There was manipulation as well as helplessness in your loss of control. By relinquishing the burden to me, you ensured I remained in Mother’s place, parenting you, indulging you, when we might both have renounced such roles. I was an easy accomplice. I might struggle against the call, I might even try to quell it, but my existence was not separate from yours.

I turn the kaleidoscope of memory, watch the shapes sift and fall. The truth is never easy. There was relief as well as terror in acknowledging your flaw. The gods had heaped too many gifts on you.

It amuses me now to think that what became so notorious, so much discussed, so revered in some quarters and satirized in others, began so humbly. Time has wrapped layers of myth and envy round what started very simply. A handful of young men and two nervous, ill-at-ease women seated round a fireplace. If you were writing this, you would know how to do the portrait of it, would add your own brilliant powers of observation, your vivacity and wit, your genius for describing the essence of a thing in a few consummate strokes. You would know how to render Saxon’s exquisitely rolled umbrella, the lilt and halt of Lytton’s queer pronunciation, Leonard’s quavering hands. You would relish the long, awkward silences that so often preceded any debate, the clearing of a throat, eyes floorward, then a chance remark, beauty, perhaps, or truth, a word thrown into the air and bandied first this way, then that, until an entire, elaborate edifice of argument and counterargument had been constructed.

I thrilled to see the way your contribution wove itself in. I was as entertained as anyone by your originality. We were conspirators once again. I, welcoming and presiding; you, intellectually agile, eloquent, and daring. I took pleasure in watching the others lean forward, eager to catch you, inspired by what you said. I rejoiced in your triumphs. Your sport took place under my jurisdiction, for my entertainment. I was queen in my own house.

I have been blamed for my insularity, for my refusal to open my doors to a wider circle. I make no apologies. We had lived under the dominion of others for too long. There was a delicious freedom in being able to choose whom we associated with and on what terms.