When in Bath on Wednesday, Dad took us all to `The Hole in the Wall' for dinner, and I was most embarrassed to find that Col and Mrs [X] were sitting at a table nearby - without [X], thank goodness. They were too close for me to ignore their presence, so I went over to give them a polite greeting. I didn't feel that it would be appropriate for me to apologize for not turning up to their party, and I think we were all just a shade embarrassed by the encounter. I noted incidentally that they held themselves entirely in reserve from acknowledging the presence of Dad and Virginia - with the reverse also being true.

I had spent the afternoon wandering round the shops in Bath with Christopher, looking for something that he might want for his 21st birthday. He picked upon a trumpet, which he currently thinks he might learn to play. And well he might - although it's going to require much practice to master the technique. And I don't seem to remember that hard work has ever been Christopher's forte.

In that the feeling was now quite amicable between us, I thought I'd take the opportunity to probe into his intentions with regard to [Y]. [Y] had mentioned almost casually to me that Chris had suggested that she and her brother join the party that Garech is holding at Luggala over Easter. But I don't see why Chris should make it his business to be inviting [Y] - especially in that no effort had been made to get myself included within the Luggala party. He ought at least to have discussed the matter with me first. So this prompted me to ask him direct if it was true that he had invited her. He looked quite taken aback when I asked, and then had the temerity to declare that it had been as a joke, which he found she had taken seriously.

Then at dinner, I noted how he was taking a far more aggressive stance when the subject of Luggala cropped up. He was talking quite deliberately for the benefit of Dad and Virginia, from an angle which seemed to imply that [Y] was more his girlfriend than mine; and I could see how Dad is privately amused at the way Chris is standing up to me like this. It may go deeper than this in that the line taken by Chris is adopted as the one to take at Job's Mill - established no doubt within conversations where I have not been present. And there is little that I can say to put them right on the matter.

I think they do regard [Y] as being more his friend than mine - a viewpoint which is beginning to have more substance in that he has accompanied her to so many of these communal parties, which I myself have been declining. And the fact of him being such a good friend of her brother's opens a door to him for visits which are not open to myself. But then [Y] herself assures me that she regards him as her brother's friend, rather more than her own.

The weakness in my position is that I cannot know for sure that I am taking the correct line over the way [Y] herself feels. She could just be playing games with me - or with both of us for that matter. So anyone who gets involved with her might make such a terrible fool of himself, if we give her half a chance. But I am embarrassed by this situation of wondering whether it is he, or I, who knows more of what might be going on in [Y]'s mind. And I'm embarrassed by not knowing just how far he might hope to pitch the rivalry. But if he's really trying to come between [Y] and myself, then I can't help regarding him as a little shit. At the same time, I know that the fault is partly mine for not having taken more active steps in following up my initial successes with [Y], in a manner that would have left no possible doubt in anyone's mind as to which of us should be regarded as her boyfriend.

Anyway after that trip to Bath, I decided that I had best take a few active steps to rearrange the track on which our courses have been moving of late. Caroline P had just written to me, so when I answered this letter I added a paragraph to say that no one could blame me if I was hardening my heart against my little brother, since he was now quite openly stating that [Y] was his girlfriend. And I told her how he had invited her to go out to Luggala with him. In fact I think I shall try to put the word out more generally amongst my friends what Christopher has been up to. I've got to nip this kind of behaviour in the bud.

It would rather seem that my letter to Caroline may have produced the reaction I desired. In any case on the morning that I calculate that Caroline received it, and allowing time for her to have phoned [Y] on the subject, Chris received a telegram from [Y] to say that she couldn't go to Ireland after all. I might have hoped that this would mark an end to his challenge, but it doesn't look as if it's going to be so. I note that he is continually coming out with cocky remarks, touching upon his friendship with [Y]. So it gives me cause to wonder if she is still giving him encouragement of which I am unaware. Have they exchanged telephone calls for example?

Anyway, I now received a letter from Mum to say that Oonagh had invited all of us (and not just Christopher) to come to Luggala over Easter - and that the invitation was open to girlfriends if we so chose. So that has put it into my head to see if I can bring off a diplomatic triumph over Christopher by writing to [Y] to see if she would change her mind, on receiving the invitation from my hand, rather than from his. So I've now posted such a letter to [Y], and I wait to hear if it works. And if she does come to Luggala, then I must see that Chris gets it firmly lodged in his head that she's my girl, rather than his.

It could be that I'm making a wrong move however. I'm pushing [Y] to be the arbiter between us at a point in time when she's feeling a bit sore at me - due to the lack of appreciation I showed for the last letter she wrote me. This was indicated by the curt little note - it was just "With thanks - [Y]" - which accompanied the books I had lent her, and which she returned to me just before I came home for the vacation. And she must also be aware that an acceptance of my invitation will come as a bit of a snub to Christopher, in a fashion that (if she has his interests at heart) she might wish to avoid. So I am by no means confident that she is going to accept. We'll see!

On Wednesday I was forced to conclude that I've made one hell of a fool of myself. I find that Christopher has routed me! We were sitting alone in the drawing room at Job's Mill, and I could see that he was fidgeting as how best he should broach the subject on his mind. Eventually he said: "Doesn't [Y] write serious letters!" I knew precisely what would follow if I let him continue. He was going to tell me how she had answered my invitation by passing a message to me through a letter to himself, and I wasn't going to take it from him. I just buried my head in a newspaper, looking quite grim I daresay. In any case the message seemed to get through to Chris that he had best shut up.

I must confess to feeling really sore, and utterly bewildered by the game [Y] is playing. I still cannot believe that she regards him as her boyfriend. It must surely be that she wants to put me in my place, in riposte for the letter I sent her. And I'm offended. Indeed to start with, it was more like an inner fury that I felt. But I have realized how it would be playing into her hands to let her observe that I was so upset. For hitherto I have been at pains to give her the impression that I am none too vulnerable, emotionally, from whatever tactics she might choose to employ. So I would be giving myself away. I expect that I shall be trying to avoid any meeting with her for a while. But when we do meet, I must make an effort to be agreeable - if cool. Otherwise she will see that she has wounded me. But the truth of the matter is that she has now placed a real damper upon the development of our relationship.

As for Christopher, perhaps I ought to wait and see how he now intends to behave. It's possible that the message has got through to him that his conduct is out of order. It's poaching! Or it may be in his head to press an advantage - at the cost of our lasting friendship. I'm not clear yet which way his choice will go. But my guess is that he'll quieten down for a while until the [Y] family offer him some further opportunity of their own creation.

Tonight Thursday, we were all playing Scrabble after dinner. And this led on to some jiving practice with Georgia. I feel obliged to admit that Chris jives better than I do. And it all adds up to the conclusion that he is emerging as a better ladies' man than myself. But I need to take him to task on this sexual rivalry business, before it goes to his head. I need to make him see that I can hold my own in this game. Otherwise he's going to feel emboldened, and his behaviour will get worse. He knows that I'm displeased all right. But what I need to find out is whether my displeasure is sufficient to dissuade him from further encroachments upon my territory.

It's time that I had a general review of my love life - or the lack of it. For I currently find myself at a loose end. My affair with [X] may be temporarily off, and I do still feel a genuine hatred for the face she showed me in front of Fiona Douglas-Home. But I know only too well that, if she took it into her head to win me back again, she would succeed. And sometime, sooner or later, I feel this is bound to happen - although the move would have to come from her, rather than from myself. And I might well have to wait a long time for that to occur. Nor do I feel that it would end in a happy marriage. In fact I might anticipate eventual divorce.

As for [Y], the prospects are far more difficult to judge. It could be that the affair is already over, but I have my doubts about that. I could make a better assessment after our next encounter perhaps. But I see how she's capable of hurting me. And that's dangerous. Even if our relationship really took flight however, I can hardly envisage it leading to a happy marriage. I don't think she's sensitive enough to the way she does in fact make men suffer.

I am beginning to feel that I'm just not cut out for a happy marriage. I'm not of the right material. Yet I refuse to give up on that issue. I still feel that, somewhere, there must be the right woman whose mind really does tick along at the same pace as mine, and with similar values and aspirations. There's a loyalty element upon which I deeply desire to depend. I need a woman with a like mind who can back me to the hilt against all aggression and disbelief. And I think I could live happily with such a woman. Unfortunately I'm beginning to despair that I'm ever going to find her. It's possible that I'm going to feel time and time again that the women I meet simply don't match up to the ideal in my heart. So I am doomed to love affairs which always end unhappily. And when I get thinking like this, I slip ever deeper into a depression. I even feel twinges of misogyny. But in the light of my current rejection by women, I suppose this just amounts to sour grapes!

The only relationship which bears any promise at the moment is that with [Z]. But could I really cope with [Z]? I fear that she makes me feel too much of a beginner in this sex game - not that I've had much success with her personally. But I don't feel happy about a position when it's really up to her to show me the ropes. I can't really hope that we progress in the direction of a marital relationship.

But it's no bad thing that I don't wish to become emotionally entangled for the time being. I am hoping that I get a spell of indulging in free love quite extensively, just after going down from Oxford. And if my plans remain unchanged, this will be in Paris. But in the meantime I'm already hoping to set up a potential engagement somewhere, to which I might always return once things get too hot for me in Paris. It begins to look however, as if I won't actually succeed in creating any such cosy relationship while I'm still here at Oxford.

On Tuesday I received a letter from [Y], and at last the confusions are beginning to get sorted out. It seems that [Y] has been skiing out in Austria for some time, which accounts for the various delays and lapses in communication. She has this to say about sending me an answer to my invitation via Christopher. "I am sorry I only sent a message in reply to your asking me to stay, but I did not receive your letter until Friday - and this seemed to be the quickest way of answering it." The manner she chose of sending a reply was hardly tactful, but I'm glad she has now seen fit to explain herself.

But it would seem that the telegram which was sent to Christopher, and signed [Y], must in fact have been sent by Caroline P - taking a personal initiative to prevent [Y] from stirring up so much trouble. Then I suspect that she wrote to [Y], telling her to write to Chris giving him a more tactful explanation of why she wouldn't be coming to Luggala - appending that message to myself. Only then did she apply herself to the task of answering my own (previous) letter at greater length, having been informed by Caroline (as I suspect) that I'd taken offence, and that my feelings required mollification.

[Y]'s letters certainly don't make easy reading. I get the general drift of what she is attempting to say, because it all relates to recent conversations. But it requires the mental effort of translation before what she writes can really be understood. She went over much the same ground as before, concerning love and friendship, while indicating that she still regards my own attitude as being too greatly concerned with tactics, rather than the depth of the relationship itself. She also has some cautionary comments to make upon my use of ideals, quoting some Ibsen character as warning another not to be led by "an idealistic nose", away from where true happiness might lie. It may be that she is accusing me of doing just this. But on the whole I take her letter as being an encouraging statement - after I had resigned myself to fearing that all was lost.

Then at lunch time, I was amazed to receive a telephone call from her - to say that she had just returned from Austria. She tells me that there is little chance of her being allowed to accompany me to Luggala, incidentally. But she was inviting me to come up to London for a dinner party on Thursday. And I accepted. Then to my fury she said that Chris would be coming too. But I didn't reverse my decision.

After ringing off, I noticed there was a note for Chris in Dad's handwriting beside the telephone, asking him to ring [Y]. This came as another slap to me, for it implied that [Y] had initially been trying to get through to Chris, rather than to myself. (He had been away on a visit somewhere.) The priority she gave was unsettling, but there was a possible alternative interpretation - like the fact that I still do not have my own telephone at Longleat, and she may not even have the caretaker's number. But I would have preferred it if the message which Dad took had been for myself, rather than for Chris. I'm not clear if [Y] perceives what havoc she creates within my own family relationships by indicating to Dad that she possibly gives priority to Chris in her communications. It's inconsiderate.

