Just last year, her sudden and mysterious refusal to reveal the secrets of her wild life with Mick Jagger saw Jerry Hall hand back a £500,000 advance for an autobiography. But now, the Texan supermodel-turned-actress has finally laid bare her life with one of the world’s most notorious rock stars. The revelations, which Jagger has suggested he would have preferred to ‘take to his grave’, include confirmation that he repeatedly cheated on her during their 23-year relationship.
In an extract from a new coffee-table-style picture book, published exclusively in today’s Mail on Sunday, Miss Hall tells how she was seduced by Jagger as a teenager while engaged to Roxy Music legend Bryan Ferry.
But the 54-year-old says she was never able to change the frontman’s womanising ways.
She describes Jagger as ‘a dangerous sexual predator’ who had been weaned off heroin but had replaced his drug addiction with sex.
And she claims that on the night before her Balinese wedding to the singer in 1990, she stifled fears he was having an affair with Carla Bruni, now the wife of French president Nicolas Sarkozy who was then the girlfriend of musician Eric Clapton.
But despite his infidelity, Miss Hall reveals her enduring love for the man who was gentle and charming and had a ‘talent for feelings’.
It was a love which continued until 1999, when it emerged that Brazilian model Luciana Morad was pregnant with his child.
Miss Hall also describes in detail for the first time how Jagger persuaded her to start an affair with him while she was engaged to Ferry.
She tells how, at a party in 1976, the Rolling Stone chased her around a table-tennis table trying to persuade her to kiss him until he was eventually hustled out by her fiance.
They met again at a dinner party the following year while he was still married to Bianca. It was the start of his long obsession with the stunning blonde 20-year-old.
Miss Hall reveals how she left Ferry after a passionate holiday in Morocco with Jagger.
Miss Hall’s autobiography was set to be published last year and was expected to contain scandalous stories about Jagger’s indiscretions.
But for reasons unknown the model backed out of the £1 million deal with publishers HarperCollins. Friends said she would have to return a £500,000 advance.
At the time, a friend of Jagger, 67, said: ‘If Mick has his way, it’ll all go to the grave with him.’
Now read on for the explosive extracts from Jerry’s book…
In the summer of 1976, Mick Jagger asked me and my fiance Bryan Ferry out to dinner. Bryan was flattered by his attention, but I could also see Mick was smitten with me.
It couldn’t have been nice for Bryan. At the end of the evening, Mick brushed his leg next to mine. I felt an electric jolt.
After that Mick would turn up at our house. He was so different to Bryan; he’d be jumping around and joking, and Bryan would get edgy. Once, Mick started chasing me around a table-tennis table, trying to kiss me. Bryan came in and chased him out.
Mick began leaving messages on our answering machine, saying: ‘Hi, Bryan, let’s go out again.’ But Bryan said to me: ‘I’m never going out with him again. All he did was ogle you.’
I had spent the last of my teenage years with Bryan. I was often loud and rowdy, a bit of a loose cannon. Bryan had tried to smooth out the rough edges and I sometimes resented it. Now I found myself thinking about Mick – and that worried me …
I was born in Texas in 1956, one of five sisters. My dad had been a war hero but his military career had turned sour. He had trouble getting used to civilian life and became a gambler, at one point losing our house in a poker game.
He eventually got a job driving dangerous chemicals around the country.
The idea of being a model started when I was invited to a party. A boy gave me LSD without telling me what it was. I locked myself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out, not knowing what was happening to me.
All I remember is looking in the mirror and thinking: ‘You’re really beautiful. You should be a model.’
An agent in Dallas got me work but said I was too tall and exotic for Texas. She thought I would get more bookings in New York or Europe. So a few weeks before my 17th birthday, I left home with a backpack full of my mother’s home-made clothes, and flew to Paris and then on to St Tropez.
I had spent too much money on a pink metallic crochet bikini and ridiculous pink and silver platform shoes. On my first morning on the beach, I must have stood out from the crowd – 16, 6ft tall, with long blonde hair and a shocking pink ensemble.
A couple of hours later a man stopped me and asked: ‘Would you like to be a model in Paris?’
That’s how it all started. I got a good agent and was introduced to legendary photographer Helmut Newton, who gave me my first big break. Soon I was on the covers of Elle and Vogue magazines.
When I passed a newsstand and saw my face, I was always amazed. With all the attention I was getting in Paris, word spread. Eileen Ford, who owned Ford Models, got me to move to New York in late 1974. I appeared on hundreds of magazine covers. One sensational photoshoot in Jamaica with the veteran fashion photographer Norman Parkinson produced two Vogue covers.
