Whether justified or not, my feeling when setting out for Paris - with regard to the prospects for my sex life - was one of venturing into unknown waters. I was to be much more of an isolated unit than when I first went into the army, for example. In that experience I was enlisting along with quite a bunch of my school friends. Here in Paris however, I had no knowledge at the start if there'd be anyone out here that I knew at all. And I had doubts whether I would feel sufficiently akin to my fellow art students - few of whom would be British - for me to assert any sex appeal. I was nervous that, in this denuded psychological estate, I might display no appeal whatsoever. So I was anticipating that these might be barren months for my any sexual endeavours.

Not that this was a worry to me in that my heart was already donated to [X]. I felt for the first time in my life that I had established myself with a girl friend, on a reciprocal basis of loyalty and romantic commitment. We had agreed not to write to one another for a full month, but I had brought her photograph with me, which I kept framed beside the bed - something which gave rise to a fair amount of curiosity from the [A] sisters. ("Non, ça n'est pas ma soeure. C'est une amie.") I had no intention of being unfaithful to her, although I may well have been hoping that some flirtation on the side would still come my way.

But it was a discomfort inside of my own skin which really characterized the initial weeks of work at the Academie Ranson. So I was unreceptive to such nuances of flirtatiousness that may have been on offer. There had been that model who kept trying to chat with me for example - until she obliged me to show her that I had painted her with sagging breasts, that is to say. And there was another one - a young English girl, whom I might well have responded to, if I had felt more certain of my own identity. A Japanese girl too. In retrospect I can see how they were all offering me their friendship, but I simply didn't feel assured enough of my own identity to behave naturally in these circumstances. Nor did I dare risk the potential inadequacy in attempting to play the traditional role for a male in self-assertive flirtation. I kept myself intensely withdrawn into myself, whilst I got on with the business of painting.

After I had moved to the Academie Julien, the young English model and the Japanese girl, on separate occasions, actually came over to the Rue du Dragon to seek me out. They came up to say hello, awaiting the invitation to go and have a coffee break with them. Both of them were attractive. But the feeling in my head was that I just couldn't cope with it. I was almost gruff with each of them, and quickly buried myself in my work. In retrospect I can see how each situation might have evolved very differently, if I'd had a wider experience at the time of handling sexual opportunities. Such memories have to be written off within a void of experience which never came to pass.

Associations of a different kind would have been all too easy for me to have developed. I hadn't been at the Academie Julien for long before an Englishman in his forties - a dentist with a twitchy expression, whom I perceived clearly enough to be lusting (nervously) after my body - to engage me in conversation over successive rest periods, finally persuading me to come out with him for a drink one evening. He made it with me as far as that - but no further. My coolness of demeanour was discouraging, no doubt. But it was a sad truth about my life at this time that I would have been a far more successful homosexual, than heterosexual debauchee - if the inclination had been present. As it was, I felt excruciatingly embarrassed over the duration of our outing, that I might be observed by someone who knew us, and that my reputation thereafter would be sullied.

I also reveal in a letter to Henry that I had fears of being taken on as a toy-boy of some description. But I was rather more ready to write home about her, than about the homosexual dentist.

There is an awful old American lady who paints at the same atelier. She keeps on coming up to admire my paintings. Then she tells me that she likes me because I am such a nice quiet type! In short, I dread that she is trying to acquire me as her gigolo.

There was in fact quite a large Anglo-Saxon group at the Academie Julien. There were American ex-servicemen studying art in Paris on governmental grants, and there were some young English students too. It is really curious how I was never sufficiently at ease in their company for us to make friends. I can remember hearing one of these girls discussing me with an American student - not quite softly enough to escape my hearing. "He won't pay any attention to me," she was saying. "I guess it's because you're not sufficiently melancholic," he replied. So I think it's evident that I did give people this impression of intense melancholia. But as I see it, this was more a question of me hiding behind the barrier of silence which I had created for myself. I had absorbed myself in the task of painting, and I didn't want to step out as anyone's friend until I could feel that I had established myself with universal respect in that field.