So I'm now in the position of having accepted what I must regard as a highly dubious invitation. [Y] made such a fool of me the last time that I motored all the way up to London, on the supposition that she was going to regale and delight me. And even more is at stake this time, since it could be that she plans to humiliate me by showing her favours to Chris rather than to myself. It's a risk that I've got to take. But the timing is awkward - with Christopher's 21st birthday, and the Luggala invitation, just ahead of us. It is no time for brewing up any manner of fratricidal row!

On Thursday I went up to London, as planned. It was a mistake to have taken the car, as the Easter traffic turned out to be quite intolerable. The Great West Road was solid with cars, so that the journey took over four hours.

I went round to dinner at [Y]'s flat to find a rather strained company - my own reason for feeling that way being that Christopher was already there before I arrived. (For how long, I have no idea.) What is more, it was soon revealed that he has invited [Y] and her brother to stay for the weekend of the Pembrokes' dance - which irked me considerably. Well, it would be natural for him to invite [Y]'s brother as his own friend, but he should at least have consulted me before inviting [Y], whom he should by now recognize as being my girlfriend. But he keeps nipping in to take advantage when my back is turned, which is an instance of how he constantly breaks the rules of fraternal conduct such as I might hope that he'd recognize.

On the other hand, it did seem that [Y] was now making a conscious effort to woo me rather than him. Nothing too extrovert of course! Then Trevor Dawson arrived, and we all went along in a group together to The Glass Bucket - where it seems that [Y]'s brother is now having an affair with the cigarette-girl. I noticed how Chris was putting in another of his sneaky challenges by suggesting to [Y] that she accept a lift in his own car, so I found it encouraging when she climbed instead into mine.

At the nightclub things didn't work out quite so well for me. [Y] had invited rather more men than women in her party, so I spent much of the time sitting there on my own and feeling bored. In fact I nearly chucked in my hand at one point to go home, but I decided that might be a mistaken tactic. So I stuck it out, and am thankful that I did so.

I was delighted to note incidentally, that Chris was making no effort to take [Y] up on the dance floor. It occurred to me that she must have indicated to him that such behaviour would be undiplomatic. I glimpsed Christopher at his party best when he fell out with the club's chief hostess. The two of them were stoking up the sarcastic backchat, while addressing each other as Darling the whole time. Chris can hold his own in that field. There's an underlying wit which bubbles to the surface in such exchanges - fuelled by the champagne no doubt. There was no profundity about it, but there's an art in such rapid verbal retort. Chris has the skill to cultivate that art, whereas I do not!

[Y]'s brother as usual declined to pay a single penny towards the final bill. It astounds me. He's one of the meanest young men alive. Or can it really be that Lord Ancaster furnishes him with such a paltry allowance? I daresay it's just that he overspends that allowance, and then seeks to economise wherever he feels that he can get away with it. But it's arrogant of him to inflict such compensatory expenditure upon his friends, without first warning them that they'll be paying his share of any bill. This marks another area where I suspect that [Y] herself does not recognize the same values as my own.

The party finally broke up around 04.30 hrs, and we all trooped downstairs to find ourselves taxis. But [Y] climbed into my car and I drove her home. I was expecting her to say good night immediately, but she lingered on - so I enquired if she'd like to come back to Caroline's house for a drink. She said yes, so off we went.

Once we were installed upon the sofa in the drawing room, we began to kiss - which soon led on to her agreeing to come up to bed with me. And for once she gave me the impression that she was enjoying herself - even prolonging the session for an additional half hour after I'd said it was time for her to be leaving. Indeed, it was so late when she finally bestirred herself that I was scared that we might find David having his breakfast downstairs when we finally took our leave. But all was well.

[Y] gives the impression of being really sweet-natured at times, although there's a hard core within her which I basically beware. I talked to her about Christopher, but she would have it that there is nothing for me to worry about - that she only thinks of him as a friend, no matter how romantically he may regard her. But I could see that it tickles her vanity that the two brothers should be falling out over her - even if she does claim to be perturbed. This is an aspect of her which I don't find attractive. And I think she glosses over the fact that she must have been giving him encouragement.

I made a point of inviting [Y] (without her brother) to come and stay at Job's Mill for the weekend after we all come back from Luggala, and she has accepted. This is excellent. It will enable Dad and Virginia to register that she's my girlfriend, rather than Christopher's. And once this has been recognized, it will matter far less when Chris arranges for [Y] and her brother to be put up at Job's Mill for the dance at Wilton House.

As a consequence, the tension between Chris and myself has eased up considerably. I even gave him a lift down to Job's Mill. So my trip up to London proved to be well worth the effort involved. I am currently feeling high, and in effervescent spirit.

There is one point however which doesn't bode so well. [Y] tells me that the first letter that I wrote her has been stolen from a locked drawer. And she suspects her mother of searching her room for the key, and then reading all the letters I have sent her - keeping the first since it was perhaps the most incriminating. (I had mentioned something about [Y] coming to bed with me.) [Y] supposes that her mother will use it against her, as proof that she has been "misbehaving" with me - whenever such evidence might be required.

[Y] is not positive as yet that the letter has been stolen, but she thinks it has. But I find myself wondering if she judges her mother accurately. I haven't even met her, so I can't really say. But it would occur to me to suspect [Y]'s brother far more than Lady Ancaster. But [Y] never admits to any fault inher brother.

Perhaps I ought to say a few words upon that sibling relationship - because it strikes many of us as a bit incestuous. None of my Oxford friends are quite sure what to make of it. But they are certainly very close. I regard [Y]'s brother as an encumbrance within [Y]'s psychological outlook. There is a sense of sibling loyalty involved, which is wholly negative in its effect. Emotionally, they seem to feel closer to one another than within relationships that they find elsewhere. I'm not clear whether sex enters the picture in any way at all - unless it is indicated in those feelings of guilt with which [Y] views the whole subject of sexual intercourse. But I wouldn't find it difficult to suppose that he displays an unhealthy curiosity to hear absolutely everything about his sister's sex life. And if he felt that she was holding things back from him, then it wouldn't be out of character for him to search for the evidence within her most private letters.

On Monday, with the Easter celebrations at Job's Mill now complete, Dad arranged for Ivor Williams to drive us to Bristol airport for our flight to Dublin - our party consisting of myself, Val, Chris and a new girlfriend he has found, called Nicola Cayzer. Well she isn't exactly a girlfriend since he has only just met her, and I didn't notice any sign that they were becoming romantically involved. But I was delighted to see him thus paired with a girl to whom I might lay no claim.

On landing at Dublin, we found that no one was there to meet us. And when I tried to telephone Luggala, I found that the line was out of order. I began to fear that we'd come on the wrong day. But after a long wait, someone did arrive to collect us. And we were given to understand that this was the rhythm of life which we should learn to expect in Ireland - or in Eire to be more exact.

Mum and Xan were already at Luggala when we arrived, and there were quite a number of Oonagh's adult friends - the principal man in her life currently being Robert Kee. But I was really included within the junior crowd, which consisted of Garech's friends.

I didn't take a liking to Garech at the start. He's only about sixteen, but acts as if he were in his twenties - and forever picking arguments, as if prizing dispute for the reason of it being fashionable. But he was like a terrier with a bone in his mouth, shaking it around and never wanting to let go - then finally getting angry and starting to growl. It was all too competitive in some ways, and tiresome. But he was on his own territory, and expected others to defer.

For the first day he was wrangling chiefly with myself. But on the Tuesday he was trying to make Nicola feel uncomfortable - attacking her for her lack of taste in music, to a point when he was making her feel quite uncomfortable. So I was sticking up for her, and I think he realized that I was going to contend with him whatever the subject might be. So he made a gesture of peace, saying that it was such a pity we had started out on the wrong foot, and that perhaps we ought to make a fresh start. That sounded friendly enough, so I modified my own attitude as well. And from that point onwards, we got on rather better with one another - although there may still have been an element of what amounted to mutual distrust.

The atmosphere was then poisoned by the arrival of a chum of his from Bryanston called Michael Deakin. (Garech himself had just run away from Bryanston. In fact Mum tells me that he refuses to be sent to any manner of boarding school, and that Oonagh is letting him get away with it.) I have never met someone as young as Deakin, but so full to the brim of his own self-importance. Within the two days that were left to me, I developed a heartfelt loathing for him. So let me try and be more precise about what fuelled this antipathy.

Within the first few hours of meeting him, he had informed me how he had competed as an athlete at the White City; that he painted and could sell his paintings; that at the tender age of seventeen he was about to sit for a scholarship somewhere at Cambridge (his father being the Head of St Anthony's College, Oxford, incidentally); that he was writing to Radio Eirean to offer them his services to broadcast on a foreigner's impressions of Ireland; that he had ample experience of acting on the BBC; that he was an accomplished poet, theologian and psychologist; and that he prided himself on his knowledge of classical music and jazz.

He said all this with an expectation that the admiration would now start to glow in my eyes. Or it's possible that Garech had been urging him on the side to take me on, as a situation of interest for himself. But I had no intention of seeking to match Deakin's list of achievements. (I kept very quiet about any of my own.) But his own vaunted prowess in every field left me cold. I merely found him boastful and self-opinionated. And my attitude of diffidence must have irritated him, since he began trying to take issue with me within any conversation which cropped up. And a mutual dislike was now in evidence for all to see.

Life at Luggala thrives upon such intimate personal discord. Oonagh presides with almost mouse-like calm over a small isolated realm of her own creation, where her over-protected and sadly spoilt children squabble for positions of supremacy amid the intrigues and debauchery of her guests - beneath an umbrella of opulence and intellectual scintillation. And it troubled me to think that my irritations from this mere schoolboy were a delight to others, who could regard them as a small item upon the Luggala cabaret scene.

In that Deakin was aware of this situation as much as myself, I knew that he was proffering me subjects for public debate where he intended to excel, but I was frustrating him by declining to converse. And I suppose it's true that my attitude was becoming increasingly hostile towards him. Christopher, Val and myself had the misfortune of sharing the bachelors' dormitory with him, which may have caused him to feel that (being outnumbered) he should seize the initiative with an act of verbal aggression. But I found it quite astounding that he should turn to me at a moment when we were alone together, and give me a warning on how we should conduct ourselves in this dormitory. He said that he liked to sleep well at night, and he was quite prepared to make it his business to take on anyone who woke him up when coming to bed late - and that he didn't fight like an Etonian, but hit straight for the balls.

Never in my life have I met someone who was making such a deliberate effort to provoke me, and it left me speechless. Or rather I just looked at him coolly without any manner of reply. But I was seething inside at the sheer effrontery of the boy. And the opportunity came later to express some of the indignation that I felt when Christopher and myself were up in Garech's bedroom, and the subject of my antipathy for Deakin was raised - quite deliberately as I now suspect, and will explain later. Anyway I told Garech that I had never met someone so entirely objectionable in my entire life. I told him how I did just happen to have been the Army Officers' Welterweight Boxing Champion - and this little pipsqueak of a schoolboy comes and threatens to hit me in the balls if I don't let him have a good night's sleep!

