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The story of Lady Antonia Fraser's secret affair with the playwright Harold Pinter, which ended their marriages but brought them a lifetime of passion, is the most eagerly awaited book of the year. For a moment, I just wanted not to BE: not to take any action to that effect but perhaps 'to cease upon the midnight with no pain'. The first was a still-surviving robust common sense: 'This is absurd. We're a couple of middle-aged writers who want to live together.' The other, of course, was Harold's love for me coupled with my love for him.
I could see that he never felt the same way about her again. I visit my dear friends Gerald Ogilvy-Laing, the sculptor, and Galina and we fall into each other's arms. Thought I would when I first married, but [my Tory MP husband] Hugh didn't want that.
We tried to celebrate but things are really unhappy and unresolved (with Harold and Vivien, not me and Hugh, who is merrily grouse-shooting). He shouted at Steve Mc Queen down the long-distance line, which must be a good sign as he has been totally wan. Yet it is to her credit that you would never have known it.