially unfaithful, organising sex parties and having mistress after mistress. "We were happy together," he says. "So why did I do it? Because I wanted everything. I was greedy. And because I was in a world where it was so easy. Travelling in a world with major stars, everybody was. It was so easy for me. No excuses, no possible defence. I just… I played football, I played water polo and I was shagging. It was another sport."

He didn't feel guilty. "I'm sure I should have done, but I didn't. I was doing what came naturally and I wasn't harming anyone." He'd have been harming Liz if she'd found out. Did she suspect? "Possibly. You'd need to talk to Louise about that. Liz was no fool but then I was in the perfect situation. She didn't want to be part of that music, television, film world. She found most of the people pretty empty, artificial – which of course they were – and self-obsessed."

Would he have lied if Liz had found out? "Of course. I'd have done everything I possibly could. If she had walked in, I'd have tried to convince her she was hallucinating or whatever… God only knows – that it was a practical joke, a wind-up. And I'd have six people to back it up." He cared about her that much? "Course I did. Still do."

But that would be a contradiction in most people's book. "Absolutely right, and I'm sure it is. I'm not trying to justify myself or make excuses. I haven't got a leg to stand on. But I did what I did and there's no point pretending I didn't. And I loved it. I have to say I had a wonderful time."

He would never have left Liz. But would she have stayed if she'd known? "I don't think so." What if she'd been unfaithful to him? "Oh, I'd have been devastated. Devastated. Double standards. How on earth could she possibly want/need anyone else after me? That kind of thing. It would have been absolutely terrible if she'd done that. Ohh…" he shivers, horrified at the mere thought. Would he have forgiven her? "Course I would. But would I be devastated? Course I would."

Infidelity is not a moral issue for him. "You could be at it with everybody – would I think badly of you? No, not at all. It's what's in your heart and in your mind that matters to me. What I'm trying to say, and maybe I'm not explaining it very well, is that I would have been devastated not because it's immoral but because it was me! That's all. Nothing more than that."

Isn't it ironic that he exposed other people's infidelities, but was unfaithful himself? "If anybody exposed me I would have put my hands up and said, 'Serves me right.'" (Not to Liz, obviously.) "But having said that, I'd do everything to make sure they didn't find out. And I did." Clifford is a master of the cover-up, trading one story off for another with editors. I see him in action. The celebrity calls Clifford next door again and hands him the phone. It sounds like the husband has been photographed kissing a woman. Clifford goes smoothly into action, saying the man was out wetting his new baby's head and people were coming up to congratulate him, and really… the woman could be anybody. He covers for others and he covered for himself.

But when Liz became ill, his commitment was complete. He would take her to America for treatment, wherever they needed to go, he told her. But did he find it hard not being in control? "People call me a control freak, but I'm not. By the nature of what I do, I have to try to have as much control as possible, but you accept… obviously this was something I had no control over. Other than making her as happy as possible. Making every day as good as possible. Getting her the best people. Taking her to the hospital every day and going out in the afternoons when she was staying in there. Making the best of it, shielding her, really… I suppose it was like a blanket of love and laughter to try to cushion her."

He was lost when she died, he says. "The first nights, it was just like I was living in a dream. I kept thinking I'd pick up the phone or I'd go home or…" He breaks off. "Liz ran the house, did the bills… we were a team and I just always thought I'd be the first to go, the life I lead and the risks I've taken and the people I've upset… but no."

Work had been put on hold when Liz was ill. Now he threw himself into it. "The busier I got, the better it got." But he still talked to Liz. Nothing deep and meaningful, just laughing at things. "We were that close," he says. "And so you stay close."

CLIFFORD'S ABILITY to keep recreational sex and love for his wife entirely separate was a risky game. When he met a woman he calls Ria, things got complicated. Ria became pregnant, chose to have an abortion, and the relationship eventually died. "She knew I was never going to leave Liz. I loved Liz," says Clifford. But he sounds as if he loved Ria too. "I did," he admits. "Had I not been married, I'd have married her."

He took an extraordinary risk. He brought Ria to visit 15-year-old Louise in hospital. Two years later, he explained to her not just about Ria, but about all his other affairs. Why would a father do that? "I just thought she would understand," says Clifford. But didn't it put an enormous strain on Louise to keep that secret from her mother? I'd have to ask Louise, he says. So I do.