Well Garech admitted that, in this incident, Deakin had been overplaying his hand - that he did frequently resort to bluffing, but that he was a talented individual if one can ignore the lapses in his social grace. But I took the line that I simply wasn't interested any longer, to discover if there were any more admirable sides to such a rebarbative personality. And we left the matter there - although it should be noted how Garech and myself were now becoming quite friendly, having found a subject about which we could agree. He even announced that he was beginning to like me. For my own part, I cannot quite digest the way Garech adopts an air of superior grandeur, which still gets on my nerves a bit. But I do see how there's quite a sympathetic side to him.

On Wednesday evening, a whole crowd of visitors from the Huston household turned up. Not John Huston who was filming somewhere, but his wife Ricky who is most attractive, and a pretty Italian girl called Sybilla Tomichelli. I was pleased to discover how both of these were making quite a set at me - as if they already knew something about me and arrived with the intention of trying me out for flirtation.

I've heard Mum and others talking about Ricky Huston on numerous occasions, and how she leads quite a wild life in Ireland. I believe she is a former ballet dancer, and that her marriage with John Huston is teetering on the brink of collapse - with both of them taking their love affairs where they please. And Garech had indicated to me that she has a taste for young aristocrats. Anyway I was certainly eager to see just how well she might be responding to any advances that I might make. And I obtained my opportunity later that evening up in Garech's bedroom, which gets transformed into a nightclub on this kind of occasion.

I was lying on the bed with Ricky, and she was certainly giving me encouragement - to such an extent that Garech whispered to the others that they ought to leave and let us get on with it. But once we were on our own, she displayed that she had scruples to overcome. Her candour was admirable. She said that being a married woman, she knew well enough what all men intended and where it would lead - if she didn't call a check to it right now. She reflected for a moment, and then said that it wasn't going to happen today. So after kissing for a little longer, we went down to join the others - with all eyes turned eagerly upon us as each of them tried to assess just how far we had gone.

I think that Ricky herself enjoys the uncertainty she can create in other peoples' minds, with regard to how exactly she might be choosing to behave. My own feeling is that she was waiting for me to arrange further meetings with her - in London, or at Longleat perhaps. But the truth of the matter is that I don't feel at ease in situations of that kind. I feel myself vulnerable because I simply don't know how I should conduct myself in all the eventualities which might arise.

Let us suppose for example, that John Huston is really on the verge of divorcing her. And let us suppose that he filed this suit at the moment when there was some publicity in the press about me having an affair with her. Well I'm not at all clear to what degree of pressure I might then find myself subjected, if it was suggested (however absurdly) that I was responsible for the break-up of her highly prestigious marriage - so that I should make amends by letting Ricky (in due course) assume the title of Marchioness. I don't want to have my life history put at risk from such pressures. Perhaps I'm naive in supposing that there might be any such pressure at all. But the idea of it makes me uncomfortable - which explains why I don't feel like seeking to build upon the opportunities which may have been opened up for me.

It should be noted that Christopher's opportunities in this field were impeded by the fact that he had Nicola to entertain. But there was no question of Ricky or Sybilla trying to single him out for their attentions, whereas they were both seeking mine. It comes as a much-needed boost to my flagging sense of sex appeal!

I flew home from Dublin on Friday - leaving Chris and Val with Mum at Luggala.... On arriving in London, I met up with [Y] and we took the train down to Westbury together. And this was an important weekend for me, in that I would be establishing that she was indeed my girlfriend, rather than Christopher's, for the benefit of Dad's and Virginia's understanding.

I can on the whole count the weekend as a success - although I must admit to feeling most unsure how [Y] herself feels about me. It's almost as if she quite deliberately takes two emotional steps backwards, whenever she feels that she has made the error of progressing an inch or two forwards. She is for ever excusing herself for having gone to bed with me in the first place, explaining how she really isn't in love with me, and how she's not quite clear in her own head how it was that she permitted such a thing to happen. I enjoyed the weekend, but I find it disheartening the way she is so anxious to avoid giving me further encouragement.

She did in fact come to bed with me quite readily on the Friday night - and to the best of my belief she was enjoying herself. But all next day it was too painfully obvious that she was censuring herself, and anxious to avoid situations when we might take things any further - the instant recoil when I pulled her down to sit on my knee, for example. And when I was with her on the sofa after dinner, she let me kiss her, but there was absolutely no warmth in it. She was merely letting me go through the motions to oblige - even permitting me an orgasm, without any trace of emotional participation from her side. And it's all so frustrating, when not being permitted any significant penetration. Even so, this was another occasion when the Durex broke, so that there is just the remotest chance that some of my semen got into her. And that furnished additional cause for her anxiety. No one could possibly describe this as fulfilled love-making.

Over the weekend, we discussed the paper that I am now writing upon the Nature of the Universe. She argued vigorously on certain points.... She says she would like to come up to Oxford and hear me discuss it with [W] - just to see how it might be criticized from a more professional viewpoint. I would like it greatly for the two of them to meet, since it would then enable me to discuss her personality with him. She says she'll be coming up the weekend after next.

On Sunday I had to get up at an unearthly hour to attend an Officers' Day meeting for the Royal Wiltshire Yeomanry at Devizes. We were instructed on the nature of nuclear warfare, with tactics illustrated upon a sand-table....

When it was all over, I sped back home to find that [Y] was still there. I found this encouraging, since it would have been quite possible for her to have taken a train back to London by then. It may be that she wanted the opportunity to create a better impression with Dad and Virginia - in which case she succeeded. They have since told me that they liked her better this time - that they found her rather sweet and shy. But I cannot congratulate myself that she had lingered in the desire for any more sex, since she was promptly making her excuses for not staying on overnight. She is positively determined to avoid situations which might invite additional love play. Nevertheless, I regard her as being of good value, and when she takes the trouble to do herself up nicely, she looks most attractive.

On Monday, Chris and Val returned from Ireland. They brought back the wonderful news that Deakin had been listening at a keyhole when I'd gone into that tirade about him. Or it would rather sound as if Garech had arranged for him to be listening in the room next door to his own bedroom, when he'd raised the subject of what I might think about Deakin. Typical of the games they play at Luggala! The wall between the two rooms was of minimal thickness, so that the entire conversation had been overheard. But the point which had offended Deakin the most was that I'd referred to him as a little Pipsqueak. He really didn't feel that suited his image in any way at all! They told me how he had even been trying to be nice to Nicola towards the end. And before leaving, he had approached Mum and declared that he was sorry he had irritated Weymouth so much. This almost ranks as an apology, so I find myself thinking more kindly about Deakin in retrospect.

On Wednesday I went up to London for the Bridgemans' dance. I got an unpleasant shock to discover that [X] was there at the same dinner party. I never spoke to her all evening. But I got the impression that she was attempting to manoeuvre herself into a position that I could talk to her. At any rate I continually found that she was near to me - even if she wasn't actually looking at me. But I managed to avoid any manner of confrontation and, relatively early in the dance, she disappeared - back home as I supposed.

The awful part is that as soon as I had understood that she must have gone home, I felt miserable. Yet I'd been far from miserable while I was still in the process of ignoring her. It had been something like the sensation of enjoying the spirit of giving battle. But as soon as I'd appreciated that the battle was no longer being waged, I felt drained of all interest in life. And I knew that I'd secretly been longing that she would somehow oblige me to talk with her, so that I might capitulate as if I had no other alternative. But to discover that she had thrown in the sponge like this was so disheartening. And I was the loser - or certainly not the winner.

I am obliged to realize that I am no less in love with her than in time past. Or to be more precise, I am still in love with that part of her which is so vulnerable - the part of her which disengaged from battle on this occasion, rather than face me out indefinitely - the part of her which is easy to hurt and anxious to be loved. But this doesn't mean that I've become unaware of (or forgotten) the hard little bitch who might resurface within her personality at any time she feels it to be advantageous for her to take a tough line. And the net result of all this confusion within my regard for her is that, once I had registered that she wouldn't be reappearing at this dance, I no longer had sufficient interest to remain there myself. So very soon I slank away back home.

I went back to Oxford just before the weekend, to find that a lot of my friends were already back. What disconcerts me somewhat is to hear - from a variety of sources, such as Dickon Lumley - that [X] has been making full use of her time in her new freedom. She was seen in the Millroy, dancing in close embrace with Raymond Carr. And I'm told that she has been out to Germany recently, to stay with that young officer - the one she mentioned as having come to stay with her out in Austria. So it could be that this relationship is more serious than she had indicated. It leaves me wondering just where I do stand with her in the current situation. But my immediate reaction is to withdraw from her in spirit, feeling mildly surprised and embittered. All the easier to keep up the mood of hating her of course. In fact I find myself wishing that she'd just hurry up and get married to someone, so that I can put that chapter in my life firmly behind me.

I wish I felt more confident concerning the relationship between [Y] and myself. It is a minor shock for me to discover that Ian too possibly regards himself as a contender in the field. Or I'd say that he doesn't quite know what he wants at this given point in time. But [Y] must have given him some manner of encouragement over the past few weeks, for he has suddenly become perky at the mention of her name. When I was at his flat up in London the other day, I noted how there was a telephone call just before I left. And Ian was acting in a most reserved manner concerning who it was who had called him - which isn't in his nature. He would have been making some flippant remark about his own sex appeal. if it had been some other girl involved. But if it had been [Y], he would have acted as he did - delighting in the shadow of suspicion which naturally crossed my mind. Eventually he intimated that someone would be coming round to see him shortly, so that it would be better if I left. I did so without asking any further questions.

There is much that doesn't have a healthy feel about it with regard to my relationship with [Y]. I wish I could corner her into having a long serious discussion concerning the nature of the game that she is playing. She has this reputation of encouraging men all round to fall in love with her, but as soon as they are quite evidently keen on her, she drops them. Or her behaviour becomes so unpredictable that the man no longer knows where he stands. I feel that I am reaching that position myself. So I find myself wondering if the wisest policy might not be for me to desist, as far as any love relationship might be involved. On the other hand I tell myself that it would be folly to pack in my hand just now. She gives me reason to suppose that she is letting me go far further than any of these previous admirers. And I get the impression that she is enjoying herself on such occasions. So what I've got to do is to pin her down on the issue of whether or not she intends to develop a love relationship with me. But the way in which she manages to encourage so many of us simultaneously dampens my ardour.

Tomorrow Saturday, [Y] is due to visit Oxford - accompanied by all her entourage. I'm not feeling at all happy about the state of our relationship, and I must examine this.

The truth of the matter is that I have far deeper feelings for [X] than I do for [Y] - in a sense of identifying with her person, or in the notion of mutual belonging. She is the one who occupies my thoughts first thing in the morning, after I've just woken up and am indulging in sexual fantasies. Yet I sincerely wish that I could switch off completely from [X], and concentrate my thoughts upon [Y] instead. I feel there must be better prospects in that direction - however dismal they may be.

There's no denying however that thoughts of [X] still exert an enormous hold over me, so that (in the light of all the recent information upon what she is getting up to) I am gradually working myself up into a frenzy of jealousy. I keep asking myself how I am going to react if we ever get together again, and I discover that she's been having fully fledged affairs with men like this young officer. Would it make a difference to me? I just don't know. But at this particular stage, I find myself minding very much indeed if it turns out that she is no longer a virgin. And I haunt myself with the fear that this is what I shall find.

It is this inconstancy in the direction of my amorous regard that is currently causing such confusion within me. And I find that I am developing a hearty dislike for the ethical structure under which our society operates. Why should we be brought up to anticipate that we shall marry virgins when the statistical probability is much to the contrary? Life would have been far easier for me if I'd been led to expect that my womenfolk would be as experienced as myself. And life would have been more enjoyable too, in that sexual frivolity might then have been regarded as permissible.

