‘Arthur told me. Was it something you didn’t want to talk about?’

An empty plastic dustbin trundled, jigged and bounced down the street beyond the terrace towards rue Émile Zola. I’d buggered that part up.

‘No. No. I can talk about it. They have found James. Your uncle.’

‘Awesome! Brilliant! I bet you’re pleased!’

‘Yes. A bit shocked frankly. Look, we have to go to Cannes. It’s a long drive, are you ready?’

‘Yup. All ready for Dottie and Arthur. All that frog-talk. Yuck!’

‘Not today. Okay? Let’s get going. Mind your head: flying tiles.’

As I began to open the door I felt his hand push into my free one.

‘Will? You all right, really? Was it bad news … something?’

‘No. I’m all right, honestly. Fine. One day, when I can remember it all, sort it out, I’ll tell you about it.’

He leant against the wall.

‘Will I have to go back now?’

‘Back? Where?’

‘Well, they’ve found him. There. I mean home.’

‘You want to?’

‘No.’

‘So? Stay here? With me? You mean that?’

‘Yup.’

‘Sure? Quite sure?’

‘Really sure. Really.’

‘Okay. It’s great! You’re on.’

We were suddenly laughing.

I pushed out, holding the door against the wind, on to the terrace. Giles was close beside me, hands over his head. I let the door go and heard it crash shut, clattering the glass in the panes.

‘Will you write it down?’ He was shouting against the tearing gusts, forcing me to yell back, laughing.

‘Yes! One day.’

‘Write it down? Just like a book?’

I put my arm round his shoulders and we staggered, lurching, towards the garage and the car.

‘Yes. For you! I’ll write it all down. Just like a book.’

Grasse, 14.7.86
London, 13.2.91

A Note on the Author

Sir Dirk Bogarde (1921–1999) was an English actor and novelist. Initially a matinee idol, Bogarde later acted in art-house films such as Death In Venice; between 1947 and 1991, Bogarde made more than sixty films.

In his writing career, as well as completing six novels, Bogarde wrote several volumes of autobiography. For over two decades he lived in Italy and France, which was where he began to write seriously. In 1985 he was awarded an honorary degree of Doctor of Letters by the University of St Andrews and in 1990 was promoted to Commandeur de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French government.

Sir Dirk Bogarde has a legion of fans to this day – an extraordinary commitment to an extraordinary man.

Also by the Author

Discover books by Dirk Bogarde published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/DirkBogarde

A Gentle Occupation
A Particular Friendship
A Period of Adjustment
A Postillion Struck by Lightning
A Short Walk from Harrods
An Orderly Man
Backcloth
Cleared for Take-Off
Closing Ranks
For the Time Being
Great Meadow
Jericho
Snakes and Ladders
Voices in the Garden
West of Sunset