One man in particular was impressed. After seeing the photos, rock star Bryan Ferry asked me to appear on the cover of his new album, Siren.
Bryan was at the height of his fame when I arrived in London ahead of the shoot in summer 1975. I loved Roxy Music and thought Bryan had the most beautiful voice, heartbreakingly touching and sexy. One look at his elegant, handsome face and I forgot all about New York.
On my first night in London, he took me out to dinner in a black Jaguar with leather seats. When he shifted gears, his hand almost brushed my knees – there was a lot of chemistry between us. The album photoshoot was in Wales, where we stayed in a little seaside hotel.
After dinner, I went to bed and curled my hair for the following day’s work. I was tucked up in bed in my nightdress when Bryan knocked on my door. I let him in and got back under the covers, embarrassed.
He sat on a chair beside the bed and asked if my room was all right. I said yes, wondering how silly I looked wearing curlers. Then Bryan leaned over and kissed me on the lips, said goodnight and left. His kiss was delicious. I slept so well that night.
I was required to play a siren from Greek mythology. It was a hot day and the volcanic rocks I was lying on were uncomfortable. Bryan held an umbrella over my head during the breaks to stop my blue body-paint melting.
Afterwards Bryan invited me to stay at his London house until I went back to New York, and during those few days Bryan and I fell for one another. I was 19 and he was 30. We both felt we had found what we were looking for.
Bryan invited me to spend that Christmas with him and then go on holiday to Mustique. After four idyllic weeks, he proposed with a beautiful flower-shaped ruby and diamond engagement ring. I was so in love.
I moved to England to be with Bryan in 1976. Siren was a huge success, so he was away on tour a lot and I couldn’t always go with him because I was working. So while Bryan was away I started to read. I went through his library, then started buying books by the bagful.
We lived quietly a lot of the time – I’d shop and cook when I got home and the two of us would eat together. The world saw us as a perfect couple, but I felt a sense of disquiet.
Bryan wanted to be an English gentleman. He dressed in fine clothes, knew about art and antiques, and shopped in Fortnum & Mason. And he wanted me to be a gentleman’s wife, in tweeds and pearls and sipping afternoon tea.
But while I had a ladylike side, I also loved to party and have fun. Every time I did, Bryan seemed to disapprove.
In Texas, I’d been a champion leg wrestler and sometimes gave a demonstration – you lie on the floor and try to hook your leg over your opponent’s. Bryan would be embarrassed and tell me to stop. I’d end up in tears.
Although we were engaged, Bryan wouldn’t commit to setting a date for our wedding. He had such a lovely, playful side, but after a year together I was seeing less of the Bryan I had fallen in love with.
When we were alone he would spend hours staring into space and when we went to dinner he wouldn’t let me talk. He became jealous and started going through my handbag, finding telephone numbers I had been given at parties, then questioning me about them.
It was a lonely time. The dreams I’d had about our life together were crumbling. Later in 1976 – the year I met Mick – Bryan started writing songs for a solo album and became moody and bad-tempered. It was a cold winter and I felt alone. I was still only 20.
Bryan set off on a world tour in spring 1977. He had just sold his London house to John Cleese, so I decided to stay with my sister Cyndy in New York. I threw myself into work. Bryan was touring Japan and Australia and he wrote to me saying it was too expensive to call.
I heard from a hairdresser that he was having an affair with a model in Japan. One evening in New York, I found myself sitting between Mick and Warren Beatty at a dinner party. They were both fighting for my attention. Mick, who was still married to his wife Bianca, made me laugh. After dinner, we went to the famous Studio 54 nightclub.
Mick and I would celebrate that date – May 21, 1977 – for the next 23 years. Mick was gentle, charming, funny and fascinating. I loved the way he didn’t seem to care a hoot what people thought of him. He was confident, cool and in control.
From that moment, Mick laid siege to me, sending me flowers and getting me invited to dinners where he would be seated next to me. I was flattered. I started an affair with him on the condition that it would be over at the end of the summer when Bryan came back from his tour.
I told Mick I could only see him every other day. It was a futile attempt to protect my heart because I was falling in love with him.
Mick had told me he took LSD every day for a year in the Sixties. He also admitted he was smoking heroin. I was disgusted. I told him I couldn’t see him if he took drugs, saying: ‘Go away and don’t come back until you’re straight.’ He succeeded – he had amazing willpower.