This is a matter on which I must work out my attitude before I can make any substantial development towards maturity. I must discern where society is truly evolving on these issues, and then endeavour to adjust my own feelings accordingly. Deliberate adjustment does play a significant role in this process. I need to reflect upon the future of the traditional family unit within society, especially in its relationship with the welfare institutions of the state - for the possibility exists that a father's bread-winning role is obsolescent, with such functions now undertaken by state organizations instead. And if the father has indeed been liberated from that role, then his whole pattern of behaviour might rapidly be transformed. All this needs careful study and thought. And at the end of the day, I've got to find myself a way of behaving so that I am in step with the transition which is taking place, and able simultaneously to find happiness, and to create happiness for the others who comprise that sense of family with me.

As I see things right now, I am beginning to view it as unlikely that I could find happiness with any single woman. I need to envisage for myself a manner of living wherein I no longer expect fidelity in others, and do not offer it to the women that I love. For it would seem that humans are far more plural in their amorous relationships that the existing monogamous structure would allow. But that's just a thought in my mind, to which I need to give a lot more thought. I'm attracted to the idea of bigamy, or even polygyny and polygamy for that matter. But if I were to adopt such practices right now, I know that I'd never get away with it. Society is still geared to resist such practices - even if it's the course that they are eventually going to take.

The position where I currently find myself creates a dilemma for me. Or it does indeed furnish me with a delightful fantasy - imagine me living with both [X] and [Y] simultaneously! (But I do realize how that's not on the cards.) So while recognizing that I am still in love with [X], I find it a heartless task to be pushing myself to make love to [Y]. I have a great respect for [Y], and I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings by starting a relationship which I might soon want to abandon. But she makes it so difficult for me to heighten my feelings towards her, in that she's so scared by the prospects of any emotional commitment. If she were to give me proper encouragement, I think that problem might take care of itself. But I cannot truthfully imagine that she's going to change her ways on that issue. And it's impossible for me to know with certainty how I'd then feel. It's impossible to work out all these matters in advance. I require the experience of the evolved situation.

On Saturday [Y] came up to Oxford, in the company of [Y]'s brother and his girlfriend Kathleen (from The Glass Bucket). It was an uneventful weekend, where we spent most of the time just sitting in my room and drinking. [Y]'s capacity quite surprised me. She's comparatively light in build, so it isn't something that might be expected of her. Practice makes perfect, as I suppose. In any case I watched her put down one fifth of a bottle of brandy on the Sunday evening, just prior to their rushing off to catch the train. Nor was that all she had been drinking over the course of the day. I'm told that she flaked out completely on the journey back to London.

It did seem that she was making some effort to be at my side - which I found encouraging. But there were too few opportunities for me to be alone with her. Her brother too was making an effort to be pleasant for once. Maybe it was Kathleen who was bringing out some better side to him - that he has discovered there is some need to appear nice and friendly to other people. He even offered to pay for his share of the lunch at the Grid! I might judge that she is quite in love with him, whereas he is only wanting a casual affair. [Y] says that she would like to move in as his mistress, but that he is baulking at paying for her upkeep. I liked her, so I felt sorry for her. But I believe she's planning on returning to Canada shortly, so there may not be time for her to get badly hurt.

After they had gone, I went on thinking about [Y] for quite a long time. And it's the same when I wake up in the mornings. She has replaced [X] in that respect - for the time being in any case. I don't think it should be said that I'm now in love with her. But I do now feel there may be the scope for a love relationship.

On Friday I went up to London again - this time for a dinner given by Lady St John of Bletso. She's a funny little lady whose whole life seems dedicated to the chores of playing party hostess. And I found myself seated next to Frances Sweeney - with whom I'd fallen out on the previous occasion, because she implied that I was a snob! But this time we got on far better. In fact I was dancing with her for the entire evening - with the press paying quite a bit of interest in us as well. (I'll have to wait to see if they print anything.)

Finally, when I offered to take her home, she said yes, and we went to say good bye and thanks to Lady St John. But she threw a spanner in my works by declaring that she ought to come with us. And I was dumbfounded to hear Frances accepting the proposition - as if a chaperone might be appropriate. The idea of us all sitting in a taxi together, making polite conversation together as I dropped them back to their home address, was a long shot from my own idea of how a romantic evening should end - outdated by almost half a century. So I bade them both good night, perhaps more tersely than was polite, but suggesting that it would all be a lot quicker if I took my own taxi back home.

I regard it as a pity that Lady St John messed up my plans - and all so silly. Frances is quite capable of telling me so herself, if it so happens that she wouldn't want to be kissed. And I certainly wasn't going to rape her - not that there would be such opportunity within a taxi. But the fact of me being baulked from even discovering if she would like to have an affair with me means that, now, in all probability we'll never get the chance to get started. And all because Lady St John feels that it's proper for a young lady in her care to be chaperoned back home by her, after the dance had ended.

On Saturday I went over to Bradfield for Jean Hills' wedding to [Y]'s relative.... Then on to Oxford to meet [Y].

This weekend has not been such an enormous success. I took [Y] to the Drag hunt ball, but it was painfully evident how she was holding herself back from me - making a point of saying that she didn't want to visit the room where the lights were turned down because it was "squalid". She wanted to sit in the room with bright lights, beside the bar, and she never selected a seat where we might be on our own. The seat was always back amongst the crowd of her friends. Well it wasn't a bad evening, in the sense that there was no quarrelling. We were even getting on well together. But I certainly didn't count it as a success.

Today Sunday, I woke up feeling decidedly liverish. Nor did the feeling improve, waiting to find how long it might take for [Y] to come round to my rooms next morning. She didn't arrive until 12.45 hrs. In fact I discovered later that she had gone round to see John L-T and his friends, to have a drink with them before coming on to see myself. And even when she did arrive, it was just to tell me how she had now received a variety of invitations to drinks elsewhere. I felt disheartened, and had no wish to accompany her. Then at lunch, I found Bendor occupying her attention at the Grid. And when lunch was over, she departed with a crowd of others to go on to [O], at [F]'s invitation. I decided not to follow. Nor did she come to my rooms to say good bye.

I feel as if I am making a complete fool of myself with [Y]. And I'm aware how it's bad for my own public image that others bear witness to the way that she's making a fool of me. I'm also aware that she herself is enhancing her own image by making a fool of me. She is building up some manner of myth around her personality, which involves everyone knowing how there are men tearing out their hair for the love of her, while she displays a distinct revulsion for their sexual embrace. She prides herself on her distaste for sex, and she prides herself that she can hold men's sexual regard notwithstanding. But it's not good for me to participate within this cabaret.

I don't like the present position in any way at all. I'm damned if I'm going to mooch around in her train, along with all the rest of her love-sick admirers. It can only work if she's going to display a regard for me that's distinctly personal. But the only time such a regard comes to the surface is when I'm playing the role of tutor to her. I'm quite happy to be that, provided that she'll take me on as her lover as well. But I know in my heart that she'd be far happier if I could drop the lover bit. So it's difficult to see where the common ground can be identified.

Since writing the above, I was sitting in my room when in walked [Y] - which came as a delightful surprise, and somewhat modifies the conclusions that I'd reached. She says that she excused herself from the trip to [O] by saying that she had some work to do. I have my doubts that she put it that way. (More likely she painted a picture of me needing her attention.) But she was indeed showing a mark of deference to my feelings towards her. And she was making an effort for my benefit - which is good. But all said and done, she still doesn't really feel at ease when she finds herself alone in my company. Nor do I feel at ease with her for that matter. And that's very bad. Feeling at ease with one another must surely be the big test that any couple has to pass before they can hope to progress any further in the relationship.

Nor do I see much chance for an improvement on that score. She knows that it's the sexual liberty which is deficient in our relationship, and it's this that frightens her. All I can really do is to wait with patience to see if the interest in sex will trigger of its own accord. But if it doesn't, we're never going to get anywhere at all. I didn't press her to make love with me on this occasion, and she eventually left to catch a train back to London.

I should have mentioned that there was an embarrassing piece about Frances Sweeney and myself in the Sunday Mirror - saying that the whole of Mayfair was talking about a romance between Alex W and Frances S. It was fairly nice about her, describing her as beyond doubt the most beautiful deb. But concerning myself, all it could say was that I possessed the flashiest waistcoat in the whole of London. (I'm still being punished for my appearance at Jimmy Skinner's waistcoat party!) And they had touched up the smile on my face in the photograph, so as to give it the appearance of an inane grin.

It's difficult to be sure why they should have wished to be unpleasant about myself, while being pleasant towards Frances. But I think I may have been a bit gruff with the reporter who was so persistent in trying to photograph us. When they behave like that, it could be that I'm not as friendly as I might be to someone else. I evidently have a lot to learn about the best manner of comporting myself when approached by the press.

On Monday I went up to London for another party. Despite the fact that my love life is in poor shape, I found that I was enjoying myself.

Frances Sweeney was supposed to be coming to the party, but I was told she rang up to excuse herself on the grounds of flu. Then I heard later how she had attended the Queen Charlotte's ball the following evening. So there might be reason to suspect that she was backing out from a remeeting with me, after the absurdity of Lady St John's endeavour to chaperone us - or quite simply because of that item in the Sunday Mirror. But since then I have received a dinner invitation from her mother, the Duchess of Argyll. I interpret this as meaning that the Duchess has decided that she ought to meet me before she pronounces on whether I should be entitled to escort her daughter anywhere.

In the absence of Frances, I danced for most of the evening with [N]. I like [N], but I find it difficult to make her unbend. She wouldn't even permit me to kiss her properly when I drove her back home - although she did invite me up for a drink.

Last Wednesday I went up to London for the Gages' cocktail party. I have seldom been to such a good party - of its type - due partly I daresay, to the fact that the drink was nice and strong. I quickly shed my inhibitions.

Frances S was there. Perhaps she was just shamming on this point, but she claimed not to have read the press item about us in (anything so vulgar as!) the Sunday Mirror. So I had to tell her what it said. But everyone else seemed to have read it, and they were coming up with jesting congratulations on our engagement. It was all friendly enough, and Frances didn't stay for long. As I see it, she had come merely to see for herself if I was still well-disposed towards her - before I turn up at her mother's dinner party.

On Thursday I went up to London again, but with a rather different purpose this time - which was to take [Y] to the Empire Stadium to hear Billy Graham preach. Neither of us were impressed. In fact we were bored, and greatly surprised at the success with which he is credited. Part of my trouble was that I hadn't brought an overcoat, so I began to freeze. [Y]'s comment on this was that others relied upon the kindling of holy fire in their hearts. But I could take no comfort from that.

Afterwards I found that [Y] had arranged for us to join up with Henrietta Scott and her brother at some cheap restaurant. So it was a repetition of her communal outing tactic, when what I wanted was a tête-à-tête. But I had to comply since she had got it all arranged beforehand.

I had my own tactical subterfuge with which to respond. They were talking about us all going on to some cheap nightclub, but I had one good card to play in that I'd been invited to a dance that evening. Therefore I was able to be firm on wanting to go to a more expensive nightclub - which I knew would have the effect of making [Y]'s brother drop out from the party, and then of course Henrietta as well. So that way I got [Y] to come along to the Millroy without any of the others in tow.

There was one more small problem to overcome however, in that it's a membership only club. So we had some difficulty gaining admission. But I had the good fortune to spot Mark Dent-Brocklehurst inside, and he had the necessary pull to get my name entered upon the membership list. He had some words with the man who runs the place, and the red carpet was then unrolled. The word must have been passed around very quickly, since I found myself milorded instantly by the entire staff.