When I had been out in Germany, there had always been the visits to Cobbler's Alley to relieve myself from further sexual desire. But I was never quite sure where such a place might exist, here in Paris. There were a number of occasions when I commented darkly to the [A] family, after dinner, that I was just going out for a stroll. And I realized how my sexual intent was ill concealed. But in the event I never enlarged upon my previous experience in such matters. I was now inhibited against the thought of taking a prostitute to bed with me, by some thought in my mind that I had by now evolved beyond the need to pay for sex. But there was little satisfaction in taking such a stand when I wasn't actually managing to get sex for free. That was my intent however, as I went prowling round the streets of Clichy and Pigalle, glancing in at bars to see if any young woman appeared to be unescorted, and with similar intent to my own.

The truth of the matter is that my nerve was still not up to it. I can remember actually seeing an attractive young girl, sitting alone and unattended in a bar. She even looked up at me encouragingly. Then I panicked. I didn't have the self-confidence to go up and say something to her. I left the bar without even looking back at her a second time, excusing myself on the grounds that I ought to make a further exploration of the vicinity before returning to this bar. And by the time that I did return, she was of course no longer there. Secretly I felt relieved.

Then there was an occasion when I got myself into a situation when I was almost picked up by a man. I was standing on the central pavement which separates the two lanes of traffic between Clichy and Pigalle - standing still because I was uncertain which direction to take. A man approached me and asked if I had a light for his cigarette. I obliged. Then he asked me to come to a cinema with him. Only then did I comprehend the sexual nature of his intent, and said: "Mais pourquoi?" The man walked off swearing at me in French.

It was probably this episode more than any other which persuaded me that I wasn't really cut out for these night-time prowls. I had already reverted to masturbation during the latter part of my time in Germany. And I now renewed the habit while I was out here in Paris - to keep the unassuaged desire for sex within comfortable limits. On such occasions, I could feast my erotic imagination upon my memory of [X]'s delectable body - even if it had yet to be seen naked by my eyes.

I had in fact adhered to my intention of not writing to [X] until a full month had elapsed. When I did write - which was in time for her birthday in early March - it was like an explosion of suppressed joy. I wish that the letters that I wrote to her had been preserved. But I have recently discovered that they were not. I believe that they were good letters for a young man of that age - full of effervescent joie de vivre, such as was sadly lacking from my real life. I availed myself of this opportunity of courting [X] through the art of letter-writing, and it may well have made a greater impression on her than if I had been wooing her face to face. There are quite a number of occasions when [X] commented, in her replies, upon my literary prowess.

Another factor which enhanced my chances with her was that [X] had just recently gone down with glandular fever. That information was imparted to me in her first letter. There is always the possibility that she had caught it from myself, although I had been passed as fit before we were actually kissing for the first time. I think there had been quite some outbreak of the disease that year, around Britain. But it must have had the effect of keeping her at home during weeks when she would have had ample opportunity of developing that other relationship - with [M] - if not a liaison with someone else. Indeed the source of the infection may possibly have been indicated in that first letter she wrote me.

There was nothing to make me suppose that there was any threat to our own relationship. It was only later, after my return to England, that I heard how there was more in this episode than [X] had seen fit to disclose. I expect she had forgotten precisely about what she had written to me, for I then learnt how she hated [C] because he went round telling everyone that she had permitted him to kiss her. Apparently he and Nicky Gordon-Lennox were competing against each other to see who could score the greatest number of points for seduction over the course of that term - with one point for kissing, two points for breast-fondling, three points for genital stimulation, and a maximum of five points for a fully-fledged copulation. [C] had put down a claim for one (or two?) points; and the following morning Gordon-Lennox had teased [X] about it, in order to check that the points had been genuinely earned. But when I myself was to ask her if she had really allowed him to kiss her, she took great delight in accusing me of jealousy - without ever answering my question.

