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A while ago, Samantha Markle declared that her forthcoming book would be about ‘the beautiful nuances of our lives’. Was it a misprint for beautiful nuisances? Or did she have a change of heart? Either way, there isn’t a beautiful nuance in sight. Instead, it is like a blunt object found at the scene of a crime. As royal memoirs go, it is by far the most macabre, and perhaps even loopier than the Duchess of York’s Finding Sarah: A Duchess’s Journey to Find Herself.
By the third page Samantha already has her knives out. The first person to get it in the back is her mother, a forgotten figure who met Thomas Markle on a blind date. ‘Roslyn was 5ft 9in, had red hair, was not shy and was quite “available”,’ writes Samantha, who employs inverted commas like rubber gloves, to insulate herself from what she is saying.
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