Sublime

Grace Macaulay, then: seventeen, small and plump, with skin that went brown by the end of May. Her hair was black and oily, and had the hot consoling scent of an animal in summer. She disliked books, and was by nature a thief if she found a thing to be beautiful, but not hers. She didn’t know she couldn’t sing. She was inclined to be cross.

She was Melissa’s oldest, boldest friend. They had gone to the same primary school. Hazel worked in advertising. She had a wide and glamorous smile behind which was an oft-foul tongue, and long, bouncing, half-French, half-Ghanaian curls falling down her back, the most beautiful, the most envied of their schoolgirl pack, the one the boys always wen

Anne wore an old heather mixture tweed suit—it was a good suit, but old enough to have lost its lines and become baggy. With her chestnut brown hair, russet cheeks and heather mixture tweed she looked almost part of the landscape, an appropriate sturdy figure, strong and competent. When Colonel St Cyres saw her, he said, “Thank God.” He always did

For a leading lady to bring me a letter from her father-in-law is a new experience. She is married to Michael Attenborough, son of Richard, and when Dickie was in New York recently for the opening of Young Winston I dropped him a note. His reply said it was very sweet of me to offer to look after Jane, adding that he knew I would do this anyway. Th

The weather turned suddenly colder today, but the chill in the air warmed under the sunny smile of Gloria Hendry, whose entry into the French Quarter Inn courtyard was straight out of a Bond movie. I can’t remember what colour her dress was; I only know it fitted just below her coffee-coloured skin, and when she walked part of her seemed to move in

Si une dame se rendait au vestiaire, il s’empressait d’aller lui chercher son manteau ; il avait pour chaque enfant un regard amical ou un mot de plaisanterie ; il était à la fois sociable et discret ; bref, il paraissait un de ces êtres privilégiés, à qui le sentiment d’être agréable aux autres par un visage souriant et un charme juvénile donne un

Day Twelve and back to work. Paul Rabiger, our make-up man, was telling me about other Bond films he has done while he was working on me this morning. He has been on every one except the first – Dr No – and consequently has made up all the leading ladies; and when you meet a girl every morning at around 7 a.m. without her make-up, it’s like being m

I was in bed with my leading lady when Princess Alexandra’s sister-in-law telephoned. ‘Oh, dear,’ said the Hon Mrs June Ogilvy, ‘I do hope I am not disturbing you.’ ‘Not at all,’ I hastened to reassure her. ‘I am only deflowering Solitaire.’ And I was, for B-Day Fifty-eight was my big love scene with Jane. Despite the fact that her father-in-law, R