If [X] was only marginally being true to me in her fashion, my own conduct was now hardly any better. The improvement in my sexual status came at the Sorbonne, rather than at the Academie Julien. I have already mentioned how I was attending Le Cours de Civilisation Française each morning on the supposition that this would practise my ear to the French spoken word, whilst gleaning some useful background information about France. The lectures were held in the spacious Salle Richelieu, with four large gallery sections placed in the upper story of the auditorium. It was from a seat up there, in one of the gallery sections, that I surveyed the scene in the stalls below me, taking as much interest in the students themselves as in the theme which some professor might be expounding for our benefit.

It was in this fashion that I found myself developing a special line of personality projection, which suited my present line of introverted intensity. I didn't have to go up and make conversation with anyone. I just sat there with my head slightly lowered, fixing my thoughts upon this or that attractive girl, while imagining that we were coming together in spirit - or simply becoming aware of one another. And of course, if you sit like that for long enough, then the awareness does become mutual. Ideas about telepathy formulate as a wishful explanation, which all serves to heighten the enjoyment of the game.

I know that I believed that I was becoming highly telepathic. And as the weeks went by, it seemed quite evident that I had opened up a whole network of such lines of communication. My excitement in the presence of certain girls was stimulated to an even higher pitch by the realization that I was arousing (as I imagined) a reciprocal excitement in themselves. And all of this was taking place without any words being openly exchanged.

In the light of our awareness of one another, it might have been anticipated that I would then avail myself of any opportunity which presented itself to go up and talk to one of these girls. I am confident that they would have been responsive to me. Yet such was the nature of my inhibition against risking such personal introduction, that I continued to remain aloof; and in doing so, perhaps enhanced the excitement on their side.

Not all of the girls appreciated my telepathic attentions. I might make mention of one in particular, who was to be identified to me subsequently as Sarah Wignall. I never heard her speaking, but I knew for sure that she was English from her demeanour and the way in which she walked. It was a new discovery that I could find out such information without actually approaching them. But she gave me some cross glances whenever my eyes strayed off course to hers, and I learnt to avert my eyes elsewhere.

And I soon discovered that I was getting sought out by some English girls who had in fact recognized me. It turned out that Nick Buckley, who had been at Eton with me, and who had joined the Life Guards in the Brigade Squad six months after my own, had a sister called Jill who was here attending the same course as myself. Nick had even suggested that she look out for me in Paris, which led to her coming up to introduce herself - after which she followed me up to my seat in the gallery to sit beside me, where she was subsequently joined by the group of girls who were at the same finishing school as herself - four of them in all. And the spot where I was sitting in the lecture hall began to resemble a private harem - which enhanced my romantic image even further.

It was Jill who persuaded me that the social life of the English group in Paris revolved around their attendance each Sunday at the British embassy's chapel services. So I decided to put in some appearances there so as to see for myself. And I signed the visitors' book at the embassy at the same time - which led to me receiving a letter from the Ambassadress, Lady Diana Cooper, who was a good friend of my mother's. In fact Diana had been something like the life-style model which Daphne had taken for herself, at the time when she was first emerging into society as a debutante. So it didn't come as too big a surprise to me when I found myself in receipt of an invitation for a week-end visit to their chateau at Chantilly, which was officially on loan to them from the French government.

Other guests at this week-end were [Z] and Anabelle York, no doubt carefully selected for me as of suitably marital material. For it came as second nature to the likes of Lady Diana to be matching young couples together for their subsequent voyage through life. I took a liking to both of these girls, and would acquaint myself far better with at least one of them at a later date. So it is perhaps curious that, at this stage, I never got round to taking their telephone numbers for social dating. It is all indicative perhaps, that I didn't really regard myself as being still available; or not to someone other than [X] from the London social scene.

The British embassy chapel services were indeed full of potential encounter. Camilla Crawley (Sarah's sister) was amongst those with whom I chatted in the street outside, along with her friend Claire Baring; and this too led to me receiving an occasional invitation to Sunday lunch with the de Castignac family where they were paying guests. I even flirted mildly with Camilla. And I was told that Sarah too would be coming out soon on a quick visit to Paris - causing me to wonder if there might be any intention in her head of taking up a romantic liaison once again with myself.

