It's been a misery for me, living with Christine Keeler.
I never found anyone who was good enough, who I could trust enough.
One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.
We knew we were talking about spies. I knew he knew I knew. I was digging my own grave.
They wanted to hear about the sex, of course. But not the rest; no one wanted to hear the rest.
As a little girl I used to daydream about my real father coming on a white horse to rescue me.