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I have to admit that when I looked round the congregation at the Memorial Service I had to wonder. How many were there simply to pay tribute to a remarkable woman they had admired? How many were there with more intimate memories? The eulogy sketched in the public details of what had been a very public life. Married at twenty, divorced at thirty-five, twenty years in politics, seven years in the City, tireless work for charitable causes. A career that seemed destined for further distinction until it was suddenly ended at the age of sixty-two. Heart failure, they said, but doesn't everyone die of that? Unexpected in this case but apparently due to some congenital weakness.

Well, that was the public image. Having worked for her for an important part of that career, my thoughts during the Service strayed to much that wasn't even hinted at from the pulpit. I certainly didn't know everything; her ability to compartmentalise was remarkable. But our professional relationship meant that inevitably I had a number of windows into her private activities, some of which I had shared. I knew enough to look across the packed pews and identify many present who would have been there for entirely personal reasons. They were those, male and female, who had enjoyed, albeit briefly, the privilege of her sexual favours.

Perhaps, after a suitable lapse, some future biographer will be able to tell the full story . For the present, I must warn that many persons in ...

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