Let me entertain you: Angie Sinclair and Robbie Williams spent a whirlwind weekend togetherThe marriage of Robbie Williams and actress Ayda Field was a fairy-tale affair. But at least one woman was left wondering if the new Mrs Williams knows what she is letting herself in for. Angie Bowness, who is married to Sir Clive Sinclair, shared a weekend with Williams when he was at the height of his fame. Here, Lady Sinclclair tells how she realised a relationship with him was never going to be a bed of roses.
Looking back, it was an odd way to get a girl's attention. Robbie Williams stepped on my foot - or, to be more precise, deliberately placed his shoe over one of my favourite beige £600 Jimmy Choo stilettos.
As I wrenched it away indignantly, I twisted round to accost my unknown assailant. And suddenly, there I was, face-to-face with him. He didn't apologise or ask if I was ok, he simply looked into my eyes and smiled that dazzling smile of his.
It was May 2004. We were standing in the middle of the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London, at a fancy dress party hosted by Little Britain star Matt Lucas.
Guests - including Mel C, David Walliams, Janet Street-Porter, Vic Reeves and his wife Nancy Sorrell - were all in costume. I was then working as a model and for a Hollywood production company, and had been invited by a friend, Kat, who was a writer and producer.
I hadn't got the message about the fancy dress - and, judging by the smart suit he was wearing, nor had Robbie.
'I see you're not dressed for the occasion either,' I said, to break the silence. 'I am!' he fired back. 'I've come as Robbie Williams: Live at the Albert Hall.'
And so began the most bizarre 48 hours of my life, spent in the company of one of the world's most famous men. And that clumsy toe-crushing opener certainly set the tone for what followed.
Robbie was at the height of his solo career. He'd had number ones, countless platinum albums and sell-out gigs everywhere. But as we chatted, ' Robbie' the star swiftly faded away.
He made a point of telling me he wasn't drinking alcohol and said he hardly ever went out to parties because he suffered panic attacks. Then he started talking about feeling 'socially inadequate'.
I thought it was rather endearing, this mega-famous singer revealing his more vulnerable side. Suddenly, he announced he wanted to make a 'quick escape' and asked: 'Why don't you come to mine for a cup of tea?' he said. 'We can talk or watch a film.'
I raised an eyebrow, but he assured me that a cup of tea was all he had in mind.
'I'll call you in five minutes,' he said. And then he was gone. In his place was his bodyguard, Duncan, mobile phone in hand and ready to punch in my number. It was a slick operation, and clearly one they had practised before.
Five minutes later, my phone was ringing. 'Please, please come over,' said Robbie from his car. 'It really is for a cup of tea. Bring a friend with you.'
He gave me the address of his flat in Chelsea. It was on my way home. I thought: 'What harm can a cup of tea do?'
And so I grabbed my friend Kat and we set off in my car for the Belvedere building at Chelsea Harbour. Since he'd already told me being famous was like living in a goldfish bowl, it was ironic that his apartment was made almost entirely of glass.
High up on one of the top floors, it was all windows and no curtains, with incredible views of London. It was the ultimate bachelor pad, with a giant plasma-screen TV on the wall, an L-shaped sofa and a pool table.
There were framed gold discs against the walls and a couple of Union Jack camping chairs - souvenirs from Knebworth, where he had played the previous summer.
By the time I arrived, Robbie had changed into tracksuit bottoms and a white vest
She's the one: Robbie married Ayda Field earlier this monthDuncan the bodyguard was in the kitchen making the tea. He brought the cups through and sat talking to my friend while Robbie sat on the sofa next to me and fired questions at me. Where did I live? Where did go on holiday? Was I single?
Most celebrities are obsessed with talking about themselves, but Robbie - or Rob, as he insists his friends call him - wanted to hear about me. Likewise, there was a giant telescope standing in one window.
But Robbie wasn't half as interested in stargazing as he was in the ordinary lives going on around him. He called me over and asked me to look through the lens. It was focused on the window of a flat across the river.
Inside, a couple were talking and, while I watched, Robbie started telling me the life story he'd imagined for them. Their names, their jobs, where they met, the things they argued about. He'd thought of everything.
He knew it was crazy, but he said he 'knew' a lot of his neighbours this way. God only knows what these people would have thought if they had known that Robbie Williams spied on them.