I wasn't left much wiser even after Sarah's brief visit. I was invited over to dinner by the de Castignac family, with a plan for me to take Sarah on afterwards, to one of the small night-clubs on the Left Bank. I was dressed to that end in my usual attire of scruffy grey flannels and sports' jacket. And Sarah rushed off upstairs to put on something which she regarded as appropriately similar. But the outfit which she had carefully selected for herself, when back in London - a pair of jeans which were of a delicate pink shade - was far too chic for mingling unnoticed with the crowd of existentialist students on the Left Bank. It should be noted that the extrovert side to my personality was much in abeyance over this period. I told her that I certainly wasn't going to escort her anywhere - dressed like that. So she promptly changed into jeans of a more sober colour. We spent an agreeable evening together at the Metro Jazz, after riding tandem round Paris for a while, on my Velosolex. Later we went down to sit beside the river, where I kissed her and probed to see if she wanted to take things any further. But she was gently resisting me. I didn't really know where I stood with her nowadays - so I dropped her back home. She was returning to London the following day.

There was another evening that I spent sampling a variety of Parisian dance halls, and this was in the company of Camilla. Nicky Gage - a school friend from Eton times - was then on a visit, and he was accompanied that evening by [D]. They were a younger couple than ourselves, and we were both somewhat put out by the advanced scale of their overt courtship. Neither Camilla nor I had much personal inclination to follow suit, so we were left looking like a couple of intruding chaperones on the side lines. It was indeed brought home to me that evening that I was getting far surpassed in sexual adventure by those who had emerged from school even more recently than myself.

This notion that I was immature in my sexual outlook was brought home to me on two other occasions when I was invited out to dinner, to find the girls I was remeeting had now outstripped me in sophistication. [T] - a cousin of [X]'s - was now engaged and living here in Paris. On dining with her and her fiancé I felt as if they now belonged to a senior generation. And there was an occasion when Camilla invited me to escort her to dinner with the Hoyer-Millers, and their daughter Liz was there. But Liz made it quite evident to all present that she now regarded me as being tiresomely juvenile, barely making even a minimal effort to converse with me at their dining table. I was aware that there was some urgency in my need to develop in this field.

Meanwhile [X] had been recovering from her glandular fever, and during the course of her illness, her desire to see me appears to have augmented. A plan to come out on a secret visit to Paris was now being hatched - with the assistance of [F], who delighted vicariously in the sexual exploits of her friends. The plan was to wait until [X]'s parents were up in Scotland, and then tell them that they were going to spend the week-end with a specific girl-friend. But complications arose when [X] was unable to find her passport. And she was still under the age when she might have applied for a new one of her own accord.

It may only be a coincidence, but [X]'s decision to abandon the idea of coming out to Paris was taken the same week-end that she re-met [M] - for the first time since I had walked off with her at Henrietta's birthday party. It was an event which took place at a cocktail party given by Caroline Poole's mother. In her letter, [X] only makes casual mention of it, stating that their "strained relationship is now amicable." She also mentions how she was accused of getting drunk by her hostess - which gives me to suppose that she was patching things up with [M] rather better than her letter conveys.

But there is little justification for me registering any complaint about her treating me false, since my own behaviour at the Sorbonne was now falling short of total fidelity. It pleased me to think that there were quite a number of attractive young girls down there in the stalls, who were endeavouring almost, but not precisely, to catch my eye in response to my own display of that kind. But there was one in particular who seemed far more beautiful than the rest - with an elegantly graceful body, an olive complexion and with her long brown hair flowing freely down her back. She had only recently come to join the course, but I was fully confident that she was now aware of me. But on reaching the conclusion that I evidently wasn't going to seek her out for an introduction, she took the original step of shifting her regular seat from the stalls, to the section of the gallery just beyond my own - so that we found ourselves quite naturally, at the end of any lecture, coming down the stair-well from the gallery at approximately the same time. And on finding myself in such proximity to her, it seemed only natural that I should smile and ask her what nationality she might be - after which we went to have a coffee together at the Café Dupont.