Lucian Freud was also at the club. [Y] tells me that he is making quite a set at her. And as rumour has it that the marriage between him and Caroline Blackwood is on the verge of collapse, it might be that [Y] features high on the list of his romantic ambitions - with his taste for aristocratic ladies being as acute as it is proclaimed to be. I think [Y] is fully aware just how ruthless a man Lucian is supposed to be, so I doubt if she will fall for his line. But she was certainly paying interest in him when he came up to chat with her. And what offended me slightly was that he even managed to make a date with her - with me sitting there at her side. And he looked as if he expected me to invite him to join us at our table - which I was damned if I would do, however much that might have satisfied [Y]'s ideal for a communal evening.

When taking her home in a taxi, she was warmer than she has been of late - even giving the appearance of enjoying my kisses. But she discouraged me from coming inside the house with her, on the grounds that her mother might be awake.

I travelled down by train to Longleat in the company of [Y] and Ian, to host a house party for the Wilton dance. I'll furnish a brief account of the weekend. Also at Job's Mill were John and Caroline L-T, Camilla Crawley and Charles Worthington (who seems likely to marry her), Laurence K, Tatiana Orloff and [Y]'s brother.

After a dinner at Job's Mill where the wine may have been flowing rather too freely, we set off for Wilton in two cars. I was a passenger in John's car, while Chris was driving Dad's hard-top Landrover. We got into a race, which we ought to have avoided since the roads were wet. Anyway John overtook Chris, who was then striving recklessly to get back into the lead. There are few straight stretches on the road between Codford and Wilton, so he was putting in a desperate challenge when there was some risk involved. But he was relying upon the glare of headlights for perceiving if a car was approaching from the other side of a bend. What he hadn't allowed for was to find the road blocked off completely, just around the corner - because Charlie Morrison (who was also travelling with a party to this dance) had already come to grief on the skiddy road just ahead of us. His Jaguar was lying upside down across the road, and there were a few other cars tailing back from it.

When John came round a slight bend to see that there were rear lights ahead of him, he had to brake sharply. But Chris (who had been right up close behind) didn't realize there had been an accident, and saw this as an opportunity to overtake us - which ended in near disaster. Finding there was no place to go after overtaking us, he went straight up the bank and (like Charlie) overturned. It was only luck that saved us from having any injuries on our hands - with [Y] incidentally as one of the lucky ones. The passengers in both upturned vehicles had been shaken - but not stirred. By the time we got over to them to see if anyone was hurt, all we could see was a pile of petticoats with legs protruding upwards towards the ceiling of the car, and faintly moving - like sea anemone tentacles. Enough hands were present to get the cars set back on their wheels, with the damage relatively light in both cases. So the small convoy was soon back on the road again.

The Wilton dance must rank as a good one, but I somehow found it rather too large and impersonal. The people I wanted to see were invariably somewhere else, and [Y] kept herself firmly encircled by a group of friends. When dancing, her only concern was to rope in a few more friends from the ballroom floor. And it's appalling how we do not share the same concept of rhythm. Her movement is majestic perhaps, but she's certainly not attempting to let the music take over her body. We are simply not natural dancing partners. So we end up just waddling round the dance floor.

On a more personal basis, I was experiencing my usual lack of rapport with [Y]. She was making no effort whatsoever to flirt with me, but was for ever attempting to slip back into one or other of the serious conversations in which we have indulged. It could be that these are admirable qualities in a future wife - an Englishman's ideal perhaps, but not mine. I do not wish to subordinate my sexual needs to the idea of some marital suitability as defined within a previous era. I'm hoping to find something which feels psychologically better than that.

I spent a wretched latter part of the evening trying to round up the others, after a decision had been taken to leave for home. First one couple and then another kept slipping off for a final dance, which frustrated all my efforts. And without taking an authoritarian stance, I don't see how I could have fared better with my efforts. But the net result is that we were all starting to lose patience with one another. And [Y]'s brother in particular was becoming objectionable, accusing everyone else of lacking the gumption to sort things out - without of course making any useful contribution to the effort himself.

I did finally lose patience with him. It was after I'd finally rounded everyone up and the last batch had climbed into the back of the Landrover, where I was making a lazy effort to close the rear flap by pulling on the chain attached to it. And [Y]'s brother exclaimed: "God your arms are feeble! Let me do it!" I promptly let go of the chain and told him not to be so bloody bolshy. It was as mild as that. But the tension which had arisen by then remained with us for the drive home, and even afterwards. I was indignant at the requirement of having to be civil to [Y]'s brother. And I was indignant with [Y] for continually foisting her objectionable little brother's company upon all of us. And the way she is always making excuses for him, and trying to cover up for him when he falls foul of the authorities, blights any prospect for our own potential future together.

But I'd come to the conclusion already (for the umpteenth time) that the situation between us is hopeless. Having to include [Y]'s brother within the relationship just makes the situation a whole lot worse still. So I decided to let the [Y] siblings just go to hell together - keeping myself at the greatest possible distance from them.

I played chess with John for most of the day. There was one game in particular which was truly excellent. I'd been winning it, but he suddenly turned the tables on me with some tactical skill. But he irritated me by crowing over his victory - calling it a victory of superior intellectual power. So I went for a long walk - avoiding the trip the others made over to Wraxell to have drinks with Charlie. But I was still in a morose mood when the time came round for dinner.

Later in the evening Chris cleared the drawing room for some jiving. He had been behaving quite well up to date, with an appearance of accepting that [Y] was here as my girlfriend, and not his. Nor was he trying to dance with her now. In fact [Y] and her brother were sitting on a sofa, apart from the others, as if they had registered how there was a general feeling against them. But I also found myself as the odd man out when it came to finding partners for jiving. So I spent a boring evening reading magazines - shunning [Y] even when I noted that she was giving me some opportunities to start talking with her.

On Sunday the tension continued - over a whole variety of activities including climbing trees in the park and sunbathing. I was pleased to note that [Y] did seem to be endeavouring to draw me into conversation with her. But in other respects she was putting me off - by telling me about her mended relationship with Bendor for example. Then at teatime some of the party went off home - namely Laurence, Tatty, Charles W and Camilla. But best of all, so did [Y]'s brother, which meant that [Y] was at last to be separated from her beloved little brother. Nor was I the only one to feel delighted. Caroline P exploded in a long dissertation against him - when out of [Y]'s hearing of course. But she declared him to be one of the most unattractive people she had ever met. She even went as far as promising to have a private talk with [Y], to make her see that she's got to leave her brother behind when she comes out with the rest of us, because he only succeeds in making himself unpleasant to everyone.

That was about the situation when it came to Sunday dinner time. I then found that I was being seated next to [Y] - a decision which I made no effort to resist incidentally. But as the meal progressed (and as I drank more wine) I found that I was warming towards her again. She was even making an effort, after dinner, to jive with me in a manner that seemed to indicate a spirit of togetherness. But we couldn't remain for very long, since we were all due back in Oxford. John was driving us - with relative safety in that he'd kept low on the alcohol-consumption.

On Monday I learnt from John (who'd heard it from Caroline) that as soon as we'd departed, Christopher became increasingly attentive to [Y]. He got himself plastered and then pretended that he was frightened of going up to bed alone - urging [Y] to accompany him. Their ultimate solution was for both [Y] and Caroline to remain downstairs in the drawing room with him for the entire night. Or that's what I'm told took place! But I'm pissed off with Chris for reverting to this form of challenge - just when I'd started to suppose that he was accepting that he should keep his distance from her.

I'm not supposing at this juncture that he was responding to any encouragement from [Y]. But there does always seem to be a possibility that she could be playing devious games with me. And I must admit to feeling much uncertainty as to how I should assess her value, to me now, or even as a future wife. She could well be the most suitable woman that I'll ever find as the right match for me. So let me pause to examine how to account for this.

I see [Y] as sufficiently intelligent to keep track of the way my own mind may be working, and not to provoke me with unreasonable thrusts. She's sufficiently tough (even hard) not to get hurt by my own behaviour - infidelities, or whatever. And she's sufficiently under-sexed to permit me quite happily to build up a polygynous love life which might involve more women than just herself. These are all credits on the plus side.

On the other hand I can't see her ever gaining a hold over my emotions in the same manner that [X] did - or does. I am trying to avoid making too direct a comparison in my mind between the two of them, but it makes sense if I say that while I might be the more in love with [X], it would possibly be more sensible to think in terms of marrying [Y].

On Thursday I received what was supposed to be a thank-you letter from [Y], which states that she could have been happier. Well so could I have been, if it comes to that!

She is just about the frankest girl that I have ever met, which I find most attractive. But the comment also makes me wonder if I've been underestimating her sensitivity. She had been giving the impression that she didn't care a damn whether or not I might be interested in her. But the letter might indicate that my coolness has pained her. Perhaps I should feel critical about my own behaviour for a change.

While our parting was quite friendly, I cannot really persuade myself that she wants me. I keep telling myself that I'm just wasting my time - in which case I'd be well-advised to make the break and find someone else. And as a result, I'd find either that I was rid of her, or alternatively it just might serve to jolt her out of her present attitude into a display of more human warmth - with the alternative that it might drive her back into Bendor's arms. And I can't say that I want to do that.

Last Tuesday I went up to London for the Straights' dance. [Y] and her brother were there. Indeed her brother appeared to be making a big effort to be pleasant, for once. And [Y] appeared to be making an effort as well - or she did for the first half. Then Christopher took it into his head to persuade her to go along to a nightclub. I think there were others in the party. [M] was one of them, and she appeared to be without a man - so it remains unclear whether Chris had intended [M] or [Y] for himself. But I only discovered that such a plan was afoot when I observed that [Y] had just collected her shawl, and when I remarked upon it, she told me they were all leaving for a nightclub - suggesting at this belated hour that I should join them too. But on hearing how Chris had been arranging it (without consulting me in any way at all), I felt that her invitation to myself had been proposed as an afterthought - which I declined.

I really felt quite angry, and went off to dance with Diana Herbert. But sometime later, I discovered that [Y] was still present - which put a much healthier complexion on the matter. In fact I was delighted, since it rather looked as if she had told Christopher that she wouldn't accompany him - which will serve to ram the message home to him that he should desist from pursuing her.

The remainder of the evening did not turn out as I might have hoped, however. [Y] had arrived in the company of some other man, and I noted how he was still present. In fact they were being quite attentive to one another, and I couldn't get a look in edgeways. And I was caught up with Diana H in a manner that became difficult to break off. Just at the moment when I was seeking to find someone to take her off my hands, she declared that she hoped I wouldn't mind her telling anyone who asked her to dance, that she had promised this one to myself! So I got stuck with her. And [Y] appeared to be avoiding any portion of the dance floor where we might be. So I finally went off home in a bit of a huff - after observing that [Y] herself had departed with her new friend.

I should have mentioned that, before the dance, I got Lady Ancaster on the phone when I tried to call [Y], who was out. This is my first real contact with her, and I found her a bit terrifying. She wouldn't stop talking. And she was turning everything I said so as to make it sound like nonsense. It may have been intended as a humorous display, while clinging on to this telephone contact with me in order to discover more about what I am like. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed to ring off.

I went down to Eton for the celebrations of the 4th of June.... [X] was there, in the company of Fiona D-H. And it looked to me as if she was continually trying to edge herself into a position where we might meet. But I was damned if I was going to let that happen - just like that, on her whim of the moment. And in the light of how she berated me in Fiona's presence a few months back, I was pleased that Fiona could now witness how I was cold-shouldering her. But the awful part is that I know in my heart that I do love her very much indeed. But she mustn't be allowed to see that I care. In fact it was giving me a sadistic thrill to be cutting her like this. And I hope that it hurt her!

