On Wednesday I drove back to Folly Bridge for the beginning of the Hilary term, and that evening, [C] called in to see me. I was busy at the time, but I arranged to meet her later when I went round for a drink in Tim R's rooms. And that's where I ended up. Tim gives the impression incidentally, of being practically engaged to Jennifer Bush. I like her - she's both attractive and funny - one of the few girls who put me very much at ease. I hope it goes well for them.

I took [C] on to dinner. But first of all we went to have a drink at the Randolph, where we ran into two of her friends - Stanley Parker and Larry Rich.

I have doubts that [C] is genuine in the image that she presents to me. She tells me that she is an extremely loyal person - from which I might read that she is warning me not to speak ill of her to my friends. And she may perhaps be telling me that she won't write badly about me in her gossip column, provided that I give her good reason to suppose that I am her friend. But I find myself wondering just how rapidly her proclaimed loyalty would disintegrate if I did anything whatsoever to upset her.

She was suggesting that I ought to come up to London to see her, instead of just waiting for her to turn up in Oxford - or that we should go for some holiday abroad together. But that would be too much of a commitment, as I see it. I don't feel close enough to her for such an escapade; and the very thought of a marriage to her (which could only end in disaster) simply terrifies me. So I remained as indecisive as possible over such propositions. But I did take her back home to bed with me. (Am I a shit?)

The real question is whether she is unrealistic enough to suppose that I might be persuaded to marry her under such circumstances. For I do have this uncomfortable thought that [C] herself might be supposing she has a chance of engineering this end result. She probably regards myself as being unworldly; but in this case, the unworldliness is far more on her side. She just doesn't perceive the nature (or the strength) of the forces which would instantly be ranged up against this outcome, if I should take it into my head to attempt to go along with such a plan. Most other families might be different in this respect; but (along with the royal family, I might be so bold as to add,) my own freedom for marital choice is rather more limited.

I do quite frankly find such a potential outcome to be inconceivable. There are no areas whatsoever where I (or anyone else) might regard [C] as being a suitable wife for me. And it could turn out to be most embarrassing, if she does not perceive this for herself. I think she may have got this idea in her head that I am a delightfully weak individual, who can be steered into making the decisions that she might want - which could well create a dangerous situation.

But the fact remains that I do enjoy her company. And it delights me to have this opportunity to be fucking someone whom I find exciting. Nor does it seem to matter that others might regard her as a bit lewd - even a tart. I like her, which is what is important. And I can give her a good time, just as much as she can give me a good time - which must count as a valid formula for us to continue seeing one another, for the time being in any case, even if I do need to play my hand cautiously.

There is some danger that we are confronting one another in positions of subterfuge. I feel bound to take a potentially tough line with her, in that the truth of the matter is that she is no young innocent. I wouldn't like to guess at the number of sexual relationships she may have had prior to this one with myself, but people would laugh at me if I were to suggest that the figure was low. And within all that experience with which I might accredit her, she must surely know the ropes.

If it is her purpose to avoid getting pregnant, then it simply won't happen; or if it were to happen accidentally, then I know that she'd see to it that the pregnancy would rapidly be terminated, despite anything she might have to say on the subject of her religious persuasion. But if she were to decide to get pregnant, then the game would be entirely different. And I hardly think anyone could blame me if I declined to permit her to manipulate me by such a contrived an event - no matter what the consequences. Under these circumstances however, it would be unfair to accuse me of using [C], any more than it would be fair to accuse her of using me. We are both in this game with our eyes fully open - even if we do each take a stance on the naive side of where we really stand.

It might well be that when [C] appreciates that I am not quite so easy to lead as she may have supposed, then she'll ditch me. This is something that I must expect to happen, as I suppose. But I would like to think that I can always disengage from the relationship without any real harm having been done to either side. I am not cut out for any manner of contrived unpleasantness. I really hope that when we do part, we'll be able to do so in mutual friendliness.

On Thursday I was feeling horribly liverish all day - as a result of the hangover. I couldn't escape from a certain anxiety that [C] could be planning to get pregnant by me with some deliberation. I tried to get on with my work, but I simply couldn't do so. So I went off to see a film instead. I found that I was back in good spirits by Friday morning.

At drinks with Karl Leyzer last Sunday, a girl suddenly rushed up to say: "I do hope that you'll forgive me, but I know that you're Alexander Weymouth and you're the one person in the whole of Oxford that I've been longing to meet. I was somewhat taken aback, and didn't really know what to say. But I was indeed flattered, preening myself inwardly. And it's nice to learn that I am developing a glamorous image at Oxford.

Yesterday Saturday, Fionn O'Neill gave a party along with several other people. But I wasn't feeling in the right mood to enjoy myself.

[C] was also there, and she was all over me right from the moment that she first espied me. But I was full of caution, in the light of the doubts that I've already described. I did invite her on to dinner however, and then back to bed at Folly Bridge.

Suddenly [H] came banging at the door, shouting that my car would have to be moved - which was all so unnecessary in that it wasn't locked, and they could quite easily have rolled it downhill a few yards, just as we've all done in the past - which is what I now told him to do. But [H] is the limit. He delights in anything which will cause fluster or embarrassment.

During the dinner, [C] had asked me point blank to take her to the Bullingdon dance. I told her that I couldn't, since I'd already invited someone. This was a lie, but it seemed the safest defence; and it would indeed be dangerous to invite her when she might file a report on what we got up to for her gossip column. I know how she claims to be "loyal" - a statement which might be too carefully designed to set my fears at rest on that score. So I certainly wouldn't depend upon it. And I'll feel a lot safer if I find someone different to take to the dance. [C] feigned being offended, although I doubt if that was genuine. And whenever she probed to discover whom it was that I'd invited, I just told her not to be quizzy.

There was an undercurrent of potential discord between us when I took her back to bed with me. So it may have been unwise of me to make any attempt to clarify my emotions, after we had finished fucking and were just lying there in bed together. I just asked her if she realized how there was someone with whom the relationship hadn't fared as well for me as I might have hoped, but that it might be said that I was in love with her. She asked if I meant [X], but I corrected this in telling her that it was [Y]. Then there was a prolonged silence, without either of us saying anything - finally broken by [C] getting out of bed and starting to dress. So I followed suit - during which period neither of us said anything at all.

When she did finally speak, it seemed evident that she was trying to work herself up into anger - to the effect that she didn't care a damn with whom I might be in love, but she considered it in bad taste that I had taken her to bed to tell her about it. She said it was just about the coldest brush-off that she'd ever received. What a reception I'd given her, after she'd gone to all this effort to come up to Oxford so as to see me! She was trying to put some punch in her words, and perhaps even hopeful to lose her temper with me. But I was giving her the least possible opportunity to do this - even saying that I was sorry if I had offended her by my timing. It was really a case of saying as little as possible. If we're busting up, we can at least remain polite to one another.

I drove her back to the Randolph, where she had already booked a room. All this was in complete silence. Yet just before climbing out of the car she paused, and I think she was hoping that I might give some indication that, in a spirit of penitence, I might now try to make amends by inviting her to the Bullingdon dance. But I was very careful to say nothing on that score. My whole instinct about [C] is that it might be best if the affair is terminated, but I'd prefer to leave it to her to take such a decision for herself. There is of course some danger that she'll now write something unpleasant about me in the press. I'll remain hopeful however, that she'll perceive some advantage in remaining on friendly terms with me. That would be the nicest possible outcome.

On Tuesday I was working in the PPE reading room when [V] entered, and she came across to sit at the same desk, one space away from my own and with no one in between us. Never has there been such a wonderful opportunity for making her acquaintance, but I was totally incapable of availing myself of it. In fact I found myself blushing profusely the instant that she came and sat down. I feel sure that she must have been aware of this. Not that she was really looking at me, but I can sense that she is aware of me - possibly without even knowing who I am. And there was one moment (later on) when she laid her head to rest on her arms, but with her face towards me. She wasn't actually looking at me, indeed her eyes were closed for most of the time, but she must have been conscious that I was fidgeting and casting sly glances in her direction.

My incapacity to advantage myself from an opportunity such as this is utterly ridiculous. But my mind goes blank as to what I might possibly say to her. It should have been so easy for me to blurt out anything at all, after which a conversation of some sort would have emerged. But I found myself hopelessly inhibited. It's as if I'm giving myself conflicting signals as to whether or not I really want this relationship to begin, and whether I could cope with it if I did. She gives the impression of being a serious-minded girl - judging from the expression on her face, that is to say. I hardly think that she'd appreciate it if I got to know her just to bed her, so to speak. I think she'd expect me to take her up as my principal girlfriend, if she proves willing to start anything at all. But I am smitten with an indecision as to whether I might want that to happen - which is quite ridiculous. If for no better reason, it would be healthy for me to fixate my sexual interest upon someone at Oxford, so that I can finally shed [Y] from my system.