When I needed to use the bathroom, Robbie steered me towards his bedroom which had an ensuite. Clothes were strewn across his double bed. When I emerged, he was holding out a grey cashmere sweater.
Settled down: Angie is now married to Sir Clive Sinclair'So you don't get cold,' he said. He stepped forward and helped me put it on. It was a smooth manoeuvre. Once I had the sweater on, he leaned in and we kissed. It was, to tell the truth, a little bit messy. But, technique aside, it was passionate enough.
It was getting late, so I told him I had to get home to my mum who was babysitting my son, Marcus, from a previous relationship, who was then six.
Robbie asked if he could take me to the cinema the next day. I agreed and he gave me his mobile number and asked for mine again.
A promising start, then, but the next day events took an even stranger turn.
It was Duncan who called to cancel the date. Having spent the afternoon at a Chelsea match, Robbie couldn't face any more time in public, he explained.
In fact, he added, Robbie was getting out of London altogether and heading for his place in the Sussex countryside. I insisted Duncan put Robbie on the phone. Robbie then suggested stopping off at my house in Wimbledon to meet my mother and my son for tea.
As far as first dates go, it wasn't exactly a romantic suggestion. I said no. Quite apart from the sheer madness of a mega-star turning up at home, there was the fact I would never introduce anyone to my son when I had known them only for a matter of hours.
In the end Robbie asked me to drive to his country home in Sussex - a mock 18th-century castle he was renting in Kirdford, West Sussex. He gave me directions and instructions to come in casual clothes so we could take the dogs for a walk - although he said we'd do this only when it got dark.
Robbie was obsessed with not being recognised. Even in the village pub, he said, the locals followed him into the gents.
When I finally arrived, Robbie met me at the back door, dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a vest top again, with three dogs at his side. He kissed me briefly and gave me a hug.
'Glad you finally made it,' he said. We went inside and Duncan put the kettle to boil on the Aga. I started to wonder if there were going to be three of us in this relationship, but after bringing us our tea, he asked Robbie: 'Is there anything else you need?'
Robbie replied: 'No thanks mate, Angie will take care of me.'
Duncan disappeared through a pantry door, leaving me feeling like the babysitter on the night shift. That feeling wasn't helped by the fact that after retiring to the sitting room, Robbie asked me to scratch his back for him while we watched a DVD.
You'd think a night with Robbie would be all glamour. But it seemed all he wanted was to pretend to be like an ordinary boyfriend and girlfriend.
The phone rang and Robbie answered it. He said: 'I'm all right. She's here now. She's scratching my back.'
It was surreal. Afterwards, he asked if I was peckish and went to get some chocolate for us both from the kitchen. The house was vast and beautiful and felt more like a home than Robbie's Chelsea flat.
The sitting room was open-plan off the kitchen. There was lots of dark wood and granite floor tiles.
Robbie lit cigarettes for us both - Silk Cut, which he smoked obsessively - and we curled up together on the sofa. He was more into hugging than kissing really.
Out of the blue he told me: 'You know, I've never been in love.' I wasn't sure if he was laying down a challenge for me or just desperate to be understood. He asked if I wanted a massage.
When I said yes, he started leading me towards the bedroom. It took ages to get there, through a rabbit warren of corridors. After we arrived, Robbie disappeared and returned with a huge sack.
'Fan mail,' he said, as he emptied the contents on to the huge mahogany four-poster bed. 'Come on, help me open it.'
Five letters in and I started to get an insight into his world. There was a mother offering her daughter to him for a date. A begging letter. A straightforward letter from a fan. But most were disturbing, filled with abuse, threats and cruel comments.
'It's not nice, is it?' he said. After the massage, we lay side by side on the bed, talking until late. There must be thousands of women who would have traded places with me, but all I could think was that being the woman Robbie needed was more than I could give.
He asked me to stroke his hair and begged me not to leave until he fell asleep. He was sweet and vulnerable, but I remember thinking: 'I'm already a mother to one little boy, I really don't need another in my life.'
When I left at 5am, I knew it would never work out between us. He called me two weeks later from Los Angeles, where he was working, but I'd already decided I wouldn't see him again and it was the last time we spoke.
I wondered if it would ever work out for Robbie at all. I was beyond shocked when I heard he had got married. I thought he was destined to be a bachelor.
I wish him well and hope this relationship works out for him. But deep down I wonder what it is he wants from a woman. I can only hope the new Mrs Williams has worked that one out.
source: dailymail
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