It was evident that Lita must come from a well-to-do family, without being ostentatiously rich. For my own part, I was dressed in paint-smeared grey flannels, and I said nothing to disillusion her from the idea that I might be some truly impoverished art-student. As such, I had her interest - arousing her concern no doubt, as to the degree of deprivation that I might have suffered in life. She also informed me that it was a superstition of hers that all the most wonderful things in her life had taken place on the ninth of some month. And this was the 9th of May! I took mental note of her superstition, while being careful never to make direct mention of it again.

Then came the question of where we should sit when returning to the Sally Richelieu after the coffee-break. I realized how she was too proud to be seen joining in with the group which I regarded as my private harem. So I judged that it would be tactically advisable for me to go and sit with her - just for the rest of that morning. And I was aware how, in the eyes of all the others, her moment of triumph didn't pass unnoticed. There was even a splutter of laughter, or two, from the groups of girls who had been playing the telepathy game with me - even a gesture in her direction from one of them, which might have been intended to signify: "Hats off to you, Mademoiselle!" But I could see that the girls in my own private harem were looking just a trifle peeved.

On subsequent days I usually returned to my former seat, because I had no wish to appear disloyal to my established circle of friends. But in any case the door to a developing romance with Lita had now been opened. I remained in the habit of pairing up with Lita in the coffee breaks, and I suddenly found that she had become acquainted with two of the girls with whom I had been playing the telepathy game. These were Martha, who also came from Argentina, and June, an American girl from Boston. I never learnt precisely how it was that they now came to be acquainted, but I always imagined that the linkage had originated in myself. They did sometimes come to sit within my own section of the gallery, but they really formed a second group of their own, with Lita as the nucleus. But there was still a sense in which I could feel that my harem was expanding.

The sense of romance began to take root in my relationship with Lita. It could hardly be said that I was at ease in her company. I was too self-absorbed and earnest for that. When we talked - sometimes in French, and sometimes in English - it was in an endeavour to bridge what we both imagined to be the vast gulf between our respective backgrounds. We touched upon the question of values in life, while trying to divine the nature of this other individual with whom we were conversing. I sensed with awe that she fitted within that widely travelled international group, whose cultural background was far more appreciative of the arts than my own.

She knew about opera, and who were the rising names in abstract art. While greatly interested in such matters, I realized how the briefest of conversations might wrong-foot me in my relative ignorance. But I could, and did, play the card of showing to her some of my own recent paintings at the Academie Julien. And I was gratified that these quite evidently impressed her. She perceived that they were no average product from a Parisian art school of that day, but something with an individualism apparent to her eye. And this enhanced the idea that I could be interesting for her to know.

Being English certainly wasn't something that she held to my advantage. She admitted to having no special liking for my countrymen, finding them cold and unfriendly. The idea that we were philistine too, was dangerously close to her thoughts, and she identified France and the Latin world in general as the true source of all artistic culture, as far as Europe might be concerned. But I was the first young Englishman with whom she had found any opportunity to converse - being a mere seventeen years old herself. And my own lack of acquaintance with any people from South America meant that there were mutual fields for exploration within each other's attitudes and outlook.

The importance to her of her Catholic faith was something which she had stressed to me from the very start. She stated this almost as a warning that I'd be well-advised to tread cautiously if I was thinking of developing on the theme of my own agnosticism, such as I'd already admitted to her. So it was an area which I left untouched. Nor did she share any of my own incipient doubts concerning the justification for wealth - or in particular for its display. The practice of charitable benevolence could be a sufficient justification, in compensation for any inequalities in the divine distribution of resources. There was a whole area where I knew her to be defensive on such an issue.

Then came an evening when I had been invited by Camilla, to accompany her to one of the big society balls that year in Paris. This was the first time that I had seen her since my friendship had started developing with Lita. And not with the greatest tact I daresay, while dancing with her, I was enthusing to her about this exciting young Argentinean beauty that I'd met at the Sorbonne when - lo and behold! - there she was in person, waltzing round the ballroom just a few yards distant from ourselves. Both Lita and myself cried out in mutual astonishment, although it may have been greater on her side than on mine. For she had never surmised that I might come from a background where I might mingle socially in the same affluent circles as herself.