On Saturday morning I drove down to Firle with Sebastian York, to join a weekend party that was being organized by Sammy and Nicky Gage. And besides their sister Camilla, we found a couple of other attractive girls - Helene de Montemar and Colienne Schwartzenberg, (French and Austrian respectively.) They were well worth getting to know. But the one I really fancied was Helene, who had been invited down as Nicky's own rather special guest. So this hampered my potential in that area. But I noted how she always made a point of taking a seat in my own car, rather than in one of the others. It may be just conceit, but I was inclined to think that Helene was being quite responsive to the glances which I threw in her direction. And it struck me that she was frequently lagging behind the others, so that she could walk beside myself. Not that I'm likely to benefit from any of this, in that I doubt if our paths will recross.

I haven't seen much of Sammy since the days we were at Ludgrove together. (At Eton, we met little.) He seems to cultivate his own brand of eccentricity - far more introverted and less sociable than his younger brother. He is becoming increasingly moody as time progresses, and I'm told that he is developing into a drunkard. His present obsession is that he is about to die - largely because this is what he was told by a fortune-teller. (The month of March was predicted as when it would happen.) Sammy wanted to know what I myself would do, if I knew for sure that I was going to die. I told him that I'd probably write a book about the experience. But the others took the line that this has all been done too many times previously.

After dinner on Saturday, Nicky suggested that we all play `Truth'. I wasn't too keen at this prospect. I always suppose that people are going to ask me questions which are rather too personal - like asking me to reveal whether there have been any homosexual experiences in my life. I can write about such matters in this journal, but I still find it difficult to speak openly on the subject to a group of friends, some of whom I might not know all that well. So I started the game, feeling myself on edge concerning whether I might start blushing. But all was well. For the game to work, a certain tact needs to be displayed with regard to the questions which are posed. And there was nothing too terrible about the ones which came my way. When asked if I regarded myself as being conceited, I said yes. If they had asked me whether I thought I might be a genius, I daresay that I'd have felt more embarrassed. But they didn't probe as deeply as that.

We ended the evening by looking for the ghost which is supposed to haunt Firle. At one point, I was standing motionless in the shadows within a shuttered gallery, and Colienne came over to investigate because I hadn't answered her query as to whom it might be. And just as she was reaching out to touch me, I said "Boo!" - which gave her the fright of her life.

On Sunday afternoon, we drove up on to the Sussex downs to watch the gliders. Then on spotting a bull with a small herd of cows in a neighbouring field, Nicky got it into his head that we ought to do some bull-fighting. He has been trying to persuade me to go into stock-car racing as well, so he seems well and truly bitten by the quest for dangerous activities, which might be expected to decimate the population of young males (within some of the world's cultures, which are prone to such macho displays.) But I don't really see the point in all that. I think I have the right to feel that I've proven my courage already - in the boxing ring if nowhere else. I shouldn't be expected to pursue that same endeavour indefinitely. There would be time for nothing else in life.

So when Nicky went into the field to start taunting the bull, I declined to follow him. What I did do was to sit up on the gate, ready and prepared to rush forward in assistance if a situation of any real danger were to arise. But in the event, Nicky wasn't really pressing his luck. In fact his antics fell a long way short of actually taunting the bull. It was more a question of seeing how close he could approach the bull without it actually looking at him. Then after he had withdrawn from the field to rejoin the others who were sauntering off down the hill, I did in fact jump down from the fence to match his own feat - but no more than that - by walking in a circle round the bull, before withdrawing myself from the field; the only difference being that, if I had got into trouble, then there would have been no one at all sat up on the gate to come to my assistance. This way I knew that I had removed the possibility that any of them could make out a case that I had displayed less daring than Nicky himself had done. And when I rejoined the others, I was feeling rather pleased with myself.

On Thursday night, [H] was up to his old tricks - coming into my room with the express intention to tease. He plays the same game with Francis too, although not (it should be noted) with Christopher A. He declares that he wants a good night kiss, and won't go to bed until he has received one. He usually manages to get one from Francis, but for my own part, I have managed to fight him off, to date. His tactic then is to blow me kisses from his hand, and pretend that this amounts to the same thing.

On Friday evening I had been invited by Kate Ward as her partner to the St Hilda's dance. It's nice that Kate and I now get on so well together, in the light of how she took a dislike to me when I first came up to Oxford. We are now able to talk about such matters as an open subject. I hardly think that any romantic developments are likely. I don't get the impression that is what she wants. I noted on this particular evening how she was avoiding any situation where I could have attempted to kiss her - a sudden coolness apparent in her demeanour. And I had no wish to make a fool of myself by receiving a rebuff. In that the situation was clearly understood however, I was able to pass an agreeable evening in her company.

We went in a party with Sally Marris and Jennifer Bush, Tim R and somebody called McCloud. I suppose I really find Jennifer to be the most attractive - although very much involved with Tim for the time being. Sally may be rather too formal and tweedy for my personal taste, but I have always got on well with her. Conversationally, I find no strain whatsoever. I think the thought could have originated in her mind that I ought to be paired with Katie, regarding such a relationship as being potentially suitable for both parties! (Son of a Marquess to be paired with the daughter of an Ambassador, etc, etc - and both of them at a loose end after the breakdown of their existing affairs.) Indeed Sally has started probing on more than one occasion to discover if I might ever take a fancy to Katie. But the truth of the matter is that, much as I like her, I am not really at ease in her presence. I feel uncertain what to talk about with her, and I realize how I could never let myself go, or do anything outrageous with her.

I noted that two of the attractive girls who sit in the PPE reading room were in attendance at this party. But when I remarked upon one of them, Jenny promptly told me that she has a very bad reputation. I suppose she was saying this in order to warn me off her. But the effect was to the contrary, in that my interest in her soared right up! There was no sign of [V] however. Perhaps I should conclude that she's rather too serious for this kind of frivolity.

I got up very late on Saturday morning - to be awoken eventually by Gee Swire and Suzannah Chancellor bouncing up and down on my bed, and telling me that it was time to get up. It was too, for I had to go to the station to meet the train. I had invited Venetia Murray to accompany me to the Bullingdon dance, and I was almost late. The round of social activities had already started - as from midday in effect, but nothing worth putting on record in any of that.

The dance itself (once again) was being held at Raymond Carr's house at Great Milton, and it began stickily because too many people arrived at it so late. It only began to liven up around midnight, after which it might be judged a success.

At one point in the evening I was dancing with Camilla Roberts, who mentioned that she had been at Hatherop. So I told her the story of how Jimmy Skinner and myself had driven over there one day in my Triumph sports car, and attempted to chat up some of the girls - until we were requested to leave by one of the mistresses. Camilla suddenly gasped: "My God! So it was you!" She then told me how it had been the main topic of interest at the school for the next month - wondering whom the handsome young men might be, and whether they would ever return. Camilla herself had been one of the girls hiding behind the hedge, whose heads kept popping up and down without any of them plucking up sufficient courage to come down and talk to us.

For most of the evening I was dancing with Venetia, but we are not really well suited to one another. I'll try to explain myself on this point. When I look at Venetia, it strikes me that she is quite deliberately putting on a pose for my benefit - as if she has a firm idea of what young men ought to see in her. And it's obvious to me that she wants to be viewed as a child-like ingenue, and (quite conversely) as a vamp with an allure of mystery about her. She leans back from me while dancing, fully expecting me to gaze at her, but with an enigmatic smile on her face which supposedly excuses us from conversation. And I find myself falling into step with her, smiling enigmatically (or just inanely?) back at her. We both giggle, as if that were to say a lot. And in the back of my mind, I see that we are posing as a couple of love-birds, and quite possibly being viewed as such - which makes me feel quite stupid in that I know it to be a fictionalized image.

Quite soon I reached the conclusion that it might be best if we left the dance, before [C] had time to let loose any foul blows. And besides that, we were feeling tired. Venetia had agreed to come and stay the night with me at Folly Bridge, and we did in fact share the same bed - kissing, and fondling above the waist. But I sensed how she didn't want me to go any further than that, and I didn't endeavour to do so. I imagine that if I'd convinced her that I was in love with her, then I might have a different story to tell. But it would have been wrong of me to play that game, and I'm pleased that I didn't. She returned to London on Sunday afternoon.