Louise Clifford is 36 now and has suffered a lifetime of poor health. Hip replacements, knee replacements, back operations, a kidney transplant. Like many people who have endured a lot, there is something very decent, very kindly, about her that makes you think her old man got at least one thing right in life. They are exceptionally close, and Louise has always ignored media stereotypes of her father. "I think when people get to know him, what they are most taken aback by is how compassionate he is, and how exceptionally kind."

He has, she says, a very strong sense of right and wrong that he sticks to no matter what others think. And he's incredibly strong. He must have his moments about his cancer scare, she thinks, but he chooses to fight. But above all, he supports people he cares about. "He has a way of wrapping himself around you that makes you feel invincible. When people are anxious and worried he has the ability to make them feel he can take it all away. It's a wonderful gift. There are times I know he feels burdened and tired but he wouldn't have it any other way."

But he couldn't solve Liz's problem. "In some ways it was harder for him than me. He couldn't fix it, couldn't make it right. I've grown up with ill-health. I was told at 15 that my hips were crumbling. I realised everything couldn't be fixed, but I worried about him because he couldn't take her pain away."

As a daughter, can she understand his infidelity? "He compartmentalised it," she says. "It was another side to his personality, almost as important as sport as a physical outlet. It's who he is." Did her mother suspect? "I don't know," she says thoughtfully.

Despite everything, her father sounds very emotionally giving. Perhaps her mother simply suppressed doubts. Perhaps she decided in her own way that what they had was enough. Well, says Louise, it would certainly have been an emotional decision, rather than a financial one. "She wasn't materialistic, wasn't into the razzle-dazzle. She wasn't some Wag who stayed for her 2 million house."

Louise still remembers Ria's visit to the hospital. She brought Louise her first Danielle Steel book and a bottle of perfume. How did she feel when she realised this was her father's mistress? "He was still the dad I loved but it was a shock. I thought he and my mother had the perfect marriage. I was very lucky because I lived in a house where there were no histrionics, no big fall-outs. It was a very loving, warm, supportive household."

Why does she think he told her? "He said he wanted me to know the real person, warts and all." There is a long, long pause when I ask if he did the right thing. "I handled it. I coped. It didn't make me break down," she says eventually. "But was it the right thing? It shapes your view a bit. Makes you wonder about monogamy. Makes you ask questions." She sounds a bit sad. "But there was no doubt in my mind how much he loved my mum. He showed it every day."

FOR THE LAST couple of years Clifford has been with his new partner, Jo. What attracted him to her? "She looks good." He grins. "She feels good. She's kind." But he's not much of a bet for a woman, is he? Oh no, no, he says, he left all that behind ten years before he even met Jo. Like he'd tell us if he hadn't.

But when deciding whether someone else's life should come under public scrutiny, he looks at each case individually, deciding whether they deserve it or not. "It's a judgment we all make, isn't it? Am I right? Who knows. But you follow your instincts. And what right have I got? Well, the same right as anyone else to decide what they're going to do."

Why bother, though? He has said public relations is not important. But he interrupts me, very animated. No, no. Some of it is froth. But some is very important. Taking a dying child to EastEnders – that's very important. Buying a headstone for a child (as he's doing today) – that's very important. Standing up for the Farepak customers – very important.

He acknowledges the press is more vicious now, with less of a sense of humour. (Important, I think, to know that Max Clifford is a man who was fired from his first job for playing practical jokes.) Falling newspaper circulation has increased desperation and sensationalism. He used to be in promotion, now he's in protection. And will it change? "It has to. It's inevitable." There will be a privacy law, he thinks. "Every year there's more and more stuff appearing where I think, 'That's not right.'"

He'd turn those stories down even if offered a lot of money. "Any story I have ever been involved with I'll stand up square and say this is why I was involved. That's my views. Rightly or wrongly." That's why he gave free advice to Kenny Richey, the Scot returned from Death Row. He empathised with his situation.

Clifford has his own, unconventional way of doing things. Louise now works for him and lives in the old family house while he lives round the corner with Jo. He and Jo will marry in the next few years – if he's still around, he adds. (On reflection, that is Clifford Code of Conduct Rule 1: survive.) He won't know for a month or two how effective the radiotherapy has been. But it suits him to be in a couple and he has always taken care of family. "I was always there for them," he says. "Yes, I was always a very naughty boy. But hopefully the whole package wasn't too bad."