Hillary Rodham Clinton's memoirs include her impressions of Bertie Ahern, John Hume, Ian Paisley and others involved in Irish politics. Seán O'Driscoll reports from Washington
The Omagh bombing was "another cruel reality check" on the same day she discovered the truth of her husband's infidelity with Monica Lewinsky, Sen Hillary Rodham Clinton writes in her White House memoirs, published this morning.
As reports of the huge casualties in Omagh came in, Ms Clinton knew she would soon be travelling to Ireland to talk to women about the Irish Troubles "in the midst of my own heartrendering troubles", she writes.
Ms Clinton, now a senator for New York, also recalls being in Dublin when the Taoiseach, Mr Ahern, introduced Celia Larkin as his partner, and she later heard a journalist refer to Ms Larkin as the Taoiseach's "mistress".
Her memoir, Living History, which went on sale in the United States this morning, includes lengthy passages about the Clintons' visits to Ireland, including their joyous trip to Dublin and Belfast in 1995, and a more sombre visit following the Omagh bombing.
Ms Clinton also writes that President Clinton "had gotten off to a rocky start" with the British Prime Minister, Mr John Major, because Mr Major's government had helped the first Bush administration to investigate Mr Clinton's involvement in the student anti-war movement in Britain in the 1970s.
"Overt meddling in American politics by the Tories was disconcerting," she writes, before adding that relations were "further strained" when president Clinton granted Mr Gerry Adams a visa in 1994.
She recalls a trip she made to Dublin in late October 1997, where she attended a reception at Dublin Castle hosted by the new Taoiseach, Mr Ahern. She describes Mr Ahern as "a savvy and affable politician" and said he chose Ms Clinton's visit to "go public" with his new partner.
She recalls that Mr Ahern had separated from his wife some years previously and she describes Celia Larkin as "a lovely and lively woman".
"Their involvement was one of those public secrets that everyone knew but no one publicly acknowledged."
She recalls that, as she was about to address the Dublin Castle reception, the Irish media were "electrified" to see Bertie Ahern and Celia Larkin walking up the steps of the stage together.
"As soon as Bertie and I finished speaking, they [the media] rushed for their phones and computers," she recalls. A journalist later recounted to Ms Clinton that a fellow reporter had yelled into a phone that the Taoiseach had put his "mistress" on stage with the First Lady.
She devotes an entire chapter to August 1998, the month in which president Clinton confessed his affair with Monica Lewinsky to her. His confession came only two days before he was to admit the affair before a congressional hearing.
She recalls that Bill told her of the affair on the morning of Saturday, August 15th, 1998, and that she was "dumbfounded, heartbroken and outraged" that she had previously believed his lies.
She recalled that as they struggled with this "personal and public crisis", the world provided another "cruel reality check": news came through of the Omagh bombing in Northern Ireland.
As reports came in of the huge casualties that afternoon, she recalled the times when she sat with women from all over Ireland to discuss the Troubles.
"Now that's what I had to try to do in the midst of my own heartrendering troubles," she writes.
The Clintons visited Omagh two weeks later and Ms Clinton recalled that the bombing had shocked hardliners on both sides into softening their political positions. She felt proud that her husband had persevered with the search for reconciliation.
"The agony of Omagh was a reminder of the worthy risks Bill was willing to take for peace around the world," she adds.
She writes of her realisation that the large press pack following them throughout Ireland was not there solely to record her husband's peace mission, and was watching the couple closely to assess their marriage in the immediate aftermath of the Lewinsky disclosures.
The press observed every detail, she recalls, including whether she and Bill stood close together or far apart, and watched her to see if she was frowning or crying behind her dark glasses. They wondered about the "significance" of a knitted sweater she bought for Bill in Dublin, which he wore to Limerick for his first golf game in more than month.
"I desperately wanted to restore a zone of privacy for myself and my family, but I wondered if that would ever be possible again," she adds.
She was encouraged by an unconditional public apology her husband made in front of the media in Ireland, and said it was the first of many such apologies he would make on his long road to atonement.
By the time they returned to the White House, she and Bill had agreed to take part in regular marital counselling to determine whether they could salvage their marriage. On one level she felt "emotionally shell-shocked" and on another knew that her husband was a good person and a great president.
The 1995 trip to Ireland was one of the most special of the White House years, she writes. None of the Clinton family had been to Ireland, apart from stop-overs in Shannon. She recalled her daughter Chelsea collecting Irish soil as a souvenir during a stopover the previous year, and was delighted that she was with them, as Chelsea was in love with Irish folkore.
Ms Clinton also records her deep admiration for former Northern Ireland secretary Ms Mo Mowlam, who was undergoing treatment for a non-malignant brain tumour while working though the peace process in Northern Ireland. She learnt that Ms Mowlam wore a wig and removed it at official meetings.
Ms Clinton wondered if this was Ms Mowlam's subtle way of suggesting that she had nothing to hide in her work in the peace process or a not so subtle way of suggesting that she was a woman more interested in substance than show. "Mo became a delightful new friend," she adds.
She also praised the peace efforts of John Hume, whom she describes as "a large rumpled man with a kind face and silver tongue", and the humanitarian work of Bono, whom she met in College Green in December 1995, just before gasping in shock at the huge numbers of people who turned out in the city centre to hear her husband speak.
The same day, she spoke at a women's conference at the National Gallery and recalls that, live on Irish television, she mocked the chauvinistic comments that an Irish TV personality had recently made to women politicians invited on to his show. "A debate raged in Ireland about what choices women should be 'allowed' to make, especially in the realm of family life. A week earlier, the Irish had narrowly passed a referendum legalising divorce, over vigorous opposition from the Roman Catholic Church," she writes.
Her harshest words from her Irish encounters are reserved for Democratic Unionist Party leader, Dr Ian Paisley, who refused to shake hands with Sinn Féin "papists" at an event she attended in Belfast. "Like fundamentalists everywhere, he seemed stuck in a time warp, unwilling to concede a new reality," she writes.