I had received a letter from [Q] to say that she was descending upon Oxford, once again. She had arrived shortly before Anthony Shiel's party was due to begin, but she declared that she had a party of her own to which she was invited, so I'd been free for most of the evening. But when I returned to my room in Folly Bridge, she was there, and we spent an exhausting night together.

I was happy enough that she had more things of her own to do the following morning. It seems that she went round to visit Benson and Bingham, while I went for drinks with Billa Harrod. But on going from there to a buffet luncheon given by David Galloway, I discovered that [Q] was there too - with the others in attendance on her. She didn't seem eager to come over to talk with me, so I remained for much of the time discussing the plausibility of the Resurrection with John Lucas. (Quite frankly, it amazes me how people as intelligent and well-educated as he is, can firmly believe that something distinctly supernatural took place on that occasion.) He also promised to read my latest paper on Morality and Politics. [Q] went off with the others, so I still had the afternoon to myself, and spent it wandering round Oxford with Ian R and Paddy Packenham, searching unsuccessfully for someone who might have some drinks to offer us.

When [Q] finally arrived, she was in chattersome mood. (She always is after a few drinks.) She told me how when Benson and Bingham had enquired where she would be sleeping, receiving the answer that it would be on my spare bed down at Folly Bridge, their faces had dropped a mile. They had made a big effort to dissuade her, saying how it would be safer for her to sleep on a sofa in one of their own rooms. The point to notice is that [Q] appears to be misinforming them about the degree of intimacy in our own relationship. And if she misinforms them, should I suppose that she also misinforms me? And what of girls in general? Is such misinformation what I should expect from women? These are points I daresay, which I should continue to ponder in the back of my mind.

[Q] departed for London in the early hours of Monday morning, and since then I have in fact run into both Benson and Bingham on several occasions. Robin's attitude towards me appears perfectly friendly, although he looks as if he is making a conscious effort not to impair his affability with a display of any suspicion concerning what [Q] may have been doing with me. Richard on the other hand is avoiding my gaze, and has succeeded so far in not having to address any remarks to me.

On Wednesday I received another letter from Louise Dubois, the Swedish girl who started writing to me after articles had appeared within the continental press about me going to live all on my own at Longleat. It would rather seem that this created a romantic image of my identity, to an extent that I received letters from several young girls in its wake. But Louise is the only one with whom I have sustained a continuing correspondence - largely because her letters arouse my interest. She would seem to be someone who combines intelligence, imagination and literacy. Nor would it seem that she is at all reserved - which helps in a situation where I myself am shy in many respects. The big unknown factor of course, is whether she's a beauty. I would very much like to coax a photograph out of her. Or better still, I'd like the opportunity to meet her, without her knowing that it was me. That might be hoping for too much however!

On Saturday Robin Gage gave a party, in which I found myself in excellent form.... Camilla Roberts finally invited me (along with a few others) back to her home at Stonesfield Manor for dinner, where I met her mother who is an attractive widow - one who definitely gives the impression that she is interested in young men. But I must confess to feeling ill at ease in this situation. In part it's a question of me play-acting. I am pretending that I'd know how to handle the situation if she whisked me off to bed, when the truth of the matter is that I wouldn't. I'd be aware how she was setting the pace, and that I was just fumbling to follow where she led. And that would be a situation which doesn't appeal to me - partly because I'd feel that I was losing out on the cultural expectations of the society in which I dwell - that I wasn't emerging enough in the role of the pace-setting macho male, such as my peer group would expect of me.

But it's interesting to note just how poorly I shaped up under these requirements. We were sitting round the drawing room playing Truth, and Mrs Roberts asked me if I would feel that I had to accept an invitation to come to bed from a woman, when I didn't really want to. I declared that I wouldn't feel bound to say yes. Then afterwards I felt awkward, wondering if she had posed the problem in a more personal vein. And I saw just how difficult it might be to decline such an overture, after thus throwing my cap into the ring - so to speak. No such invitation was actually made, but I now find myself wondering if I've given her false encouragement which I might live to regret on a subsequent encounter!

On Thursday I went along to the PPE reading room quite largely in the hopes of seeing [V].  And sure enough she arrived soon after myself, taking a seat on the same bench just beyond the man who was sitting beside me. It is not the first time that she has selected a position in such proximity, so I was bound to wonder if she was doing this intentionally.

I ought to have mentioned how I'd dropped in at the reading room earlier this week, and had observed that she was there. She had caught my eye, and I half suspected that she had given me the shadow of a fleeting smile. This had indeed prompted me into thinking that it was high time that I engineered some method to introduce myself.

So on this occasion (Thursday), as soon as I'd recovered from my initial fit of blushing, I applied myself in earnest to the problem of how best to approach her. I noted how she was now reposing her head on her arms, as if needing a rest. (After a mere five minutes work?) And it did strike me that she might be watching me through half-closed eyelids, and that I could read some amusement within her expression - due to the fact that I was blushing no doubt. Then the man sitting between us got up and left, which left us more or less in juxtaposition. But it made us both that much more conscious of our proximity, which may explain why she suddenly sat up again to apply herself to her studies.

I still couldn't get myself to take any initiative in making her acquaintance, and I thought I had missed out on the opportunity completely when she got to her feet and went outside - for a smoke break as it later transpired. I looked up at her almost in despair, but was quickly reassured on observing that she was leaving her bag on the desk. But the sense of near loss spurred me to overcome my shyness, and go up and speak with her as soon as she returned. Or I was daring myself to do this, setting myself the point in time when I'd be packing up to leave.

Return she did, so my plan went into operation. Dreading the task I had set myself, I got up to leave, managing to find myself all manner of trifling tasks to delay the crucial act of going up to speak with her. But I did finally walk up to her, (blushing deeply as I imagine,) and told her that I was having a few people round for a drink on Sunday, so would she like to join their number? She sat there with a straight face while taking in what I was saying, and then just said quite simply that she'd like that. So I wrote down my address on a book-slip, and departed. It was as easy as that!

I am positively delighted at my own daring. At the same time I am greatly nervous at the prospect of carrying it all off successfully. I hadn't the slightest intention of holding a drinks party at Folly Bridge this term, but it will be worth it if it means that I am now going to start a friendship with this girl. But it could turn out to be a disaster of course! I only hope that she doesn't turn out to be too shy. She might be; her expression is quite restrained at times - although with a touch of exciting wickedness, I think. I probably need that twinkle of naughtiness to bring out the best (or the worst?) in me.

If the meeting turns out to be a disaster, then I have chosen the best moment to incur it - since the Hilary term will very soon be coming to an end. So it wouldn't be difficult to distance myself as a result of the Easter vacation. But if it turns out to be a success, then I'll still have all next term for developments - after which it will be too far distant in the future to make any realistic plans as yet. But if this relationship can serve to shed [Y] from my system, then it will do me the world of good.

It's rather awful I suppose that I still harbour these feelings for [Y], when seeking to start something with [V]. What's even worse is that, with half of my mind, I have no wish to be cured from [Y]. Perhaps I'm secretly hoping that this relationship will ultimately mend, for the fact of the matter is that I would still like to marry her. But if only it could work out that I fall in love with [V], then I might hope to rid myself of all this pointless hankering after a relationship that does me no good, and which will never work out in practice. So here's hoping!

I didn't get to bed as early as I'd been hoping on Saturday night, since I went to a party in Teddy Hall's barn - although I did break away from it around midnight. As I was leaving, Jeremy Fenwick was just arriving, and we stood chatting for a while just outside the door of the barn. It struck me even then that he'd drunk rather too much, since he was swaying quite considerably. As I moved off to find my car, he was standing there barking at a dog. And that was the last I was ever to see of him. For I was to hear next morning how he'd been killed while driving back from the party. He had two passengers in his car at the time - Nicky Gage and Cargie Oakshott. But they both came out of it all right - except that Cargie got a broken jaw. Apparently they were doing about 70 m.p.h. down the Ifley Road, and crashed into a taxi which was emerging from a side street. Jeremy was killed outright. All so gruesome! And I suppose it's true to say that far too many of my friends take risks of this kind when driving home from parties. So there but for the grace of God.... etc!

