‘It was all hunky dory for the first few months, and I was enjoying working at the mag, going to the parties, meeting all those models, living the life. But then he started to ask more of me – a little favour here, a delivery there, oh, just sign for this, sign for that, meet this client, make that payment. Of course I did as I was told. I thought I was doing rather well for myself, having so much responsibility, like a real career girl. He told me I was his right-hand man, that he couldn’t manage without me, blah blah blah, and I soaked it all up. And he was still taking care of me in other ways, as you know. He didn’t mind you moving in, did he? And if he slapped me around a bit, got a bit rough, well, that was all part of the fun. I knew which side my bread was buttered on, and I didn’t complain, even when he hurt me.

‘Then I began to twig, dear. It wasn’t just the magazines that he was involved in. He always told me that he was a businessman, something to do with import-export, all terribly butch. Well he was doing business, that’s for sure. Flats all over town, each and every one with a couple of girls in them. He used to send me round to pick up the rent, at least that’s what he called it. Living off immoral earnings, that’s what the courts call it, isn’t it? You read about it all the time in the Pictorial. And then there was the porn. Dirty pictures. Girls, boys, you name it. He got it from Germany and Scandinavia and he sold it through the Muscle Boy mailing lists. Got me to write the envelopes, keep the accounts, log in all the money. And some of it was home grown, of course, as your Mervyn knows to his cost. Oh, the money that came flooding into that office! Envelopes with a tenner, twenty, fifty quid. And I wrote it all in the ledger, kept his books straight for him, handed it over like a good little soldier, never a penny short.

‘But then Gerald started getting restless. Well, she was a drunk, dear, and they’re the worst. Started complaining that he was being ripped off, that Tony was getting the cream, why shouldn’t he cut out the middleman and set up for himself? He had his own mailing lists, and he knew all the models, he had something on all of them, so it was in their interests to cooperate. He pissed off everyone. You saw what Teddy Templeton was like! Oooh! If looks could kill, it would be Lady T in that prison cell, not your Mervyn. But Gerald didn’t care. She was a reckless queen, and she paid the price. People like Tony don’t like competition. He tolerated it for a while, and he tried to warn Gerald often enough. But Gerald didn’t listen, did he? And we all know what happened next.’