This encounter had amused her, as much as stimulating her desire to find out more about me. And she arrived triumphantly at the Sorbonne a few days later to enquire if my parents were called Henry and Daphne. And on confirming that this was so, she declared that my disguise had been penetrated: that friends of hers from Argentina had identified my family. And what surprised her in particular was the way in which I had portrayed my father to her as being an oppressive influence on me, and a martinet for discipline. Her friend had assured her that this was nonsense, and that Henry was one of the most charming figures in English society. Well it may be that my judgement was then held in some doubt, but these revelations had served to draw us closer together in some measure.

So it was in this atmosphere, and with Spring now in full flush, both in terms of the sunshine and the verdant foliage, that the romantic aura which hung over my relationship with Lita now heightened. It might be said that I was in love with her - without so much as the experience of a first kiss. The differences between us remained in their own way inhibiting. And I was far too cautious to put such progress as I had achieved at risk by any inopportune display of inner lust. But I thrilled at her presence in all aspects which it opened up to me for flirtation with elements of the world unknown.

My hands caress the gossamer glass tresses
of a brand new bejewelled ornament,
which rests in a scented nest - an object to peer at
and revere, while fearing it'll break at my clutching touch.
Taking a look from a high window, a winter
garden lies itching at the brink of Spring,
and tingling into floral life, it fascinates
my dilating eye with exquisite secret patterns.
Statue-still, I watch the movement of a plumage-
blooming bird of paradise, marital-minded
in finding adept steps in its ritual dance -
then prancing to wing, perhaps gone forever.
I thrill to what I might - but do not - dare,
while balancing 'twixt ardour and despair.

It seems that I became negligent in writing home during these weeks that I was drooling over Lita. I refer to the subject in my letter to Henry of 23rd May 1953.

I didn't feel any real sense that I was being unfaithful to [X] in this flirtation with Lita. I had after all stopped short of even attempting to kiss her - for whatever reason that may have been. I have no means of checking whether I made any mention of the flirtation in my letters to [X]. But in any case there was some hint in her replies that she was indulging in some romantic evenings of her own with [E].

I don't think [X] had the opportunity to develop this relationship into a romance in that, shortly after this date, [E] departed on a voyage round the world.

In her last letter before my return to Britain for the Coronation of the Queen, [X] was broaching plans for a week-end together at Stowell Park, on [F]'s invitation. But the tone she adopts strikes me now as being curiously devious - almost as if she's trying to say that she was being pushed into the issue of such an invitation against her better judgement.

These were now my last few days before returning to Britain, when I received a surprise visit from Bendor Drummond, who had just been demobilized from the Life Guards. He was driving through Paris, so came to look me up - inquisitive to see for himself what I might be getting up to in this romantic centre to our Western civilization. It was not without shame that I had to admit to him that I was living here without any consummated love affair to reveal to him. But I was glad to be able to inform him how I was indeed experiencing romance - at long last in my life. It did incidentally strike my notice that Bendor's sexual attitudes appeared, almost in caricature, to be typical of someone from my former background, which now appeared immature in outlook, despite all his assumed veneer of sophistication.

The way in which he accompanied me to the Academie Julien to feast his eyes upon the nude models involved behaviour which I felt myself to have left behind. So too was the flashiness of his sartorial display - with silk handkerchief lolling from the breast pocket of his Guards' boating-jacket. I found that I was deeply embarrassed to have him sitting beside me, up in the gallery at the Sorbonne - anticipating that he would have an instant success that might rival my own. Such behaviour was too close for comfort to the image which I had all too recently shed. But the distance which I had now departed from it, gave rise to hope that I might evolve indefinitely - until I had found my own more relaxed, and natural relationship with female company.

Bendor was of the greatest assistance to me in one way however, since I had been worrying how I might transport the large number of canvasses which I had painted over these four months - at a rate which sometimes had risen to two per day - back home to England. They were still on their stretchers, so the problem seemed quite considerable. And it was with some reluctance that Bendor agreed to load them as freight into his car. So a few days later, I was then free to make my own return journey by plane. This was on May 26th.

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