There was such a depressed atmosphere round Oxford on that Sunday morning. It was Sally Marris who dropped by to tell me that Jeremy had been killed, and to warn me that some people who felt especially close to him might give my drinks a miss. She was obviously hinting that I should cancel them. But I was setting too much store on getting to know [V] as a result of her coming to them. So I just sat there waiting to see if any of the others would turn up. And sure enough, they did. But for quite a long while, there was no sign whatsoever of [V], and I began to fear that she'd taken fright.

I was also worried that if she didn't turn up, then I was going to lose face, since the whole lot of this crowd knew precisely why I was holding this party, and they were waiting with some curiosity to see for themselves whom this girl from the PPE reading room might be. So it came as a considerable relief when the door finally opened for the umpteenth time - and there she was!

I did find her both shy and quiet, but not at all difficult to converse with. She seemed as eager as myself to bridge all the uncertainties of not knowing one another. The ordeal (if as such it should be described) must have been more difficult for herself in that she was here required to mingle with a set of undergraduates well outside her own group, whereas I had surrounded myself with my chosen friends - all of them thoroughly supportive in my hopes to find myself a new girlfriend. She was to tell me later that she would never have come if she had realized the extent to which all the others were in the know about what I was doing. But she had supposed that my proclaimed drinks at Folly Bridge had been previously arranged, so had felt no qualms about accepting. She also intimated to me (later) that she had very nearly sent me a note apologizing for being unable to attend, because she had quite genuinely forgotten about a prior arrangement (that she must stay Saturday night with one of her elder sisters.) But in the event she decided to rush back to Oxford on the Sunday morning, so as not to disappoint me - which she judged might discourage me from ever approaching her again.

It seems that she had been aware for quite some time that I had been watching her in the PPE reading room, but that there were quite a few such persons who did that - although she was quick to reassure me that she wasn't in the habit of allowing herself to get picked up by strangers. The gambit that she most frequently encounters (she tells me) is for a man to come up and ask if she has the book that he is looking for - leading to an invitation to come outside for a coffee-break. But my own approach was pleasantly different, in that it demanded no immediate response, and gave her the opportunity to back out if she had felt so inclined. She says that it's `the wogs' at Oxford who keep trying the most persistently to date her, and she was imagining that I might be rather too English, and too gentlemanly perhaps, to make such an attempt. However she was very glad that I'd done so. She was also probing to discover if I had sent her a Valentine card - which I hadn't. (I've never sent anyone a Valentine card!) But it seems that someone had, and she'd been wondering which of the undergraduates from the PPE reading room (as she suspected) might have done this. Whoever may have sent it, it would seem that I was the beneficiary, in that it put her in a more receptive mood to my bold initiative.

I was behaving quite erratically at the start. I managed to knock over a bottle of sherry, and I kept on forgetting where I had placed things. And a mouthful of wine went down the wrong way when Jenny Bush came up to [V] and said: "So you're Alexander's pick-up!" But it was stated in such friendly vein that the remark was well-received. I got the impression that [V] was promptly inclined to become good friends with Jenny, whereas there may have been a hint of disapproval in her general line of conversation concerning the social emphasis within my particular group of friends - not being serious enough about life's tragedies, by [V]'s standards perhaps!

Later I took her along to lunch at the Grid, during the course of which I noted how her eyes respond by taking in, and reciprocating, a sudden "deep" intensification of the gaze - such as I'm told is one of my own mannerisms. The point I'm really making is that [V] responds intelligently and receptively to facial expression. She was displaying to me that there is a similar nuance of thought within our heads, and that she could utilize the same language in affirming it as myself. In some strange way, it brought us closer together - and excited me. There may have been a hint of wickedness in that look - a communication that she might seem quiet on the surface, but that we could have plenty of fun together provided that we make the right kind of progress.

So what else have I discovered about her? Well she is in her second year, at St Anne's, but currently in a hostel at 5 Bevington Road. She is reading PPP - the subject which I would have chosen for myself if I were starting all over again. (No Economics, and plenty of Psychology.) She is quite evidently intelligent, and probably a girl of sound common sense. She tells me that her teachers inform her that she might obtain a First if she sets her mind on that goal - although she did lapse by failing two of her subjects in Prelims. (Subsequently rectified of course.) She has also had a book published - a children's book about a horse, written when she was only fourteen. She is now on the verge of her 21st birthday, and intends to become an author of some kind, although she remains uncertain precisely what her subject will be.

Both of her parents are now dead apparently - after divorcing. The father was a well-known psychiatrist, but they were brought up by the mother.  [V] hints that her mother was of a flighty disposition. The `Grandad' (a former Tory M.P.) is still there as head of the family, although he's quite old. The nucleus of her family now really consists of her two elder sisters, (the second one married,) and some uncles and aunts who are always available, but not strictly on the scene.

With regard to her views, she inclines towards some brand of Theism, and her politics I believe to be firmly Labour. In any case, when I volunteered the remark that my own politics were "not violently Conservative", she responded by saying "Hooray!" But to tell the truth this slightly wrong-footed me. I am well accustomed to defending a left of centre position against right wing opposition, but I'm entirely untrained in defending my opinions from an assault from the left. I suppose it's just a question of mingling in company where left wing opinions are rarely expressed. So it might do me the world of good to discover how I make out from this new angle. But it makes me feel in some strange way uncertain of myself.

I remain unclear in my own head precisely which of us may truly be the instigator of this relationship. Of course I am inclined to suppose that it was myself. But [V] is curiously sure of herself, in her own quiet way, and she seems to know what she wants in life. It could be that she manages to manipulate her admirers - passively, so to speak. I get the feeling that she knows the ropes in life, and that it's unlikely to be myself who is really setting the pace, which makes me wary to some extent - apprehensive that I might get taken in by a facade.

With regard to whatever the extent of her previous sexual experience might be, it would surprise me greatly if I were to discover that she is a virgin. The situation of her living with elder sisters, and with no parents at all upon their domestic scene, must surely preclude any too great an emphasis upon the need for chastity. But I think I could expect to discern it if she were especially libertine. I certainly don't get that impression. She hasn't seen fit, as yet, to reveal much about her sex life, although it did come out that she has holidayed abroad with various men - the only one to which she gave a name was [J], a Canadian Rhodes Scholar who went down last year after obtaining a Congratulatory First.

I should have mentioned that [Q] was there, when I took [V] down to the Grid for lunch on Sunday - in the company of her friends from Bailliol. She looked quite put out when she observed that I was with this girl, who was totally unknown to herself or to the others. She had previously intimated that she would be coming to see me later in the day, but that was a plan which dropped by the wayside once she had espied me in the company of another. I daresay this will mean that she now links up emotionally with either Benson or Bingham.

On Monday I dropped in at the PPE reading room in the hopes of finding [V], but she wasn't there. But it did strike me that there was a new sense of awareness of my identity amongst the attractive girls who were present. It could be that this was a complete fantasy on my side, but I know that in one case it was correct. This was in the instance of Caroline Powell, whom I've learnt happens to be a fellow resident of 5 Bevington Road, so a friend of [V]'s. And it does so happen that Caroline made a bit of a set at me at a party last term. I don't think I may have mentioned it in this journal at the time, so I had best tell the story now.

Nothing of any significance occurred, but I was standing on the fringes of a group when this (quite attractive) girl tapped me on the shoulder and said: "Hello Alexander." But she maintained a mysteriously non-informative reserve in response to all my questions as to where I might have met her previously. And I think the truth of the matter is that I never had done so. She was just trying it on. And when I started dancing with her, I was supposing that I might now be in luck - until she made it clear from her attitude of restraint, that I could expect no rapid rewards. (She made it quite clear that I wasn't going to hold her too closely as we danced.) So I desisted altogether, and haven't really seen much of her since then.

But Caroline was here at the PPE reading room on this present occasion, and she gave me an embarrassed grin. But it was a grin almost to say: "You rascal Alexander, so you've managed to get one of us after all!" I mean I had this feeling that they all knew about it, and that it somehow elevated me in their eyes. And [V] herself did in fact comment on the next occasion that we met, that Caroline had asked her quite enviously how she had managed it - which must mean, I suppose, that they set their sights on particular individuals, and treat the pursuit of us competitively. (So do the men with the women, I suppose it might be equally true to say!)

