My old boss, Harvey Weinstein, has been convicted - but I fear he’s not beaten yet

I was driving home, when I heard that Harvey Weinstein had been convicted of rape. Robert Peston, the TV presenter, called on my mobile, saying “Well, you’ve probably heard…” But I wasn’t sure how to feel. By the time I got to my smallholding in Wiltshire my phone was ringing off the hook.

So, Harvey, my old boss, had been convicted and was off to jail, to New York’s notorious Rikers Island no less. I must be delighted everyone seemed to think. As the first woman to speak publicly about the system that enabled him, I had been at the centre of this drama right from the beginning.

The truth is, I didn’t feel anything. I had avoided following the case because I couldn’t bear to see the witnesses eviscerated, and I was convinced he would get away with it. So all of a sudden, the verdict - and the maelstrom of attention - felt overwhelming. But, knowing Harvey, he isn’t beaten yet.

I became Harvey’s personal assistant in the mid-1990s, aged 22. I travelled with him, answered his calls and arranged his meetings - and I witnessed his bullying behaviour first-hand. Very early on, he normalised that he would be in a state of undress or semi-naked during my working hours. He would try to pull me into bed if I had to wake him in the morning in his suite at The Savoy or the Venice Excelsior. “Come on, you must want to kiss me,” he would say, but he never physically tried to use force. I just didn’t think he was that stupid. Of course, I now know the extent to which he harassed all the women in his sphere.

I was aware of actresses coming and going from his ‘office’ (usually a hotel suite) but I presumed that if anything was going on it was consensual. The first time anyone came out of that suite in a state of upset, was when he tried to rape a young Oxford graduate who I’d hired as my assistant. She was so distressed I knew immediately she was telling the truth.

I tried to take action but was told by my lawyer that if we went to court we would be crushed. In exchange for compensation and promises that Harvey’s behaviour would stop, in 1998 she and I were advised to sign NDAs (non-disclosure agreements). That agreement bound us to silence for the next two decades, until the MeToo movement enabled me to speak out.

Harvey was a deeply manipulative boss: he liked to humiliate men and make women submit to him, but he could also be charming and vulnerable. He liked having “posh” assistants and he’d ask how to behave at formal events; which knife and fork to use and when. Miramax, his film company, felt like the centre of the universe. He’d see Leonardo di Caprio or Gwyneth Paltrow and he would include you, make you feel valuable. In a meeting with someone like Martin Scorsese he’d say “I’ll take this script off you, but only if Zelda likes it.” He understands how humans work.

That’s why you shouldn’t underestimate him. That walking frame he used to lean on as he shuffled into court every day? I’m not denying he is diminished and ill and had a car crash and back surgery – but he is also a sociopath. He is the most successful storyteller and PR campaigner in the world: he understands the power of a visual story more than anyone.

He knows how to press buttons. So, any human being watching him going into that courtroom - there will be a little part of their heart that said “Oh, dear, look at that poor old fellow”, because we’re human, we have empathy. Harvey has no empathy but knows how powerful that image is.

The second most powerful image for me was that same walker, looking like an empty pram after he’d been convicted. What, now he’s a convicted rapist he can walk? I think Harvey must have been in shock and lost control for a moment. He would have been furious that it was wheeled out in front of the world’s press, rather than leaving via a back door.

Is Harvey feeling guilty? I would imagine he’s in total denial, because his belief in his own innocence is enormous. He never thinks he is doing anything wrong. His team will have future-planned for this. He will be regrouping, sketching out his next move.

Right now I feel as if I’ve reached that bit in a horror movie where the monster has been killed and everyone relaxes, then “Bang!” it springs up again. When everyone was saying “Yay, he’s going to Rikers Island,” I thought, “Really? He’s going to go lie on that rubber mattress?” And of course he didn’t. Within five minutes of being convicted as a rapist he was in an ambulance going to a comfortable hospital, which is where he is now.

He’s not going to go lie in a cell, he’s going to be ill. He’s a strategist. He’s a storyteller. So there is a part of me waiting for that sudden resurrection, right at the end.

On the day we negotiated our agreement in 1998, we sat in a room with our legal teams. Extraordinarily, Harvey apologised and said he didn’t understand consent (though that was not written into the document). We were advised to sign an agreement which essentially said he did nothing. I had insisted on clauses aimed at restraining him, but I suspected his behaviour towards women would not change and that broke my heart. But this isn’t, and never really has been, about Harvey: the real horror for me has been at the hands of the law.

I was very young when I signed that agreement. It prevented me from talking about what had happened with my closest friends and my family, even with a doctor or therapist (unless they agreed to sign an NDA before the beginning of the conversation). We were left with the impression that we were not able to aid any criminal or civil action taken against Harvey in the future.

I was not allowed a copy of the agreement. Even my lawyers were not allowed to show it to another lawyer. When I made a data access request to try to get a copy they refused. Their argument was “We signed a professional undertaking never to give it to you, to never show it to another lawyer and we can’t break that, so, sorry.”

When journalists in New York started to get wind of the truth about Harvey in 2017 they contacted me and I learned there were other witnesses in a similar situation. I said if all of us stood up at the same time, five or ten of us, there was no way he could come after us, but no one would. That’s how much fear there was. In the end, I felt I had a moral obligation to speak out. Even if I ended up going to prison for a few months it would be worth it.

NDAs are still a routine part of business life. I can see why. They were initially a legitimate way of protecting commercially sensitive information, but they are not a legitimate way of concealing criminal behaviour as can happen in some cases.

I am determined that NDAs should never again be used by the powerful in this way. I have spoken at legal conferences, given evidence to Parliament and been contacted by women coerced into signing agreements silencing them about the behaviour of people  at the highest levels of politics, business and the arts. Although we have had cultural and attitude change, legislation is not following fast enough.

We need meaningful change and I am determined not to give up.

If I could get on a boat, sail to outer Mongolia and never hear Harvey’s name again I would. He now faces trial in Los Angeles, after prosecutors there announced four criminal charges against him last month. The thought of another big trial fills me with dread, but it’s worth it because this matters to  women the world over. In cultures where women are much more subjugated and aren’t in control of their lives, the fall of Harvey Weinstein sends a message to the powerful. The reckoning is coming.