It's been a misery for me, living with Christine Keeler.
As a little girl I used to daydream about my real father coming on a white horse to rescue me.
We knew we were talking about spies. I knew he knew I knew. I was digging my own grave.
Men, all men, were always trying to get hold of me, you know.
The fathers, if they got me alone, would try to kiss and fondle me. I hated it.
One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.