That year my father died. I sent a telegram to Bryan begging him to call me, but he just sent back a telegram offering his condolences. I felt hurt, so I turned to Mick, who was supportive and consoling. While most men aren’t very good at feelings, he had a talent for it.
Mick and I saw each other discreetly for the rest of the summer. For my 21st birthday in July, he gave me an exquisite pair of diamond hoop antique earrings.
When summer ended, we said a tearful goodbye. Bryan was due back the next day. I felt confused, but when Bryan arrived I was happy to see him. He gave me a beautiful emerald bracelet for the birthday he had missed.
I hoped I could forget about Mick and make a fresh start with Bryan. We moved to Los Angeles, but I was terrified he would find out what I had been up to.
One night Bryan and I had dinner with Prince Rupert Loewenstein, the Rolling Stones’ financial adviser. When Bryan was out of the room, Rupert passed me Mick’s number.
I rang him the next day. He begged to see me again, telling me how much he missed me, so we arranged to meet while I was appearing in some fashion shows in Paris.
I felt horribly torn. I missed Mick – I knew what we had wasn’t over yet. I wanted to end it with Bryan, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I went to Paris and as soon as I saw Mick I knew I wanted to be with him. After the shows, we went to Morocco for a holiday. I told Bryan I had a modelling job. Mick and I lost our suitcase at the airport, so we bought some Moroccan gowns.
We felt so free, driving around in a rented car, with black kohl eyeliner around our eyes, listening to great music. We stayed in hotels with rooms full of sweet-scented bowls of roses and lit by candles. Mick played his guitar and sang to me by an open fire.
We were having lunch in Agadir one day when I ran into a fashion editor I knew. I told her we had lost our bags and she lent us some clothes from her photoshoot.
I was still phoning Bryan and telling him I was working. Finally he said: ‘Stop lying. I read about you and Mick in the papers.’ The fashion team must have spilled the beans. Bryan said: ‘Just come home and we’ll talk about it.’
But I couldn’t – I knew he was not the forgiving type and I was already too much in love with Mick. I felt bad for breaking off our engagement, but it never occurred to me to complain about the affair Bryan had had in Japan.
Bryan took me leaving him badly, refusing to give back my clothes and possessions. I had left a book by the bed called The Mists Of Avalon, about druids. Bryan wrote a beautiful album called Avalon, but he never spoke to me again.
My love was so strong I couldn’t do anything but follow Mick wherever he led me. I knew he had a reputation as a womaniser and he was still married, even if he hadn’t lived with Bianca for a year, but I was hopeful. I had got him to quit heroin – I could get him to give up girls as well.
We rented an apartment in Paris beside Notre Dame. We made love four times a day, ripping each other’s clothes off. We never got bored or disagreed. Unlike Bryan, Mick thought my leg-wrestling was hilarious.
As Mick’s girl, I lived life in a constant spotlight. When the Stones went on tour, we were given police escorts to hotels. If we wanted to go out, we had to be sneaked through hotel kitchens into windowless vans.
Soon after we got together, Mick and Bianca divorced. He wasn’t nearly as rich as people thought and had to give her most of what he had. But we were free to be together. Having spent years living like nomads, Mick and I felt the need to settle down.
We bought homes in New York, London, Paris and Mustique, and in March 1984, our first baby, Elizabeth, was born. We both adored her. When Elizabeth was nine months old, we took a break on an island off the Brazilian coast and while there I became pregnant again. Mick nearly fainted when I told him I was carrying twins.
But three months into the pregnancy, I was told that one twin was slightly bigger than the other. At five months, I had another scan – one baby’s heart had stopped beating.
I was confined to my bed for a while and the emotional stress of losing one of my twins was painful.
The surviving baby, James, was born in August 1985. He was healthy and gorgeous, but I suffered postnatal depression, probably caused by mourning for my dead child, and not being able to talk about it because we had kept it secret.
I was occupied with the children while Mick was busy with the Stones, often leaving me at home on my own with the babies. I kept hearing stories of his dalliances with other women. Mick was a dangerous sexual predator and, although I loved him and he swore undying love for me, I felt unsure of him.
I had weaned him off drugs, but they had been replaced by sex and he had never had proper treatment.
Even in our early days, my instincts told me he could not help indulging himself with other women, and by the time we had children I’d read about Mick’s dalliances in newspapers.
I decided I would live without him if need be. I rented a house in London and when I was offered a part in a film in Italy, I took it.
After filming, I took the children to stay with friends in Tuscany. Mick kept calling me, telling me how he had changed, that he loved me and wanted to marry me in Bali. I still loved him very much, so I said yes.