In the case of Caroline, I'd say that the evidence points to her having been aware of my identity, (of my title, of Longleat and all the rest) before actually tapping me on the shoulder and saying "Hello Alexander." But I still can't quite make out how much [V] may have known about me before coming to sit herself within my vicinity in the reading room. She has told me that she looked me up in the University Register just after I had come up and invited her to Folly Bridge, and had been bewildered to find there was a Viscount Weymouth, but no Alexander Weymouth. But that was later. I mean it didn't predate my initial approach to her. So it leaves unanswered just how little she knew about me at the outset. Was she aware that I was some manner of a catch, by the standards of social society? Indeed, would such standards have any appeal to her whatsoever? It is the uncertainty on such issues which makes me feel nervous.

Anyway, after managing to establish that [V] wasn't in the reading room on this particular day, and that she wasn't back at her hostel either, I gave up. In fact I went off to see a film - all on my own.

A little while later, I grasped a quick opportunity to speak to her when she was passing my own desk. I then suggested that she come and have some lunch with me. But it was now too late. I learnt that she was already booked.

That evening I had another attempt. I wrote her a letter inviting her out to dinner next day. And this time I was more successful. It resulted in us going out to a cinema together, (`The Bed,') and then on to a restaurant, (`The Elizabeth.')

My choice of a film turned out to be a bit dangerous, as the title should have warned me - with a group of men telling their different bedroom tales, and some of them a bit risque. It's fine to see this sort of a film in the company of a girl whom one has already bedded, but it was rather difficult sitting there in her presence when such a situation had yet to be resolved. The moments when laughter might have been expected were complicated by the fact that we ourselves have yet to laugh about those things. And I think we were both conscious of this mutual restraint - not that it was too worrisome. It just meant that we resorted to the occasional nervous giggle, and neglected to discuss the film in any detail afterwards.

There was a sequel to this date, about which I was only told later. But when I came to drop her back at Bevington Road after our dinner at `The Elizabeth,' I failed to notice that [H] was standing in the shadows of her porch, waiting for her to return. I just dropped her off and drove back home. But she told me next morning, (when we were having lunch together at the Newman bookshop,) how he appeared from the shadows with a furious expression on his face. It seems that she had forgotten he was coming round to have coffee with her, and he'd been stood there waiting for a very long time. She says it was a silent rage, and really quite frightening, with him finally spitting on the ground at her feet before walking away. This was on Thursday. By Friday however, he had sent her flowers to atone for his ill behaviour.

On Friday was the Beagle Ball. I had got myself into a bit of a muddle in that I'd already indicated that I was going to invite Henrietta Scott to it. But that was before I'd met [V], and I was determined not to miss out on using this opportunity to advance our own relationship, if that should prove possible. So I asked Tim S if he'd like to make a foursome at dinner with us beforehand, in the hopes that he might make himself responsible for Henrietta when it came to the ball itself.

We all gathered in my room for a drink at 18.00 hrs, and then went on to a party at New College, where I noted how [V] seemed to be attracting a lot of attention. She was looking most attractive in a dress of green satin, with an orange rose pinned to it. I suppose I ought to have thought of such detail myself, in buying the roses for her, but I'm somewhat remiss about such matters. In fact I wasn't really brought up to offer that mode of courtship. ("Rather too French!" I can almost hear ancestral figures whispering in my ear.) Oliver F-P came over to us at one point and chatted with [V] for a while. He seemed immensely surprised, but not angry, to see that I was taking her to the ball.

I think that the Beagle Ball itself must be ranked as a huge success. From my own point of view in any case, it seemed perfect. But it was [V] herself who enjoyed the entire focus of my attention. And I noticed from the very start how she was playing up to me in quite delightful fashion. She has a way of looking up at me just fleetingly, and then away again, but with a huge intensity for that split second.

There was one particular room which had been set up in nightclub style, where we were virtually dancing in the dark. And it was here that I tried, cautiously at first, to see how she might respond to a kiss. It seemed at the start that she was going to decline, but then she relented, and was soon responding with fervour. In fact the degree of fervour took me totally by surprise. I would never have guessed it of her. And I was feeling hot with an enthusiasm to know her a lot better. So we went and sat in the car for a while, kissing to our hearts' content. And when I finally asked her if she would come back home with me, she said that she would.

Back at Folly Bridge, I continued to be amazed by the intensity of her response - especially in that the behaviour emanated from such a quiet person. I don't mean that she leapt out of her clothes and threw herself on me. Far from that, she was quite evidently concerned not to give me any misleading impression about being too easy in these matters. There was both caution and restraint, combined with all the promise that I might desire. Or what it really amounted to was some fervent kissing, and my fondling her breasts, while she remained more or less fully clothed.

I was unable to persuade her to stay there with me all night, but she seemed to think it was important for her to be back at her hostel before dawn. So I drove her back home as requested - with the pleasure of having her completely naked in my arms still unrealised. But she'd given me every indication that we have a fully fledged affair just ahead of us, and I'm quite happy to bide my time in waiting awhile for its consummation. And on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling that I was head over heels in love - simply bowled over by the conviction that I have at last met someone who is really worth all the trials and tribulations of courtship, without any danger that I can foresee of her playing me up in the way that others in the past have done. I could only see blissful prospects for us.

Saturday evening consisted of drinks with the Lucas-Tooths, dinner with the Trevor-Ropers, and a bottle-party over at Stonesfield Manor with the Roberts family. My big problem was that I could only take [V] to the first and last of these events - which meant that the Trevor-Roper dinner was sheer misery for me; but I managed to escape from it as quickly as possible, on the pretext of having a commitment elsewhere. They must have thought that I was terribly rude; but the fact is that I'm not prepared to be separated from [V] when I can possibly arrange things otherwise - for the time being in any case.

I found it interesting to observe [V]'s reaction in adversity to some hostile taunts from Richard Hawkins when at Stonesfield Manor. His whole approach to life is too socially lackadaisical to win her approval, and I think that Richard sensed this, and he was goading her just slightly on that issue. But in the verbal exchange which followed, I saw how she can take care of herself, remaining self-possessed throughout. They broke about even - despite the fact that they were more on his territory than hers, so to speak. I saw how she was expecting my words of token support on occasions, which I readily gave. But she was never requiring me to go so far as to break my established friendship with Richard - which marks her up by my standards as a sensible girl.

There was a slight embarrassment of having Mrs Roberts as our hostess. On the previous occasion that I met her, I was rather more at liberty to respond to her faintly flirtatious manner, and I think she was sensitive to the change that had now occurred - or was even offended by it. I couldn't allow myself to worry about any of that however. Her problem - not mine!

Shortly after midnight we decided to go back home to Folly Bridge. [V] told me that she was rather afraid that I might be wanting her for sex alone - which of course is untrue, and I hope that I succeeded in convincing her to that end. But in full candour, it's difficult to be truly honest on this subject. I mean I do suppose that the sexual expectations are essentially to be fulfilled within a relationship. But there's one hell of a lot that needs to be fulfilled in addition to all that. And [V] must surely see that I do have those latter expectations as well. Having said this however, I can't see my interest in [V] surviving the realization that more advanced sexual activities were to be excluded.

My real worry is that she might be expecting me to make a clear statement about being in love with her, before any real intimacy might be permitted - because if that were the case, then it would begin to feel as if I were involved in a falsity. I know how I have said that I woke up on Saturday morning feeling head over heels in love with [V]. But that was a temporary disposition. My feelings for [Y] are still more pervasive with regard to the full body of my thoughts, than anything that is yet in my mind with regard to [V]. If she is requiring me to produce any of that sloppy talk before I am going to be allowed to satisfy my sexual desire with her, then it's going to be a problem. But I really don't think she's like that. She's just playing cautious, and that's all!

I noted how (once we were back at Folly Bridge) her initial idea was that she was going to sleep in a separate bed, which meant that I had to install myself on the spare bed with a sleeping-bag and eiderdown. But she awoke in the middle of the night to announce that she was cold, asking me to put on the electric fire - which I did. I also went over to offer her the eiderdown, and this time she permitted me to stay. I climbed in beside her and we spent a cosy night together. Her body was naked to the waist, but she was still keeping on her pyjamas. She was stopping short of actually letting me take her, in fact she checked my hand from feeling around beneath her waist.

Analysing the situation in retrospect, it is difficult for me to be sure that I am sufficiently clear-sighted. There are certain questions in my mind - like whether she was genuinely awoken by the cold. Her body certainly felt cold to my embrace once I had joined her in bed, but the night itself was cold and she might have induced her low body temperature by uncovering herself from the blankets for a few minutes - thus furnishing herself with the pretext for talking to me, and eventually ceding to my request to join her in the bed. It's difficult for me to discern just how calculating her manoeuvres might be. Or perhaps I'm being absurdly suspicious over a situation that was far more spontaneous than I might credit. It's silly how my mind gets worrying about such matters.

