It seems Harry resented being the second-born son

What he perhaps has never understood is that all families have a pecking order. And most siblings quarrel. To complain about not having as big a bedroom as his brother in his grandmother’s vast Scottish castle suggests a naivety and pettiness that he really should have grown out of by now. I’m the youngest of three sisters and, of course, I had the tiny bedroom. That’s the way the world works.

Their mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, knew that being born the “spare” was not an easy role. But she hoped that Harry would support his brother. Her elder son was always the more serious one: being born the heir carries responsibilities as well as privilege, and is perhaps no easier than being the spare.

The princess and I would sometimes talk about the boys when she invited me over to her Kensington Palace apartment. There were photos of her sons all around the drawing room. Diana told me that, from a young age, William had found the burden of kingship weighed heavily on his shoulders. “But,” she said, “William’s all right. This country’s very lucky to have William.” 

And her wish was that Harry would be his wingman.

A curious sidebar to our meetings was when Diana told me that she’d like to have lunch with Jeremy Paxman. I was slightly taken aback, but passed the message on. They did indeed meet, and Jeremy recounts in his book that the princess said Harry was always piping up when William complained about his destiny.

“I’ll be king, then,” he would say.

So, underlying the cheeky chappie image, was there always the spectre of the younger prince hankering after the top job? 
And, because it was never likely to be his, did he take out his resentment by rebelling?

I have some sympathy with Harry’s belief that he always got the flak for misbehaving, when his brother was equally wild at times. It may well be that both William and Catherine helped him choose that notorious Nazi fancy-dress uniform, as he claims in his book. But, of course, it was Harry who got the blame.

There’s no doubt that, as teenagers, both brothers went out to the pub near Highgrove and drank too much. They both organised pretty raucous parties in the makeshift basement nightclub in their father’s house.

I remember racing to Highgrove when Harry was 16 to report on headlines that he’d been smoking cannabis. From what he has now said in his book, it might indeed have been a lot more than weed.

Both young men enjoyed the nightlife at some of London’s most exclusive clubs. But it was always Harry who got snapped by the paparazzi. Often, he was much the worse for wear; sweaty, dishevelled and drunk. On at least one occasion, he lashed out at the photographers who were lying in wait.

It was about that time that we began worrying about Harry. Had he lost his way in the world? He had, of course, lost his mother by this time. And it is only in recent years, and now in his book, that we have come to understand the full trauma of that tragedy. Unsurprisingly, Diana’s sudden and violent death has scarred Harry for life. William is undoubtedly equally scarred, but has chosen to deal with it privately.

The Army proved to be Harry’s making – and his saviour. There, he found discipline, comradeship and a purpose in life. He was extremely good at his job and was no longer in the shadow of his big brother. Perhaps he should have extended his military career.

Now, Harry has taken control of his narrative. It’s what he wanted and it’s why he and Meghan left their lives as working royals. The result is another salvo of accusations against his family and the institution. He certainly wasn’t in control of the distribution of his book, which went on sale early in Spain. That’s one leak he can’t blame on the Palace. And with his “raw and unflinching” memoir (for once the publicity blurb was accurate), he has fed the papers he so despises with more juicy titbits than any royal reporter could ever have imagined.

Press and public always long for a peek over palace walls. Well, now we have it. And it is not a pretty sight. Spare is Harry unleashed; on his own with no guidance or filter. Some of the revelations are unwise (the number of Taliban he killed). Some are unnecessary (the image of the teenage prince losing his virginity to an older woman in a field behind a pub). And some are just desperately sad (his account of how his father comforted him after Diana’s death, not with a hug, but a pat on the knee).

There is something of a Shakespearean tragedy – and comedy – about it all. The old prince (now king) standing at the funeral of his father, Prince Philip, and appealing to his two sons not to “make my final years a misery” has echoes of King Lear. And the brawl between brothers in a cottage kitchen, with a dog bowl inflicting injury on Harry, is almost comically childish.

The only positive note is Harry‘s assertion, for the first time, that he wants to be reconciled with his father and brother. The vitriol in the book and interviews is a bizarre path to family peace. But Harry insists the ball is now in their court. What does that mean?

In my view, it means that he wants an apology from them for the way he feels he has been treated. At the ludicrous root of it all, perhaps he wants them to say sorry that he had the misfortune to be born second.