Praise for
THANK YOU FOR THIS MOMENT
Quite a page-turner no punches pulled and plenty of torrid moments
Sunday Telegraph
An incendiary exercise in kiss-and-tell
The Times
Totally compelling
The Observer
Highly readable
The Independent
She speaks loud, clear and without caution. Brilliant.
Grazia
Her descriptions of the socialist politicians snobbishness and weakness are hilarious
The Guardian
Explosive stuff
New Statesman
I have long thought Britain should follow the US and give an official role and speaking part to the leaders wives (or husbands), and this book reinforces this argument
Independent on Sunday
A passionate cri de coeur
Belfast Telegraph
To you three,
To my three,
To all three.
The silence of your loved one is a quiet crime
Tahar Ben Jelloun
Contents
T HIS IS NO ordinary memoir. It tells the story of a love affair that went very wrong. The author bares her soul in a way that is at times painful and searing. It is a story that needs to be read by anyone wishing to understand the personality, character and motivations of the man who rules France, Franois Hollande. But it is no ordinary story Valrie Trierweiler tells. She cannot easily be dismissed as a woman scorned. Yes, she hurts. That much is clear. But in fifteen years of publishing, I have never come across such an honest account of a relationship which was so key to a politician coming to power and then seemingly not having a clue what to do with power once he had achieved it. It is a story of passion and rejection, of power-plays and grandstanding. When I first read it, I read it in one sitting. I found the story and emotion compelling and that is why I wanted to bring it to English-language readers.
This is the first book I have published which doesnt contain any chapters. The original French volume had no chapters, so I felt it should be the same en Anglais. When Valrie explained to me why she had written it in this way, I understood. It is her story and she felt that it should be one continuous text with no artificial interruption. Who am I to disagree?
I want to thank Valrie for having had the courage to put pen to paper when many advised her to remain silent, for her fortitude in the face of onslaughts from a vicious French media, and, above all, for being herself. When I travelled to Paris to meet her, a few weeks before this book was published, I didnt know what to expect. Would the woman whose words I had read bear any relation to the woman I was about to meet? We met over what turned out to be the best meal I have ever eaten, at a restaurant called Itinraires in the Latin Quarter, not far from Notre Dame. Despite my lack of French and her lack of English, I hope she realised that Biteback and I are her perfect publishing partners in the UK. Im very grateful to her for entrusting us with the publication of Thank You for This Moment.
I would also like to thank Clmence Sebag for her excellent work in translating the book having been given a very challenging timetable. She has done an excellent job, and has captured Valries voice in such a brilliant way.
Finally, let me pay tribute to a lady called Anna Jarota. She is Valries literary agent and brought her book to Biteback. Lets just say she has restored my faith in literary agents and has been an absolute pleasure to deal with. I look forward to a continuing working relationship.
Now, over to Valrie
Iain Dale
London, November 2014
Y OU MUST LAY yourself bare before the public gaze. A piece of advice from Philippe Labro when Franois Hollande was elected. Philippe is someone I have a lot of respect for a writer, a media man but I never found a way to be an open book, as he recommended. I could not bring myself to show who I really was. Unveiling aspects of my life, talking about my family and my relationship with the President was out of the question. I did the opposite, in fact I locked everything up and drew the bolt.
Which didnt prevent journalists from writing and talking about a woman who bore very little resemblance to me. More often than not, they simply did not know the facts; at other times they were angling for a scandal. A couple of dozen books, even more magazine covers, and thousands of articles were printed distorting carnival mirrors that reflected second-guesses and hearsay, when they werent pure fantasy. The woman in the mirror had my name and my face but she was unrecognisable to me. It felt like it was not just my personal life that was being stolen but my sense of identity.
Protected by my armour, I believed I could withstand anything and everything. As attacks became increasingly violent, I shut down further. The French saw my frozen, sometimes tense face. They did not understand. It came to the point where I could no longer bear to go out in the street I could not handle the way passers-by looked at me.
Then in just a few hours in January 2014 my life was devastated and my future shattered into a million tiny pieces. Suddenly, I was alone, stunned and grief-stricken. It became obvious to me that the only way of regaining control over the narrative of my life was to narrate it. I was misunderstood sullied, even and I suffered from it.
I decided to smash through the dam I had built I decided to put pen to paper and tell my story, the real story. Where I had once fought tirelessly to protect my privacy, I now had to relinquish that in part to hand over the keys to unlock me and make sense of it all. Every piece in this absurd puzzle fits. I was thirsty for the truth I needed it to overcome this hurdle and move on. I owed it to my children, to my family, to those close to me. Writing had become a vital need. Night and day for months, I silently laid myself bare
T HE FIRST MESSAGE came in on Wednesday morning. A friend of mine who is a journalist sent me notice: It looks like Closer is going to publish a picture of Franois and Gayet on Friday. My reply was brief it hardly mattered to me. The rumour had been poisoning my life for months. It came and went, and came back again, and I simply could not bring myself to believe it. I forwarded the message to Franois, without further comment. He replied immediately: Who told you that?
Thats not the issue, I said, the issue is whether you have done something wrong or not.
No, I havent.
I was reassured.
And yet, as the day progressed the rumour persisted. Franois and I spoke in the afternoon and had dinner together without broaching the subject. The rumour had already caused arguments between us no need to make things worse. The next morning I received a text message along the same lines from another journalist friend.
Hi Val. The Gayet rumour is rearing its head again. It looks like it is going to make the cover of Closer tomorrow but I imagine you know that already.
Again I forwarded the message to Franois. This time there was no reply. He was away just outside of Paris, in Creil on business with the army.
I asked one of my old journalist friends who still had some contacts within the tabloid press to keep an eye out for any news. Calls kept coming in to the lyse from editorial staff. All of the Presidents PR advisers were being harassed with questions by journalists about this hypothetical magazine cover.
The morning was spent talking to my nearest and dearest. I was scheduled to join the team of the lyse nursery for a meal prepared by the childrens cook. We had started this ritual the year before. A dozen women took care of both the lyse staffs children and the children of the Presidents advisers. A month earlier we had celebrated Christmas together with the parents of the children in the nursery. Franois and I handed out the presents he had left in a hurry, as usual, while I stayed talking to everyone. It was like a harbour of peace I felt content in.
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