[V] had been able to spend the entire night with me because she had told her hostel warden that she would be staying with friends at Banbury. This was her "Bunbury" she explained - in reference to Oscar Wilde's `The Importance of Being Earnest'. But of course it triggered the thought in my own mind that she has availed herself of this excuse on many(?) a previous occasion. It might be a grave error to conceive [V] as being anything in the nature of a sexual innocent. But if I'm to take that line, then just how much experience should I be attributing to her? And in any case, should it matter?

We spent most of the morning at Folly Bridge, and then went for a walk together in Meadows, before I finally drove her back home to her hostel in Bevington Road in time for lunch.

[V] came round for a drink at 18.00 hrs on Tuesday evening. Then Giles Fitzherbert dropped by, inviting us to come back to his own lodgings for some further carousal. And I do enjoy showing off [V] within my particular group of friends - eager to see how they react to her. This varies between a cautious distrust and a lively curiosity, or quite frequently a blend of the two. Oxford is such a clique-ridden environment that people take notice if someone breaks out from the group in which he finds himself to befriend a girl from another group. In some strange way they regard it as beyond the pale - the breaking of some obscure social taboo. But they all want to discover all that they can about the intruder - in order to determine their own special reason for disapproving of her, if for nothing else. And what they sense of course, is that [V] doesn't really share their values - or not right across the board. So that augments the distrust.

After all that, we went for dinner at `The Royal Oxford'. I ordered a bottle of Chianti which gave us both a stomach ache. In fact I ended the evening being sick, although I'm quite positive that I wasn't drunk. I'm inclined to think there must be something in Chianti to which I'm allergic. I had to get [V] back home by 22.30 hrs, because St Anne's have set this regulation on the time by which their undergraduates have to clock in at their hostels during vacation time.

On Wednesday morning I ran into Rodney Leach, Robin Benson and others from Bailliol, whose eagerness to discover whatever they could about the state of my romantic life was etched into their expressions. But I knew how whatever I said would go straight back to [Q] - so I was careful. Rodney kept offering to come down to Folly Bridge that evening, at long last to pay the money he owes to the Canning club; and I could see how they were delighted that I should be fobbing him off to pay me later, because I might be busy.

Tim Sainsbury also came round to see me during the course of the afternoon, concerned to have an avuncular talk with me, or perhaps in reality just to hear from my own lips the extent to which I might choose to sing [V]'s praises. Anyway he told me how he'd been discussing my case with Oliver Fox-Pitt and Robin Wilson. Tim was making the point that Oliver was the only one to be sticking up for her, while Tim and Robin had come to the conclusion that I'd been vamped by a girl who had deliberately set out to ensnare me. Oliver had been protesting that she simply wasn't that type, but the other two had thought she was.

I find it most unflattering that they should suppose I might be that easily manipulated. It just isn't the way things happened, and I would dearly like them to perceive how I had to push myself to befriend [V], devising my plan most romantically, and without any too much encouragement from [V] herself. But Tim most irritatingly declares that it would have taken him quite a long time to notice her, if he'd been sitting at the same desk in the PPE reading room. It just shows how sexual attraction varies, according to the eye of the beholder. To my eyes [V] is most attractive. And I might add that both James Spooner and Jimmy Skinner have commented to me on her sex appeal. But to his eyes she evidently looks different. And come to think of it, I've never seen Tim in the company of a girl whom I myself might regard as fanciable!

[V] herself came round to Folly Bridge soon after Tim had departed, and I took her to a film and then on to dinner at the Cafe de Paris. I was completely off appetite - not for reason of a hangover, but from the general feeling of being on edge which comes over me when I'm in her presence. She is studying psychology, so I'm sure she knew the nature of my inner affliction. But she was tactful enough not to query the matter to any depth.

She had already arranged to spend the night with me at Folly Bridge, using the pretext this time that she would be visiting her married sister.  And everything was pleasantly cosy. The part I find curious however is that she still won't let me take her - declaring that she's "frightened". Well frightened of what is the question that I go on to ask. But she doesn't give me satisfactory answers on that score. It will astonish me if I find that she is a virgin. In fact she has already indicated to the contrary with a simple shake of her head, when I posed that question. I think she means that she supposes my attitude towards her might suddenly change if we become fully fledged lovers. But that's a nonsense of course - although it leaves me in an awkward position of not being able to discern the right words to convince her to that effect.

She did permit me just a short session of lying totally naked on top of her own naked body - on top of the blankets that is to say. It was once we got inside the bed that I found myself being required to put on the pyjama trousers once again. Perhaps she supposes that I don't have any contraceptives in the house, and would be embarrassed to indicate that she might carry any of her own. That is an area of communication which still needs to be explored.

I don't think that I'll mind it if she finally reveals that she has had quite a few lovers. But I don't know if I could go further than that in saying that I really wouldn't care. I have always told myself that, if I were living in Scandinavia for example, then my expectation for finding myself a virgin to wed might be much reduced. The lack of inhibition in such matters (if I'm to believe what I'm told) is all a part of their cultural expectation. And here in Britain, with [V] being an orphan living in the company of two adult sisters, the established rules would again be different from girls within the social group that I have courted hitherto. I need to adjust myself to the standards of her cultural background, just as much as she needs to adjust herself to mine.

I do need to be strictly honest with myself on this issue. And my best way of being so is to make a direct comparison in my mind between the [Y] and [V] - posing myself the question which I might truly prefer, with marriage in view, in the light of knowing their relative sexual experience. So let us suppose that it will eventually be established that [V] has had many lovers, whereas [Y] is still a virgin. How do I really think that I'm then going to assess their suitability in relative terms?

There is some confusion in my mind. In the case of [V], I shall in fact feel relieved to get it firmly established that she is no virgin, and that we can make love without much inhibition. There could then be little feeling that I am depriving (or robbing) her of something, when that something has already been taken from her by others. And that releases me from some measure of responsibility - short of leaving her pregnant that is to say. While feeling relieved however, I shall also be disappointed. Too much anticipation has built up in the past over this whole idea that I'll eventually initiate some virgin into the mysteries of love. I daresay this should be regarded as an old-fashioned idea nowadays, but the fact is that I was brought up to hold such expectations - which is a factor which must remain under consideration. I may have been emotionally toppled by [V] in my initial development with her, but I do not dismiss these other matters from my mind, and they do of course effect my evaluation of the one girl, in contrast to the other.

It could be that this point is fundamental to my assessment that [Y] might be the more appropriate future wife for me than [V] - because it somehow encapsulates the way in which our upbringings have differed. Not a question of purity, or any nonsense like that. (I could hardly hold up Mum's life and values as exemplifying that kind of thing.) But it might bring the focus of attention on to the old world's values, as opposed to the new. And there might be a case for saying that my own family is so much wrapped up with the old system of things that my future spouse should be drawn from that kind of a background.

Now I am saying this with just one part of my mind. Permitting the other half to speak, I hasten to reassert that my amorous attention has been limited for too long to girls emerging from the world of debutantes. (Well Lita was an exception to this rule, I daresay, in that she was at least a foreigner.) But the need has been building up for me to fall in love with a girl who was far less oriented towards upper class society, for the benefit of my own personality development, if for nothing else. And from this latter system of scoring advantage points, then [V] would emerge as the clear winner. And who can tell from what I yet know of her? It might well be that she could make me an ideal wife. These are early days for me to be deciding about such matters.

If she got pregnant by me at this given point in time, then I think that I would indeed marry her - if she was unwilling to consider having an abortion, that is to say. But I'd far prefer to take my time in working out what might be best for me - with my innermost expectation being that, in the long run, I am liable to revert towards [Y] - especially if she were to give me any small measure of encouragement (which she probably won't.)

Another hypothetical point of interesting relevance - I think I can truly say that if I were to be authoritatively informed that [Y] was now having an affair with someone, so that she was quite definitely no longer to be considered as a virgin, then her appeal would be vastly diminished in my eyes. My amorous attention would then more easily focus upon [V]. I do see how absurd it is that my judgement should be affected by such issues, but I am making a sincere attempt to perceive the principles which underlie my indecision.