There wasn't much going on in the late afternoon, so I took a lift with John and Caroline to a party at the home of Ian's parents.... I get the feeling that Caroline's behaviour towards me is rather too gushing, and that this troubles John. His face goes long and lugubrious on such occasions. I'm not being so conceited as to suppose that Caroline is falling in love with me, or anything like that. But I've heard that she bates John by telling him how she is keen on particular men. And it could be that she's using me for this purpose as well. But I wouldn't want to be the cause of any friction between them.

On Wednesday I went up to London for the Dundee dance, but I didn't manage to enjoy it - principally because [X] was there, and she was making as concerted an effort as myself to look the other way. In fact there were times when it seemed she was making an effort to be near me, for the sole purpose of then looking the other way. But I suppose that I was being just as silly in my own behaviour.

Then after a while I went and sat next to Christopher, who was with Caroline P. And he had the cheek to turn to me and say that [Y] had invited him to come round for drinks with her. It seemed to me that his motivation was purely to goad me into appearing jealous - possibly to amuse Caroline, who does seem to regard this sibling rivalry as some manner of cabaret act. In fact I think she encourages Chris by telling him he is so naughty. And it brings to mind how Chris always did enjoy playing the naughty little boy role, from the time when he used to wet his bed onwards!

By all reports he may be growing just a little fond of [M] - which would delight me if it's true. It also places a temptation in my way to woo her as well, just to let him see that two can play at such a game. I have a shrewd suspicion that I might put his nose well and truly out of joint on that issue. But would he learn anything from such a lesson? And it might prove distasteful to get involved in such fratricidal tactics. I can't say that I'm sorry he'll soon be departing for America, to start working for Sears Roebuck. A spell of several years in the States might do wonders for him. And if he then returns with a harem of American girls, he may no longer feel any need to poach from mine!

Anyway on hearing him start to boast about the invitations he was receiving from [Y], my mood was deteriorating. I didn't feel that this particular dance furnished me with an agreeable atmosphere. So I left at a relatively early hour.

Both [Y] and myself had been invited to stay at Hever Castle (with her Uncle) for the Astor dance. My Triumph was still undergoing repairs and it was an awkward trip to make by train, so I decided to ask Raymond C if I could borrow his old banger for the weekend. (I think it might be said that he owes me that much - after borrowing [X] from me for several weeks.) I seized upon a good opportunity for putting such a request to him - when he was pleasantly mellow at the Bullingdon dinner - and after a slight hesitation, he said yes.

So on Friday I set out for Hever, via London, since I had agreed to pick up [Y]. But on arriving at the door of her flat, I found a notice pinned there to say that she might be a bit late. Then an hour and a half later, she arrived - in the company of that man with whom she'd been spending so much time at the Straights' dance. He was now introduced to me as Simon Quinn. And before he departed, he was already making arrangements for their next meeting.

I might pause to reflect upon [Y]'s behaviour. It would have been so easy for her to arrange matters so that I didn't have to meet Simon Quinn. I think she wanted me to meet him. I think she wanted me to hear him making arrangements for their next meeting. But what is her motivation? I hardly think she is just trying to goad me. But she may regard it as being good for me to be obliged to accept that she has other admirers. She is in fact protesting against my displays of jealousy - rubbing my nose in them as if I were a puppy that had made too many puddles. I was careful not to display any jealousy on this occasion, but it was hardly a good start to the weekend.

I can't say that I ever had much hope that I was going to enjoy myself in [Y]'s company, but I gave up all thought of it now. In fact coupled with the evidence of the way she is currently playing off Christopher against myself, I felt inclined to suppose that she is trying to goad me. So I set off for Hever with the thought in mind that it might be best if we were politely to distance ourselves from one another - unless she were to give me definite signs of encouragement. But that's my big trouble! I'm always writing in the let-out clauses within any decision that I reach.

Well over the course of the drive, it did seem that she was making quite an effort to be amicable to me. She could afford that much of a gesture. As her chauffeur, there was little danger that I might take it into my head to make a pass at her. But in any case there was no sign that she might invite a progression from our previous status. Indeed, I felt obliged to note that being friendly marks the limit to her capacity, since the spice of lechery is absent from her constitution. So we made polite conversation to one another over the course of the entire drive.

The rift began to open up again at the dance, which was at another of the Astor houses - the hostess being Renée Astor. Francis Nicholls was there, and [Y] spent half the evening dancing with him. Admittedly I had plenty of opportunity to butt in if I'd wanted to, but it would have involved my acceptance of the holiday camp spirit which she puts on offer to her admirers - and there's nothing personal in that. So I kept my distance from her. And the more she sensed this, the more I was driving her into Francis' arms. So the outcome was that, when most of us were leaving, [Y] told David Middleton (not me) that she would be staying on with Francis, and would return with the final car load. So I was feeling much embittered on the drive back to Hever.

It's time that I said a few words about Francis N. I have noticed how he has emerged of late, as one of the constant followers within [Y]'s entourage. And it could well have been at her suggestion that he asked me if he and his friend Christopher Arnander could take lodgings at Folly Bridge - which I'm taking over from Laurence, and then renting out the other rooms. I agreed to this without then perceiving that Francis might have aspirations to make it with [Y]. So it could be that I've done something most unwise - furnishing [Y] with a building in which to site her holiday camp. But it's too late for me to worry about that. I am committed to spending my final year cooped up in the same lodgings as Francis Nicholls.

In point of fact I had quite enjoyed myself at the dance. The Queen, the Duke and Princess Margaret were all present, which rendered the atmosphere a trifle formal, but otherwise it was all right. And I had a long chat with Caroline Melgund - only the second opportunity for such a talk since her marriage. I was by no means sure that things go well for her. (I sensed boredom with the whole matrimonial straight-jacket.) But it was nice being able to discuss these things with her, while accepting that she is now out of bounds. It's difficult to judge what kind of a couple we might have made. I like her very much. But I don't really sense that manner of sauciness which is apt to turn me on. (Well - in [X] perhaps, but hardly in [Y]!)

On the Saturday morning, I managed to meet [Y] without showing that I wanted to avoid her company. But I achieved this later by going off on a long walk by myself, while the others played tennis. Or [Y] was just sunbathing, I think. And the awful part is that my wishes were so ambivalent. I was trying to keep away from her, but at the same time I was hoping that she might follow me. But she didn't - which meant that a mere half of me felt satisfied, while the other half felt miserable.

Hever Castle is a lovely place, incidentally - with historical connections as the home of Anne Boleyn. And the grounds are even better than at Longleat, with a profusion of flowering shrubs - especially the azaleas. It was a good place to be savouring my solitude.

Then after lunch the same pattern of behaviour emerged. The others were all playing tennis, with the exception of [Y] and myself who both went for walks - separately. I suspect that the situation was regarded as a bit of a cabaret by the others - David and Fiona Middleton, Marky Hills, Patrick Lindsay and Henrietta Scott. As they saw it, [Y] and I had arrived together, we never danced with each other once, we went off on separate walks - so I expect they were wondering when we'd announce our engagement.

The evening brought a slight easing of the tension. But I still felt that I wanted to get away from the place. So I told our hostess, Lady Violet Astor, that I would have to be leaving on the Sunday morning - whereupon [Y] promptly asked me if I could give her a lift. By now the others must have been completely bewildered.

So we set out in Raymond's car on the Sunday morning, for the drive back to Oxford. And it did turn out to be a decrepit old banger. The brakes were no longer working, and the clutch was slipping so badly that we couldn't make the steep climb up the Hog's Back. (I had to ask a motorcyclist to attach a rope to us and lend some assistance in getting up that hill!) And elsewhere too we nearly had an accident due to the state the brakes - although we were progressing slowly but surely for most of the time.

[Y] wanted to be dropped off at Henley, where she was lunching at Chez Peter with her brother and Simon Quinn. Admittedly she pressed me quite hard to come and join them, but this could have been from the embarrassment of knowing that the bill might otherwise be left for S.Q. to pay. Anyway I declined. But in the event, S.Q. and [Y]'s brother failed to turn up. (Or had she merely been intending to phone them, once we'd booked our table at Chez Peter?) In any case I had to bring [Y] on to Oxford. And then to cap it all, she announced that Francis had told her that he could put her up for the night in the rooms in Isis St, where he is currently lodging. And yes, I did feel jealous. I have no means of knowing if they actually sleep together. (I don't suppose so, but who knows?) But the very fact of her accepting such an invitation denotes an intimacy which I hadn't realized was so strong.

My own reaction to her statement is interesting perhaps. She had only mentioned the idea as a possibility, and was perhaps expecting me to dissuade her - or even to suggest that she might sleep the night in my own room, if I was prepared to take the risk of her being discovered there. Indeed, she suggested that she might come round to my room to read for a while, but I told her curtly that I had some work to do. I was now hell-bent on obliging her to go through with her threat, putting her into a position where she couldn't back out (even if she'd been wanting to) by driving her to Isis St, and depositing her there with her suitcase - even though I was feeling wild with jealousy. It was as if I was forcing myself into a position where it might be easier to hate her, and thus to rid myself from the danger of loving her.

Reggie B was holding a party that evening, and it was there that I learnt (from John and Caroline) that [Y] had thought better of sleeping overnight in Isis St. Or perhaps it's just that Francis was out when she arrived. Anyway she had asked John to get her a room with his sister, who is married to an Oxford don - Oppenheimer - although it remains unclear to me whether that came to anything. If not, I can only suppose that she went on to some hotel.

Reggie was holding a party that evening, and it turned out to be a wonderful success. Everyone appeared to be getting drunk and, in my present state of mind, I could hardly have wished for a better solution. [Y] was present, making a big effort belatedly to patch things up between us. But Francis was also present, so I had no intention of softening in my attitude towards her.

I suppose I was hoping to wound [Y] with my successes elsewhere - which accounts for the fact that I was making a big pass at [Z]. And I found her in a most responsive mood. She had probably drunk even more than myself, and it might be said that she was setting the pace in this flirtation. But there came a point when she beckoned me towards the cloak room, and started kissing me passionately in front of quite a few people. When they had gone out, we locked ourselves into one of the cubicles, and it looked for a moment as if I was going to get all that I might have wanted from her. But she started to be sick, and that put an end to it! And since I didn't have a car of my own, I had to find someone else to drive her back home - although I should perhaps have been more wary than to put her into the hands of Mike McQuaker. By then she was virtually in a state of collapse.

When I returned to the party, [Y] was dancing with Francis again. But when he tried to take her off to dinner, she declined. He and Ian even tried to carry her off physically, but I was secretly delighted when I saw that she had returned in an attempt to persuade me to join them. But I still refused. So finally she left. And with her disappearance, my own reason for staying on had vanished. So I took my leave as well.

But fate seemed to guide our steps to the same restaurant, which was the Harlequin. She was in there with Ian and a few others, but no sign of Francis as yet. So I sat myself down at another table. But I was now very drunk, and so was Ian. Consequently we behaved very badly, flicking pats of butter at one another, and questioning some girl at a neighbouring table on whether she'd had any sexual experience. (She was enjoying it, mind you.) Ian already had his food, but as a result of our behaviour, the waiters refused to serve me. So I left to find a different restaurant, after which I staggered home to bed.

