Naturally Nicole

Forget the cool, controlled woman you see on the red carpet. The real NICOLE KIDMAN is warm, vulnerable, witty and madly maternal. Stephanie Rafanelli falls for her charms

- Stephanie Rafanelli

There is a little noise that Nicole Kidman emits when deep in conversation: something between a sigh and an ‘ah’ that comes out as a soft ‘wah’ and signifies intensity of emotion accompanied by a tilt back of the head or a swipe of a palm on her brow, her russet curls scraped back today in a topknot. Her complexion, which can be bloodless on screen, is flushed a wild rose by the late Nashville summer; perhaps glowing a little pinker through the force of maternal passion. For she is trying to persuade me to get pregnant: ‘Come on, please, have that baby!’ she begs, leaning in close, her eyes flashing with mischief. ‘Babies bring so much joy. Wah!’

Nicole is so far from her image as the regal redhead, a vision of intimidating stature who, I admit, I expected to be a little pinched. In an old AC/DC T-shirt and jeans, she is hanging out at home (admittedly, a stately Tennessee mansion set around a pool), with Sunday, eight, and Faith, six, her daughters with country singer Keith Urban, capitalising on the last of their summer holidays. We talk in her slate-grey-painted office hung with framed maps, a break in a day in which she appears to be knee-deep in domesticity. Sunday, who is suffering an out-of-season cold, peeps her head out from behind the doorframe. ‘She’s very shy. How is your ear feeling?’ Nicole says tenderly. ‘And your throat? A little bit sore? Okay, gargle with a little bit of salt water.’