Why do I feel sorry for him?

I don't believe the picture of Aitken as a bankrupt with a broken marriage and uncertain future

IT IS a neat coincidence that yesterday saw a line drawn under the political downfall of both Jonathan Aitken and Peter Mandelson. Aitken has now passed his first night in prison, six years on from the weekend he spent at the Paris Ritz at the expense of the godfather of his twin daughters, Said Ayas.

Mandelson has now divested himself of the house he bought after borrowing pounds 373,000 from his friend Geoffrey Robinson. He has made about a quarter of a million pounds from the sale, a great deal less than that owed by Aitken to The Guardian and World in Action after the collapse in 1997 of the libel action he launched against them.

On the face of it, Mandelson's sin, accepting a huge loan, was much greater than Aitken's, which amounted to nothing more than letting an old chum pick up a bill that was small by the standards of both men. While the latter's position, as Minister for Defence Procurement, meant that he had no business accepting freebies from the representatives of any nation with which Britain might do business, no one has ever uncovered evidence of any dodgy deals being done during Aitken's meeting with the Ayas party on the weekend in question.

It was surely his belief that he had done nothing wrong, except theoretically, that led Aitken on to attempt to "clear his name". Mandelson, too, appears to have felt certain in his own mind that his loan from Geoffrey Robinson would not influence his political activities. But, unlike Aitken, Mandelson quickly realised that probity as a minister is as much about being seen to do the right thing as about feeling sure that you have done so.

While Mandelson prevaricated only briefly before resigning as Minister for Trade and Industry, in the hope that in this way he could rebuild his political career, Aitken resigned as Chief Secretary to the Treasury in July 1995, not in sorrow but in anger. He would, he said, dedicate his time to disproving allegations in the media that included not only his acceptance of favours in the form of the Ritz stay, but also other more serious accusations.

Invoking the symbol that sat on the masthead of his great-uncle Lord Beaverbrook's Express newspapers, he vowed to take up the "simple sword of truth and the trusty shield of traditional British fair play" and "cut out the cancer of bent and twisted journalism" that he claimed was being used to attack the Conservative party.

The "cancer" he was referring to was the use by the then editor of The Guardian, Peter Preston, of a "cod fax" to trick the Ritz into releasing the bill in question. The "trusty sword" and "simple shield" that he took up to defend himself were his wife and his daughter, whom he invited to perjure themselves by saying that they had stayed with him at the hotel that weekend.

In the weeks before the trial, the new editor of The Guardian, Alan Rusbridger, asked Aitken to drop his action, with both parties paying their own costs. Aitken refused and the trial began, with the staff of The Guardian, the newspaper for which I worked at the time, full of trepidation and worry that they would lose the case.

It was not until the 13th hour, when the trial was already under way, that painstaking, boring investigation finally bore fruit and the newspaper uncovered proof, in the form of British Airways documentation, that Lolicia Aitken and her daughter Victoria had in fact been in Switzerland during the weekend in question. The trial collapsed spectacularly, and led to Aitken's arrest for perjury and for perverting the course of justice.

But for the fact that his weekend at the Ritz had coincided with his wife's and daughter's trip elsewhere, his outrageous action of mounting a high court libel trial against a newspaper he knew to have published the truth might never have come to light.

There is no doubt that if this had been the case, Aitken would have shown no mercy to those he saw as his oppressors. There is no doubt, either, that Aitken is the victim of his own arrogance and hubris. He is entirely the architect of his own downfall. So why is it that I feel so terribly sorry for him?

It's not even that I believe the picture that is painted of him as a bankrupt with a broken marriage and an uncertain future. On the contrary, his divorce from the Serbian-born Lolicia might appear to have been a convenient way of signing much of his wealth, including his pounds 2m house, over to her. Since the financial settlement after the divorce, the couple are reported to have become close again.

While there was much pathos in reports of the bailiffs entering his house to seize remaining assets, including his collection of 400 rare books, the cufflinks on the shirt that was literally on his back and the Rolex Oyster on his wrist, his friends, led by the Tory MP Alan Duncan, are rallying round to submit sealed bids to the auctioneers and get his personal effects back for him.

And while common or garden criminals are not allowed to make money from their crimes, Aitken has already sold the rights to his memoirs and will no doubt be granted the means to work on them furiously during his bird in Ford Open Prison.

His relations with those closest to him do not seem to have been riven much by his exposure as a liar and a cheat. His mother and all of his children attended his sentencing yesterday, as well as various friends including Lord Longford. And while I have been revolted by the tone of triumphalism that has characterised the reporting of his fall in the press, I have noted, too, that various friendly commentators have continued to defend him just as vociferously as they did at the time when they believed that he really was the victim of a nasty leftie conspiracy.

It is all this, bizarrely, that makes me feel sorry for him. The weaknesses in his upbringing are visible in reports that his mother, Lady Aitken, sold her story to the papers so that she could buy a new sprinkler system for her house in Ibiza. Having been accused of hawking tales of her son's downfall to furnish herself with life's little luxuries, she continues, without dignity, to prate on about his goodness, his backbone, his character. Could it be that she has ignored or denied his faults all of his life? Certainly his actions as an adult suggest that he has been brought up, as so many of the rich and privileged are, to believe that he deserves the good things in life because he is special, and that the rules that confine ordinary people are not rules that a man such as he has to respect.

Just like those in his family who have colluded in his plans, not only to cheat justice but also to cheat those who exposed his wrongdoing of the money he owes them, she is unlikely ever to have prompted him to question his sense of entitlement. And so it is that a man of privilege, intelligence, flair and talent grows up crooked and twisted enough to assume that he can get away with anything, at whatever cost to the reputations of others.

Jonathan Aitken is just another one of the world's poor little rich boys, certain that the world was made for him and his. Even after his awful destruction, he is determined to salvage a life of comfort from his ruin. He remains a cheat and a hypocrite, a man who would rather declare himself a bankrupt than honour his debts.

All that has happened to him has taught him nothing. How sad to be such a man.