I've learnt since that shortly after I'd left the Harlequin, Francis did in fact arrive. But I'm glad that I knew nothing about this at the time, because all next day I was feeling thoroughly depressed - with a hangover of course. [Y] came round in the morning, but I told her (quite truthfully) that I had a lecture to attend, and that she must leave. So the situation was then worsened, rather than getting any better.

It seems to me that, since then, I have constantly been running into Francis. He's friendly enough, but there's a shifty look about him and he avoids looking me directly in the eye. I feel as if he acknowledges that there is a difficult situation, but one that is gradually moving in his favour. He keeps glancing slyly at the cards in his hand, but he doesn't want to reveal as yet what they may be.

I do see that he is a loyal follower, in the fashion that seems to appeal so greatly to [Y]. So it's possible that his importance to her will increase over the next months - even if I find it difficult to believe that he has enough sex appeal to constitute any real danger. But who can judge? It really is a monstrous stroke of bad luck that I've let myself in for sharing Folly Bridge with him. What if [Y] starts sleeping with him? And it will be in the room just across the passage from my own. I don't like the prospects in any way at all.

On Monday evening was the Canning Club dinner. Reggie B had asked me to organize it, which I did with reasonable proficiency - although it was one hell of a chore. And we encountered a problem in that there was a three line whip in the House of Commons that night, which scuppered our plans to have an MP as our after dinner speaker. So Sparrow (the Warden of All Souls) came to address us instead.

I seated myself next to him, and found him an interesting conversationalist. In fact I enjoyed the evening greatly. But it was another of those situations where I really felt that my success with Sparrow was that I was responding to him like a woman. I don't think he's supposed to be actively homosexual - more probably asexual. But there's something old-womanish about him which lends itself to the former interpretation.

When the conversation came round to my Finals, I told him that I believed a First to be beyond me - to which he replied that, from what he'd seen of me, he thought that I might well get one. He said that he'd never met quite such a good example of the analytic mind being awakened by the school of Modern Greats. Now of course I felt flattered, and I sat there preening myself. But after reflecting upon the matter later, I felt obliged to realize that it's just another example of how men flatter women into sexual response - with myself in the female role of course!

On Wednesday evening, Nicky Gage and Sebastian Yorke held a party. When I was last up in London,

I had met [F]. And in response to her complaint that she had never been invited up to Oxford, I arranged for her to come to this party. But I wasn't really intending to have her on my hands as my personal guest. But that's the way she took the invitation, so I found myself having to entertain her - even taking her out to dinner beforehand.

A feeling of resentment built up in my heart as the evening progressed. For one thing I'm not at all sure that I like [F]. She has a hard streak which shows quite plainly in her facial expression. And her Catholic upbringing is something foreign to my own understanding of life. Then on top of all that, she admires bitchiness. And it's the high social life which she would like to savour, when I am not the right sort of person to offer it to her. But she's good-looking all right.

If I hadn't been saddled with [F], I would have been free to move on to other parties as I might please. (And there were some other good ones, to which I'd been invited.) But I had to stay at [F]'s side, at a party which never managed to get going. And then there were additional complications. Francis looked in - with his expression all sheepish - then promptly ducked out again, on seeing me. But he came back again. And after an additional five minutes, [Y] herself arrived - leaving me wondering how the subterfuge might be interpreted.

I don't think it's healthy for me to dwell on all this. It wasn't as if [Y] was starting to behave badly with Francis in any way at all. I'm not even sure that she danced with him. And she made several attempts to come over and cheer me up. But what was the purpose? If I were to display good cheer in the manner she intended, it would do nothing to alter the underlying problem - which is that [Y] cannot see her way towards developing a strictly personal relationship with me. Even if we were to sit down together and discuss the problem at length, I cannot suppose that she'd move any closer to adopting a healthy attitude. I might be able to accept the likes of Francis as friends within her entourage, if only she could enrich our sexual knowledge of each other simultaneously. But I despair that she'll ever do this. And where Christopher is concerned, she needs to be far more sensitive to the havoc she might wreak. But I doubt if I could even make her see how it's intolerable for her to flirt with two brothers simultaneously. In short, I was finding the whole situation far too oppressive for me, and I was rapidly sinking into the grimmest of depressions.

There was no purpose in staying on at any party when in this kind of mood. So I made my excuses and went back to Christ Church - leaving [Y], [F] and [P] to finish up the evening having drinks with Francis. And I believe they caught the last train back to London.

On Thursday I received a royal command to attend a dance at Windsor Castle. This arrived via the Head Porter, so I was unable to be sure what had been said, and whether it was all some practical joke. I mean if someone had been trying to pull my leg, it's just the kind of story they would have told. So I needed to check this out from the number that had been given me. And it turned out to be genuine. It seems that Shaun Plunkett is now the man who arranges these things. I knew him as a child; and I believe that Caroline knows him quite well. So it seems that he has decided that my name ought to be on the royal invitation list.

I don't think I mentioned it, but Mr and Mrs Jaques came over to Longleat in April, and I gave them all a lunch. So I saw this as an opportunity for them to return the hospitality. I rang them up and promptly got invited to dinner with them - which was nicely convenient in their proximity to Windsor Castle. The conversation was a bit sticky, but it was very kind of them to have agreed. And the only other problem, which was the question of transport, I'd solved by persuading Tim S to lend me his car for the evening.

Despite the informality which had been proclaimed for this dance, I found it a lot too formal for my taste. I was naturally delighted to be seeing this side of life from the inside, but I knew how I was not really a part of that scene. Caroline warned me that I should be extremely careful not to get drunk - or I would be told to leave by the Duke. And I was advised not to be too adventurous in my style of dancing, for that would just be drawing attention to myself. Not exactly the kind of atmosphere where you can let down your hair!

I can't really say that I managed to enjoy myself. I was initially introduced to the Queen as Lord Christopher Thynne, who was also at the dance. (I wonder if that means that I look the younger of the two? But I'm not yet old enough to feel flattered by such a mistake.) I knew so very few of the people who were there, that I spent most of the time just standing on my own.

Christopher has now adopted an attitude of open hostility towards me - making faces at all the girls I was dancing with, to indicate a sarcastic sympathy with their plight. It's a deliberate cheek as if inviting some retort from myself, which he might be able to caricature as pomposity. I do have to be careful on that matter, since I find myself thinking pompously in the censure of his conduct. But I tried to get by with a display of coldness, or just plain ignoring him.

I also took an unreasonable pleasure in dancing with [M] - just to warn him that I could pull his girls as much as he could pull mine. But he retaliated to this by rushing up to dance with whomever I had been with the moment before. He's offering this as some manner of competition, which would be most unhealthy of me to accept. And he's making the point that he has the right to any girl that he pleases. Well the hostility is now out in the open, and it may be best that way. But it's sad in a way.

The boredom of the dance was becoming too much for me, so I was indeed drinking. And I saw the Duke looking long and hard at me for a prolonged second or two. But he said nothing, so I suppose that I must have looked sober enough. The real problem is that we weren't able to depart until after the Queen had retired - which didn't happen until after 04.00 hrs. Otherwise I would have driven back to Oxford much sooner.

Teddy Hall held a dance in his barn on Saturday.... I had quite a long dance with [Z], but it's quite evident that she's now holding back from me - as if trying to rectify any previous impression she may have given. And I imagine this relates to the evening she got plastered - when I suppose she may have felt that she was making herself too available to me. But I regard this as a set-back in our relationship. It doesn't now look as if there is going to be any rapid development in our relationship, to become more intimate than we already are.

My depressions over the past week have been pretty bad. And this morning, Sunday, I was feeling them quite sharply. So I went for a long stroll round the Meadows, reflecting on the way I've been handling my romantic relationships of late.

My biggest error has been to suppose that [Y] cares more deeply for me than she in fact does. She likes me all right, but I'm in fact expendable from her own plans for life. And I've been underestimating how someone like Francis might indeed be more suitable to her particular needs.

In the light of all this, I should retire myself from contention for her favours. I don't see any healthy future for me in this relationship. But there's a weakness, or indecisiveness in me which keeps permitting converse counsel to prevail. I find reasons to reverse my resolution.

If only I can get it firmly into my head that the sexual relationship (such as it was!) with [Y] is now at an end, there might well be scope for us to become firm friends - in much the same way as I regard Caroline P, or [F] in that light. And this will free my mind to be seriously on the look-out for a new girlfriend - or even to return to [X] perhaps.

Even now however, I find myself hoping that I might obtain the opportunity for one last serious talk with [Y] - just in the hopes of getting her to understand that there could be a way forwards for our relationship, if only she could make the necessary concessions. But I must be fully prepared for making no progress whatsoever in such negotiation. And in that case I must truly withdraw. I only hope that I'll remain firm on that decision.

The term has now ended, but I shall be remaining up at Oxford for a while - catching up on the required reading for Schools.

By Monday I was feeling in considerably brighter spirits. This was mainly because I'd heard that [Y] wouldn't be coming down to Oxford for the Trinity Commem-ball. And with her presence removed from my immediate future, the whole world seemed a lot brighter and my former depressions quite remote.

On Thursday John L-T drove me up to London for the Argyll dance. And on the way, I attempted to glean the most recent information as to what [Y] has been up to of late. I was told how she'd been invited to several Commem balls, but had declined them all. This gives me a flicker of hope. Could it mean that she's thinking in terms of abandoning the holiday-camp routine? But I don't want to raise my hopes too much. I'm not at all sure that John would tell me if she's been seeing Christopher....

I had been invited to join Mrs Whitney's dinner party for the dance, to which I was looking forward in that her daughter is Anna Massey, who has got the lead part in `The Reluctant Debutante' by William Douglas-Home. I had assumed that the dinner would be at sometime around 20.00 hrs, but now that I took a closer look at my invitation, I perceived that it was for 18.45 hrs - with the idea that we should then go to see the play before going on to the dance. But it was already 19.00 hrs when I realized this. All I could do was to phone them instantly and explain what had happened. But it meant that I had to miss the dinner of course - and miss any real chance of meeting Anna. I was able to join Mrs Whitney's party at the theatre, and we did go round backstage afterwards. That didn't furnish much of an opportunity to find out what she's really like, but she's attractive. Perhaps there'll be other opportunities to get to know her. But with her commitment already to a theatrical career, she doesn't really fit within the pattern of more normal ways of living. She wasn't even able to came on to the dance with us.

I forgot to mention that there was a funny incident in the interval. We all went out to the bar, where I saw [B] who came up and asked if I would like to come and stay with them for Goodwood. But there had been so many cracks in the play about Guardee types going to Goodwood, Ascot and the like that I thought she was joking. So I said: "Certainly not!" But when I took note of the astonishment on her face, I had the embarrassment of realizing that her invitation had been offered in good faith. So it took me quite a while to explain myself. But in any case these race meetings are foreign to my nature, so I found my excuses to decline.

The dance itself was only fairly good. There were hordes of press photographers floating round, and I got snapped in a couple of compromising poses. In the first I was rubbing noses with [M], and in the second I was making a grimace at Richenda Gurney. But I don't suppose there can be much harm if they publish any of that.

Binky Montemar was there. (She had been Dru Montague's girlfriend when I was in Biarritz.) She told me that Lita is now married, but I neglected to ask to whom. The puzzle as to why she neglected to answer my last letter is becoming more comprehensible.

I am feeling that the estrangement from [Y] is working wonders for me. I feel so much better. On the other hand I do rather hope that it is only an estrangement, and not something more permanent - because I find that she has replaced [X] as the girl I think about in the early morning hours. And I feel warmly towards her at such times. So I'm hoping that a similar process might be going on in her own mind, which could increase the chances that we'll discover the right formula for finally getting back together again. It is with this thought in mind that I regard our estrangement as having been of value to both of us.