It is possibly on the virginity issue that my feelings of possessiveness get triggered. I mean that I want to save [Y] from being fucked by anyone else, so that she can still in theory be fucked by me alone. If I am to discover that a lot of other men have fucked [V], then I can hardly imagine that I'll start feeling possessively about her in quite the same manner. Well it could be said that this might be far healthier for our future relationship. But from the position in time where I stand, I don't quite see things like that. I regard my potential lack of possessiveness as a diminishment from the full potential for the relationship.

It could have been a lot healthier for me if, in the story of my evolving love life, I had taken up with [Y] after she had already been deflowered by someone else. The fact of finding her a virgin merely fortified all the idealised mystique of that status, at a time when I should have been outgrowing it. But having now held myself in deference to that ideal, throughout two prolonged relationships, I find it difficult to switch over to a denial that it stood for anything important after all. I might even find myself feeling cheated of an attainment of the ideal, in that I've never really managed to seduce a virgin - unless it's possible that [Q] should be counted as one. So there is a problem in striving to evolve beyond a point which I've never in fact attained.

To ignore it on the other hand might just leave some manner of void in my mind - as if I'm being fobbed off with the answer that a point within the experience of most other people wasn't worth having after all. Or the reality of the situation is that [X] should have permitted me to deflower her. Then I'd feel that I'd savoured the ideal by full participation within its ritual. And I don't suppose thereafter there'd have been much difficulty for me to evolve within the cultural pattern of the age. But it's too late for that. I'm stuck where I find myself. And I feel inhibited from evolving in any direction at all - which means that I am liable to get left further and further behind, until such a time where I might really find myself with psychological problems quite largely of my own creation.

It's all so silly in a way. Harbouring this ideal of virginity in my mind has so very little to do with the way I find [V] to be herself, nor even with anything that she might wish to be. It's as if I'm imposing it on her, without asking her permission to do so, and without even pausing to consider whether the ideal might suit her. She could tell me no doubt how there are far more admirable ideals, in which her personality does find some manner of expression. But she need have no truck with my expectation that she conforms to any of this. And I see how vulnerable it makes me in maintaining such thoughts in my head. If I don't wound her in the process, then I am liable to get hurt myself.

It makes me ponder the whole nature of ideals, for I could so easily make a mess of my life by regarding them as too important. But it's all a part of being human that we pattern ourselves towards behaviour which can be presented in idealised form. The prospect of marriage lies ahead of me somewhere, and I do need to conceive that state as an ideal, before I commit myself to participation within it. It may take me a long time to do this, but I see it as a necessary task, or goal - the quest for the Holy Grail perhaps! I quite like the idea of conceiving myself as an idealist, but the perception and definition of those ideals is a strictly human task; and until I have them clearly in mind, I really don't know much about the direction in life where I might be going.

Up to date I have made no mention of [Y] to [V]. She is still out in Kitzbuhl, so there is little need to do so. Or I may have made passing references to her as a previous girlfriend, in much the same manner that she herself has mentioned the name of [J]. But I suppose the time is drawing nigh when we should discuss such relationships quite openly. My big problem is that I keep deferring the problem until the next occasion that we meet.

On Thursday [V] came round to Folly Bridge for a brief drink. But she couldn't stay for long, since she `d agreed to go out to dinner with [H].

Today Friday was [V]'s birthday. I had looked round Oxford for a present to give her, and had chosen a cigarette case in white leather, with a lighter; and I'd had her initials put on them. I went round to her hostel this morning so as to give them to her, and she seemed pleased with them. But I got to thinking afterwards that this had been an unimaginative choice, since she obviously has such things already. (She smokes a lot.) But it can't be helped. After this I drove her to the station, as she had to get up to London, whereas I was going down to Longleat. We have arranged to meet again next weekend.

In the absence of [V] while I am down here at Longleat, all I can do is to write letters to her - which in any case I've always found to be one of my more successful ploys within the art of courtship. She has preoccupied my thoughts nearly all week, and I'm longing to see her again. (Not long now!) The curious part is that, although I consider myself to be in love with her - or at any rate infatuated - I do not find myself hoping that we'll marry. I might look forward to living with her (in Paris perhaps) after coming down from Oxford - perhaps for quite a long time. But I cannot quite envisage her as my future wife. And there is this thought in my head that I could never possess her whole-heartedly - that some part of her has already been taken by others, in a manner that is no longer available for me to take. So I can only look to construct a limited relationship with her, delightful though this might prove to be. While that situation lies open to evolution towards even firmer bonds, I do not contemplate the marital state at this given point in time. I do not owe it to her, nor should she expect it.

On Saturday I drove back to Oxford to spend the weekend with [V], who appeared pleasantly pleased to see me. But when we were sitting in my room, she told me how Oliver F-P and Julian Benson had been teasing her about me. As far as I can make out, they had been concerned to warn her that I might be just fooling around with her, without any intention of taking her seriously. She then looked at me and said that she didn't know whether or not to believe them.

I felt that this was the right opportunity for me to tell her about [Y]. So I said: "I'm not just fooling around with you. But I suppose that I ought to tell you how there is someone else - a girl that I'm very fond of." She was silent for quite a long time, and I thought that this was going to be the end of it all. But then she got up and said quite simply: "Let's go to a film" - as if nothing had happened. Or it may be that the thought was in her head that, if she didn't engineer that we go out into the town somewhere, there might be a danger that I'd start kissing her. So she was avoiding that.

Later on (when I asked her about it), she said that she didn't mind. "Why should I?" But the awkwardness remained. Conversation didn't come easily. Then after the film, we looked in at `Long John's', although neither of us really felt like dancing.

Afterwards she came back to Folly Bridge with me, and we started to make love in our limited sort of way. Once again she murmured that she was afraid to let me take her properly. I said: "But you're not a virgin, are you?" And again she shook her head, but said that wasn't the reason. Nor was it a fear due to the fact that I wasn't wearing a contraceptive. She said: "I don't want you to start hating me." It was on some strange notion that I might lose all interest in her just because she permits me to fuck her. I know that wouldn't be my reaction. Nor do I think that the majority of men nowadays are liable to think that way. There is a far greater danger that I might lose all interest in her, if I am to learn that sex is unlikely to appear on the menu. As I see it, we should get down to the experience of sexual intimacy, uninhibited, before we can hope for any true progress to be made within this relationship. And the sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. But I wasn't to make any progress over this weekend.

Another point of interest is that she declared at one point that she doesn't believe in trying to make excuses for herself, which I took to mean with regard to her admission that there have been other lovers in her life. But I'm glad that she takes this line. If it were otherwise, then we'd find ourselves required to define the nature of her sin. As it is, it's more a question of myself having to learn how to adjust to this novel (for me) situation of attempting to establish a love relationship with a girl who has had more real sexual experience than myself. And I do suppose that it's high time that I should be contending with that problem. I only hope that I prove to be mature enough in other ways to be able to cope with the situation.

It's not going to be without personal difficulty however, which perhaps says more against myself than it does against her. There is a potential resentment which keeps popping up inside me. I cannot envisage myself managing, with self-esteem, to be maritally paired with a woman whose sexual experience was greater than my own. It goes against the grain of my cultural upbringing. I suppose it all boils down somehow to feeling less of a man, to be paired in such a fashion - as if I weren't matching up to the traditional expectations for a male within Western culture. I am in danger of regarding myself as a lessened male, so that I begin to feel uncomfortable within my own skin. And it's not healthy that I should be harbouring such thoughts at the outset of a relationship.

It would also be unhealthy for me to conceal this inner resentment which lurks inside my head, without clarifying it for whatever it might be. And it links somewhere to the thought that the marital ideal would be shattered, within my personal experience, if I were to accept this reversal of the sex roles. Or I'd need to discover some different conception of that ideal before I could regain the feeling that I might know where I'm going. But of course that begs the question of ideals being worthy of consideration in any form whatsoever. I mean it might well be considered that they are merely a figment of our distorted logic - not actually meaningful in themselves, and thus unworthy to motivate either our thoughts or our actions.

Perhaps the right way of conceiving ideals is to regard them as banners which we raise upon the fields of life's battle. In that sense it might be said that I'm currently rallying beneath the banner of virginity-worship, uxorial chastity, or even male supremacy perhaps. I give the appearance of deferring to those ideals within this attitude that I have adopted - which isn't of course precisely what I intend. I might prefer to suppose that the ideal I'm proclaiming denotes the beauty of something more fundamental to the human psyche. Or am I just deceiving myself on that issue? - because it is indeed difficult for me to define what this ideal might be. Am I displaying some measure of nostalgia for the way morality once was? - wasting my time and my energy in a futile endeavour to give credibility to a lost ideal? These are questions for me to ponder in my own time.

