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By Root 693 0

with a security guard who tries to fob them off with a cultural attaché: ‘But this is a political matter,’ says Francis King. Finally we go to the pub to warm up, accompanied by someone who I hope will be our new friend: Salman Rushdie. I take an instant fancy to him, helped by my enormous admiration for Midnight’s Children of course, but fuelled by his warmth and general liveliness. (Always delightful when you like both artist and work, although it doesn’t always happen with such perfect synchronicity as it did in Salman’s case.) On the way we see a huge bus full of policemen looking menacing. Salman and Harold imagine them getting ready for action: ‘Some of these writers can be awful toughs,’ Salman pictures them saying. The policemen must have been disappointed by our sober behaviour.

13 March

Worrying moment when Harold is told by a third person that Oliver Sacks objects to his use of ‘copyright material’. It was actually the image which inspired Harold not the book (he only read the book when he had roughed out the play). Next day Jonathan Miller acts most helpfully as a go-between and establishes that Oliver Sacks loves the play: calls it ‘a work of art’. Life given again to these poor creatures who have mainly by this time lost it. Has written an enthusiastic letter but Harold just hasn’t received it. Harold tells me that his heart leaps up when he gets this call.

23 March

Salman and Clarissa Rushdie come to dinner: she has romantic Celtic looks. Towards the end of the evening I nod off. Harold hastens to explain by telling the oft-related story of me sleeping during his sketch-reading, our first night in Launceston Place. Clarissa, brightly: ‘Yes, if I ever can’t get to sleep, I ask Salman to read to me.’

3 April

Invasion of the Falkland Islands brings political unity to the family lunch table. We listen to the House of Commons debate with approval, Harold’s patriotic feelings to the fore. Hateful Fascist Argentina is imposing its evil rule on the poor little Falkland Islanders: ‘we should fight.’

10–12 April

Staying at Oare with Henry Keswick and Tessa (born Fraser, Hugh’s niece). I’ve always been deeply fond of Henry, memories of the boy in Scotland, now transformed into the great Taipan of Hong Kong and a noble host. And then Tessa is utterly beguiling, I’ve always thought, her cat’s face, soft cat’s purr – and sharp intelligence beneath.

Harold likes them both very much, despite Tessa’s very different political views. And how could he not be transported by the beauty of Oare, the gardens, the fairyland of magnolias in front of the house, the hillside opening behind and the beauty of the life it provides? Plus every known modern comfort that a returned Taipan can provide. The only trouble is what I call Post-Oare Syndrome when we have to return home at the end of the weekend to a good deal less luxury.

17 April

Damian (aged seventeen and a half) and I went to Paris, representing Harold at the French opening of Betrayal, since Harold is much involved in Betrayal the English film. Staying at Harold’s expense at the Meurice, taken everywhere by his genial translator Eric Kahane, we decide we can get used to this life.

18 June

To Rome where Harold has been nominated for an Italian Oscar, called a Donatello, for The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Wherever we go with other nominees, the press push us aside in order to photograph Warren Beatty. I would like to photograph him too as he is absolutely delightful. He has a perfect boy-angel’s face, about seven foot of him in a crumpled white suit. Standing in line for the President of Italy’s handshake, he murmurs to me: ‘If you hadn’t met Harold, you would have had a lot of trouble with me.’ He adds: ‘Do you have a sister? How would she feel about a thirty-eight-year-old Hollywood degenerate?’ The man deserves his reputation! Later I watch him working the gold salon, evidently saying something along the same lines to every woman in the room, regardless of age, as a result of which a lot of women are very, very happy. Harold, neurotically later: ‘Warren knew.