On Monday I went back up to London for [N]'s dance, joining David Brooke's dinner party for it....

On arriving at the dance I was just beginning to enjoy myself, when I noticed that [X] was there. And as I went to pass her, she held on to my arm and said that she wanted to end our stupid quarrel. She then took my breath away by saying that she was now engaged to someone called [H]. It came as quite a shock, hearing her announce it to me just like that, but I think I managed to conceal my inner emotion. She said something about an October wedding.

It was one of those times when I just felt as if my world was crumbling around me. [X] has been a major part of my life since I first met her in 1951. And now she goes out of it for a man that she only met three months ago. It seems that most of my friends have been informed of these developments for some time, but none of them felt like being the one to tell me about them. And of course, I wasn't on speaking terms with [X] herself.

After hearing about [X], I started to knock back a few drinks - until I was quite far gone. Suddenly Bendor appeared at my side, and he set down [Y] on the chair next to me. (He really can be quite sensitive to other people's suffering.) In my weakened estate, I felt that my resistance was at an end. So on the theory that I can't be expected to handle more than one crisis at once, I gave up the idea of letting things cool off between [Y] and myself. I danced with her, and she appeared to be responding. I thought that perhaps she really wanted me - although she was still dropping pin-prick remarks to remind me of all her communal admirers.

Finally she said that she would go off with me to a nightclub, and we were actually on our way down the stairs when we ran into Lucian Freud. He was just arriving, and he had an intense expression on his face which may have indicated that his whole purpose in coming here was to see [Y]. Ignoring my presence entirely, he just grabbed her by the hand and said: "Come and dance with me." She was mildly protesting that she couldn't, but not firmly enough. So she just did his bidding, turning to me to say she wouldn't be long.

In point of fact she wasn't very long. But as soon as she had returned, it was Christopher's turn to come rushing up and he began flirting with her quite deliberately before my eyes - even telling her that she was a fool to be going on to a nightclub with me. I think it's possible he may even be trying to goad me into having a fight with him. But he wouldn't be adopting these tactics if he wasn't perceiving that they are successful in some way. But how, I might ask myself - to which I might speculate that his attitude is amusing the likes of [Y], Caroline and [F]. He likes to be seen as the naughty-little-boy - and a successful naughty-little-boy too!

Once I did get [Y] into a taxi, I felt put out by her constant references to other admirers - to Christopher, Simon Quinn, or whomever. She doesn't perceive her friendships with others as an area where she ought to tread cautiously with regard to how she communicates with me about them. She is more concerned to establish the normality of such conversation, despite my sensitivity to the subject. But she was there alone in my company, and I was satisfied with that.

We found that the Millroy was closed, which put us in a bit of a quandary as to where we should go - especially in that my own inclination was merely to find a spot where we might have a serious discussion about our relationship. We tried [F]'s flat, but nobody was at home. So eventually [Y] decided to risk letting me up into her own flat, since her mother was away and only the maid was in residence. And she was making an effort to make me feel that we were as close as ever, as we sat there kissing on the sofa in the drawing room. So the outlook was good. But I still needed that serious discussion which I'd been planning in my mind over the past weeks. And eventually I started talking.

I asked her what use there could be in us carrying on as we were, suggesting that it might be better if we broke things off. To my surprise, she seemed much perturbed, begging me not to. She said that I was the person she had come nearest to loving, and that there were now so many small things between us that she couldn't bear it. So it really did seem that my threat of distancing myself had persuasive force - meaning that my hand is a strong one. But I still don't know how sincerely she meant what she was saying. It might be that she was giving some serious thought to the possibility of letting herself develop a love relationship. But the fact remained that she was nowhere near to that state of mind at this given point in time.

She was trying to dismiss my jealousy as mere absurdity, saying that she liked everyone for what they were, and no more. I even began to believe her. In fact when we finally parted, it was myself who was promising to try and reform my ways. And I had accepted her invitation to come and stay with them up in Scotland (at Drummond Castle) in September. The world seemed tinged with hope once more. I suppose it was because I was in love.

Next morning, Tuesday, I was cursing myself for having forgotten to fix up a date for us to go somewhere after the Lucas-Tooth wedding. So just before I left on the train for Oxford, I telephoned her. Already there was a different note in her voice - a note of finding excuses for not complying. So I didn't press it further. I just hoped that things would work out all right in the end.

So on Wednesday, I was back in London again to be an usher at John and Caroline's wedding. [Y] arrived, but I noted how she was doing her best not to catch my eye. I didn't get any chance at all to speak with her before the service had begun. I had to wait for that until the reception, when I thought she was responding all right - although there was still an air of avoiding me when possible. And at the end of the reception, I heard her asking Duncan Chisholm for a lift in his car when she knew perfectly well that I'd have offered her a lift in my taxi.

Caroline had been looking very beautiful throughout the ceremony, and we watched in the street as they sped off for their honeymoon. To the best of my belief, Caroline is still a virgin, despite all these months of engagement. They told me that they are determined to have a chaste first night, just so as to confound all of us who will be speculating amongst ourselves after dinner as to whether they are having their first copulation at that particular point in time. They are determined to do it at a time when nobody will be having such thoughts about them. This marks a distaste for voyeurism to a degree which must be unique! But it won't stop us speculating as we please.

I was in a bit of a quandary with regard to the evening's activities, in that I'd accepted a dinner invitation from the Duchess of Argyll before some dance which I didn't really want to attend, because it clashed with the plan for a bridesmaids' party at [F]'s flat. The prospect of an evening with Frances Sweeney was hardly enough for me to forego this opportunity for advancing my relationship with [Y]. But I was committed at least to the dinner. By the time I got there however, I was quite late - which put me in the Duchess' bad books right from the start. And with my subsequent behaviour, I think that my reputation may have sunk even lower.

I was in fact in fine argumentative fettle, but I may have picked a dangerous line against the Duchess. The subject of manners had been raised - perhaps already some indication that I was under critical examination. And she was commenting upon the rudeness of young men in neglecting to send thank-you letters after a dance. Well the conversation was a general one, but no one was speaking up in the defence of the way young men behave. So I was emboldened to assume that role myself. I argued that our attendance at these functions was all part of a social ritual, where the whole company was doing service to each other - the hostess in providing the venue, and the guests in creating the atmosphere. So the letter of thanks should not automatically be required, since it should mark a particular wish to express exceptional gratitude.

Well the Duchess took exception to that. She said that when hostesses went to all the trouble to send out the invitations, then her guests should take the trouble to express their thanks. A hasty withdrawal of my comments might have been appropriate, but I chose to follow them up by saying that the balance wasn't quite right - that whereas the hostess sent but the one letter of invitation, her guest was expected to write once in acceptance, and then a second time to thank her. I noted that her expression was sour, so I then desisted. But my gravest offence was yet to come, in that I excused myself from going on to the dance with them on the grounds that I had a most important engagement elsewhere. I have sent her a thank-you letter for the dinner incidentally, but I have my doubts that I'll feature in future upon her guest list.

I then went round to [F]'s flat to look for [Y], but was told that she had been gone for about an hour, but was expected to return. She had gone off with Duncan Chisholm to buy a bottle of whisky. Francis N was there, but he left with [F] soon after I had arrived. When [Y] did finally return with Duncan, I quickly perceived that she was still avoiding me. I took one opportunity to seat myself beside her, but she promptly made an excuse of having to cheer up Caroline's younger sister, Alyson. But as soon as we had started talking to her, [Y] slipped off to chat with someone else. I wasn't getting anywhere at all.

The time arrived when everyone had slipped off home to bed, apart from [Y], Alyson and myself. Alyson wanted to go home, but [Y] wouldn't let her. It was blatantly obvious that she didn't want to be left alone with me. She even persuaded Alyson to come and sit beside her on the sofa so as to preclude the possibility that I might move there myself. And I was getting quite fed up with this state of affairs. So I picked up a book that was on the floor and engrossed myself in that - a scene which continued for about half an hour. I could have departed of course, but I was morbidly curious to discover what [Y] might be waiting for. And my curiosity was eventually satisfied, when the door opened and in walked [F] and Francis.

[Y] immediately came to life. Francis went outside, and she promptly followed him. They had a short discussion. Then [Y] came back to fetch her coat, and to say that she was accepting his offer of a lift back home. (Home? Well that's what she said.) [F] then declared that she must go to bed. She left me reading for a while, and then I too went home.

This morning, Thursday, I was feeling very glum and depressed. Laurence drove me down to Oxford, but I was a most unsociable companion. He wanted to talk, but I would only answer yes, or no.

This afternoon I wrote another letter to [Y], in which I pointed out how it really is pointless for us to continue the relationship. I don't suppose that she'll care one jot whatever line I might choose to take - although I find it difficult to explain to myself what she could have meant when she was talking to me on Monday. So I do keep wondering if it's possible that those sentiments could be revived.

To tell the truth, I just don't know what might be going on inside her head - or what motivates her. It doesn't make logical sense. But I am toying with an explanation in the following terms. Two things are important to [Y]. On the one hand she treasures this image of herself as a heart-breaker. She wants all her friends to perceive and admire her that way. But on the other hand, it could be that she sincerely wants to secure me as her life's partner. So a distinction has to be drawn between the behaviour she puts on for her friends to perceive, and that which she displays when we are strictly on her own together. The latter behaviour is something which she goes to great lengths to conceal from her friends, and I daresay she would deny it if they suggested that it was thus. But she's frightened of giving herself away to them, and she's frightened that I might develop into someone who would oblige her to reveal it to them. Hence the strong urge to avoid my company so that I'll not be in any position to do so.

All that I can do is to wait and see how she responds to my letter. This is after all, a one-to-one communication. She may perceive that it's necessary to fan my feelings for her into a flame once again. I am certainly hoping that she does, but the pessimistic side to me maintains a grave doubt on the issue.

On Friday I went down to Longleat for the weekend, to attend the Morrisons' dance. I was glad to hear that Christopher was not at Job's Mill, although he was expected the following evening. I had not originally been intending to go to this dance, but [X] had mentioned that [H] would be there, and she had asked me to come along and meet him. So I went.

In point of fact I managed to enjoy myself very well. Most of the brightest debs were there, and I found myself in popular demand. I even found myself viewing [X] in Rowly's company with equanimity. I didn't obtain the opportunity to converse with him, although I think [X] may have been intending to arrange this to happen when she came up to me and suggested that we dance. I declined on the basis that I didn't feel up to it; but the truth of the matter is that I'm frightened of rekindling my own sexual desire for her.

I noted how [H]appears likeable and appropriate in every way. I can even tell myself that he is precisely the kind of person whom [X] ought to marry - sensible and reliable, besides looking dignified and personable. For the moment she is behaving as if she has a new toy - namely a fiance. She's so proud of having one on her arm. But I wish them every joy. I find it easier to accept [X]'s departure from my life in the light of my judgement that she has made a suitable choice for a life partner. At the same time he is so different from myself that I hardly feel as if he is replacing me. Perhaps I may be permitted to continue representing that other side within her friendships - although it would be foolish of me to attempt to disrupt what impresses me as a very good marriage for her to be making.

I can't help wondering just how truthful to him she has been on the subject of our own relationship. I'll bet that she managed to speak dismissively about it. But I also wonder whether she presents herself as a virgin. Well she is of course - unless those other admirers went further than she ever revealed to myself. And I really wouldn't like it at all if I were now to learn that others had her, in a fashion more intimate than was permitted to myself. I may well remain in life-long ignorance on that issue, but I