Diana, Princess of Wales and Mother Teresa of Calcutta died within two weeks of one another 10 years ago. Of the two, it is surely the Albanian nun rather than the English rose who had a better claim to the title of saint. Yet it is Diana who continues to command our attention, not only in Britain but around the world. This is not merely because her tragic death immortalised her as a beautiful young princess but because she remains part of a continuing story, a narrative that blends saga, romance and whodunnit. Her family story continues in the coming of age of her sons, William and Harry, who did their mother so proud at yesterday's service of thanksgiving. It continues in the debate surrounding the remarriage of Prince Charles to Camilla, the woman who, in Diana's classic understatement, had made his first marriage feel "a bit crowded". It persists in the conspiracy theories surrounding her death.

Though her span in the public eye lasted just 16 years, Diana remains one of the iconic figures of the twentieth century, alongside Winston Churchill, John F Kennedy and Nelson Mandela. Why? Paradoxically, against the backdrop of a rather starchy royal family, it was her very ordinariness. Many people, especially women, recognised their lives in hers: the unhappiness, the eating disorders, the adultery (both his and hers) and the divorce. Although she came from one of Britain's most privileged families, she projected herself as the girl next door. In this way, rather than being the catalyst of change in British society as she is sometimes portrayed, she crystallised changes that had already occurred. In a process stretching back to the First World War, Britain had become less class conscious, less deferential and less buttoned-up. Perhaps her chumminess, her compassion, her openness and her informality, combined with those fairytale looks and clothes, gave the British people the sort of royalty many of them wanted two centuries after the French had sent theirs to the guillotine.

It was the royal family's failure to recognise this in the immediate aftermath of Diana's death that gave the spontaneous national outpouring of grief an edge of anger verging on rebellion. Today it is more responsive to public sensibilities: witness the quick recovery from the public relations bungle of inviting the Duchess of Cornwall to the thanksgiving ser- vice. Because of the depth of public affection and respect for the Queen, the only true test of whether the monarchy has weathered the storm will be the public response to Camilla as king's consort. The general acceptance of their marriage suggests a welcome generosity of spirit.

Another legacy of Diana's death has been more controversial. The carpets of flowers, the candlelit vigils, the cuddly toys and tear-stained poems tied to palace railings revealed a previously hidden sentimental side of Britain. Its scale has come close to turning private grief into a branch of showbusiness. In the intervening years, this had turned the tragic parents of murdered children into instant celebrities. One of the few stories to outshine the Diana anniversary this week has been the tsunami of grief and soul-searching following the death of 11-year-old Rhys Jones. While some defend this as a healthy catharsis of previously pent-up emotion, others find it mawkish and intrusive. Not everyone will want to respond to bereavement in the high-profile way Melanie and Stephen Jones have done. But is the British public capable of turning off the gushing tap of public sympathy that was turned on by the death of the People's Princess?