Around this time, rumours were circulating that Mick had stolen Eric Clapton’s girlfriend, Carla Bruni, and had started an affair with her. Mick denied it, saying it was nothing and that he loved me and was marrying me. So I stifled my doubts and went ahead with our wedding.
Our traditional Balinese Hindu ceremony was beautiful but, sadly, the day after Mick flew to Japan, saying he had to collect an award.
I threw myself into work, doing my first play, Bus Stop, in New York. Back in England, Mick bought us a beautiful 18th Century house on Richmond Hill, South-West London. Our third child, Georgia, was born in January 1992.
Although Mick wanted his children educated in England, he was a tax exile, so could only be with us a short time each year. And the Stones’ tours got longer and longer. I couldn’t just uproot the children and take them along. Even when Mick was with us, he took a long time to get back into family life.
Over ten years, the Stones staged five world tours. Mick started to miss important family events – children’s birthdays and our anniversary. I was heartbroken that he wasn’t home in time for the birth of our fourth child, Gabriel, in December 1997.
Mick called while I was in labour to say he was so sorry he could not be there. He arrived home a week later. Then, after a holiday, he went back to the band’s Bridges To Babylon tour.
When Mick eventually returned to London, he looked shaken. A newspaper reported that a Brazilian model, Luciana Morad, was pregnant with his baby. It was the final straw. I told him I wanted a divorce.
Breaking up with Mick was painful. I had been tempted to leave him many times but had put up with his infidelities. However, having a child with another woman was too much.
The most difficult part was telling the children. I explained to them that we loved them and were still their parents. Mick and I were determined that, even though our marriage had ended, we would continue to be parents together – and we have.
Today I still live in the Richmond house with my two younger children and, although life is different now, I am happier than ever.
The wonderful thing about getting older is that you are grateful for the simple things in life.
When I wake up, I go downstairs, let the dogs out, make coffee and collect lovely, warm brown eggs that my chickens have laid.
Lizzie spends a lot of time in New York but when she’s in England she stays in a cottage in our garden. James lives in Camden but he comes home a lot, and we try to have lunch together every Sunday.
I feel blessed to have had such an interesting and varied career. Over the past few years, I have been able to develop my acting and I’ve loved taking challenging theatre roles, such as Mrs Robinson in The Graduate.
Mick and I are able to talk on friendly terms about our children. Of course, I still love him – how can you un-love? But, we have both moved on.
After the divorce, the children and I spent the summer in France, where our friends, Dave Stewart, of the Eurythmics, and Anoushka Fisz were getting married.
Mick came and the next day he went off with a camera crew – he was making a documentary of his life. I thought how lucky I was that I didn’t care what he got up to. It was no longer my problem.
I am good friends with his other exes, Marsha Hunt and Bianca Jagger. I’m also friends with Mick’s current partner, L’Wren Scott. To be honest, I think she’s better at dealing with him than I am. He needs a lot of adoration, which I wasn’t willing to give him.
Mick and I meet at parties now and then. He comes over to see the children and he has them for the summer holidays. It’s good not to mind. It’s good to have moved on.
The beauty of victory at Oxford
I was delighted to be invited to speak in a debate at the Oxford University Union, following in the footsteps of some distinguished company.
The subject of my debate was: ‘Should you use your assets, be it beauty, brains or brawn?’ I had Miss World on my side and the opposing team included some journalists.
I really enjoyed writing my speech. I used a quote from Benjamin Franklin: ‘Hide not your talents, for they were made. What’s a sundial in the shade?’
And my jokes went down extremely well. The best one was: ‘Time is only relative – it lasts a lot longer when your mother-in-law is there!’
My conclusion was that ‘our duty lies in the abundant use of our assets, provided that we take the care to use them wisely and considerately’. I had a good time and we won the vote, which made us happy and just a little bit smug.
Never leave him – he’s perfect
When I was eight months pregnant with my son Gabriel, I sat next to Lucian Freud at dinner. He asked if he could paint me and wanted me to start the next day.
I adored Lucian and felt cheered up to be involved in something creative. Although I was pregnant and posing nude, I felt so comfortable. Lucian adored my various lumps and bumps, and through his
admiring eyes, I became very accepting of my growing body.
He would put his hand on my stomach and feel the baby kick and get excited. He seemed to be doing all the things my husband should have been doing.
When I complained about Mick, Lucian said to me: ‘Never leave your husband – he works hard, pays the bills and leaves you alone. He’s the perfect husband!’