Whatever may now transpire between [V] and myself, one definite result of what has happened so far is that my obsession over [Y] has been greatly reduced. I literally don't care whether I ever see her again - although that state of mind could (I suppose) be altered overnight if she were suddenly to put in a huge bid to win me back to her. But I now feel vastly more comfortable within my own skin on that score. And I count that as a considerable blessing. I feel as if I'm cured!

On the Sunday we drove over to Eton to see Val, but couldn't find him. It was an uneventful day, although some of the beaks were nice and friendly on meeting them again. We had lunch at the Cafe de Paris in Bray, and then went on to visit her uncle and aunt, who live near Marlow. (They appear to be a quietly well-to-do family of intellectuals.) Their son (who was away at Marlborough school) apparently is smitten with calf love for [V]. She certainly gets her share of male admiration! Then after that we returned to Oxford in time for dinner.

She slept with me again that night. Then while we were lying there together in bed, we heard [H] come downstairs with Nikita Lebanov. The latter went into the bathroom. Then we heard [H] saying: "Well kiss me good night!" - a request that was refused. Then came the sound of Nikita running his bath. A little while later we heard an excited [H] thumping on the bathroom door, asking him to open it - another request that was declined. So [H] was saying: "No really, I have something very important to tell you.... No I can't say it aloud. Open the door!"

As I read the situation, [H] must have looked outside to see that my car was parked there. So he felt embarrassed as to what interpretation I might put on their conversation - despite the fact that I'm well acquainted with this kind of foolery at his hands, so would be unlikely to take what I'd heard seriously. But from the fact that he wasn't now knocking on my own door, I might conclude that he realized that I wasn't alone. Perhaps he'd heard some whispered comments coming through my door. Anyway both [V] and myself could tell that he was worried.

Whatever he may have been feeling, I know that I myself was excruciatingly embarrassed. I was so much aware of the trend of thought that must have been passing through [V]'s head. She doesn't know [H] and all his infuriating ways, but she does know that he's a very good friend of mine. And here he was, standing outside my door, asking someone to kiss him. She might well suppose that he was perfectly well aware of my presence from the start, and that this was the way we all behave at Folly Bridge. If he could expect to kiss Nikita, then he might well be accustomed to my own kisses as well - if not a lot more besides. It would be only natural if she began to suspect that Folly Bridge might contain a whole colony of homosexuals - which of course would reflect upon my own sexual orientation. We were lying there in the dark, snuggled up close together, but I could feel that I was blushing. In fact I knew that my whole body must be crimson, and I assume that it must have been feeling uncommonly warm in its contiguous contact with her.

She knew that I was blushing, and she could sense how embarrassed I was feeling. And her problem was to find the right thing to say, that might set my mind at rest. But of course she had no means of knowing what the right thing might be. For all she knew, I might indeed be homosexual - or rather bisexual. It wasn't as if we had discussed these matters. Or to the extent that I may previously have made comments upon the subject, I might well be concealing the truth from her - for all she knew. And there was nothing that I could quickly say that might clarify for her the full perplexity within my own thoughts.

Viewed retrospectively, I daresay that there would have been appropriate comments for me to make. I might quite simply have laughed aloud at [H]'s absurdity - or thrown a jesting remark at them for their homosexual pretence - or even explained to [V] how [H] was always up to this kind of nonsense. But instead of that I was stricken with a silence which might well have been interpreted as complicity within their homosexual practices. And I was aware how the silence, in its very prolongation, augmented the chance that she'd be misinterpreting my own reaction in these matters. After a little time had passed however, it had quite simply become too late to say anything at all. So the situation of silence had to be accepted on both sides, with the two of us feigning sleep.

In that I didn't discuss these thoughts, I have no means of knowing what precise conclusions [V] may have reached. Whatever she may have suspected however, it's quite evident that she has a tolerant disposition. I might suppose that tolerance is one of her key values - an idea that it takes all types to compile human society, and that we must expect to find all manner of ingredient types therein. It's nice knowing this, in that I feel as if it gives me a certain leeway with regard to the criticisable characteristics that I might display - which demands a reciprocal tolerance on my own side, she might hastily add!

Perhaps in this respect the episode with [H] did help to bring us closer together - as if it had made her aware of my own vulnerability, (and thus an object for endearment,) quite apart from the fact that she could be confused with regard to its correct interpretation. All I know is that the net result of that night together added up to us feeling much closer to one another by morning. She has some great qualities, and I should never permit myself to be blinded to this, no matter what happens hereafter.

I drove back to Longleat on Monday morning, and the plan is now for her to come and stay with me over Easter.

I received a letter from [V] confirming the time of her arrival at Westbury. It's odd how she is probably by far and away the most intelligent girlfriend that I've ever had, but her letter-writing style isn't nearly as fluent as [X]'s. It is the quiet reserve that comes over, rather than any wit, or amusing anecdotes. Or perhaps it's a lack of confidence, or boldness, in the expression of her personality. I'm not quite clear how I should assess that style.

[V] arrived at Longleat on Saturday evening. I must admit to feeling some trepidation concerning how her visit would be viewed by the inhabitants of Horningsham, or even by Dad for that matter. It wasn't so long ago that he wrote and told me how no decent girl would be permitted to stay overnight at Longleat - without a chaperone, that is to say. I think his viewpoint on life may gradually be broadening, but I have no idea whether the same might be said about the people who live on the estate. There are the cleaning-ladies for example, who are regularly at Longleat and are in a position to know who sleeps in my apartments. But am I to suppose that gossip is now rife in Horningsham about me having loose women to stay? I really don't know.

[V]'s first evening coincided with Mum and Xan coming to dinner with me, (and then going on to stay the night with Nanny.) This was convenient in that it enabled my new couple, Mr and Mrs Carter, to perceive for themselves how [V] was being treated by my own mother as an eligible young lady. And I'm sure that this impression was then conveyed to the cleaners in their turn. Nor was anyone to know that [V] had shared my bed for most of each night. We were careful to have her back in my guest room (beyond the dining room) before it was time for Carter to give each of us a call in the morning.

We have now in fact become fully fledged lovers. [V] had evidently taken a decision to permit this progression of our relationship to occur, and I rejoice that she has done so. It happened upon the day-bed in my drawing room, more or less as soon as she first arrived at Longleat. And we were making love on a regular basis after that, with the nights in bed together being particularly delightful. I find that we are cosily compatible, but still a little shy of one another. I am hesitant to be experimental in any way at all, because I simply don't know what she might expect of me. And I sense how she herself is hesitant in what she does with me. I suspect that she may feel worried that I'd judge her as being too experienced, with techniques acquired from her previous lovers, if she were really to let herself go.

Addressing myself to the question of whether the fact of us copulating has in any way impaired my regard for her, I'd still say that her fears were misplaced on that score. But I should perhaps note how I might hesitate, now, to describe my state of mind as being in love with her - whereas I was very much inclined to look at it that way, just after the Beagle Ball. I think the difference now is that I am standing a pace or two back from my former love relationships. I do not feel inclined to admit that I'm in love with either [Y] or [V]. I might say that I've fallen out of love with [Y], due to my regard for [V]. On a snap decision (if it were necessary) I might still go for [Y] as the more suitable prospect for a wife, but I'd probably plump for [V] if I had to choose a partner in life for the period of the next year or two - remaining unmarried that is to say. I'd predict greater happiness for myself that way.

We spent Easter Sunday driving round the estate, taking a look at all the things worth seeing. Shearwater.... Cheddar.... By the time we returned to the house, Laurence K had arrived. He had phoned to ask if I could put him up for the night, and was all fussed about the Foreign Office exam which both he and Mark Girouard are in the process of taking. In general I judged that the year he has spent employed by the Foreign Office in an apprentice capacity has in fact done him the world of good. He appears humbler, and generally more likeable.

We all went along for a drink with Richard S and Aunt Kate, over at Woodlands. Oliver F-P was just leaving as we arrived, and I'm afraid this may have been a calculated exit. [V] tells me that he is indeed a bit fussed over the development of her relationship with me. But I regard Oliver as being a truly nice person, so I do hope that we can still be friends.

After this we went over to dinner at Job's Mill, and I was surprised (and delighted) to find out how well [V] managed to get on with both Dad and Virginia. She had just the right manner with them. I heard her making an appropriate effort to discuss one of his pet subjects with him at dinner - namely the Laws of Nature. And Laurence seemed to be going down equally well with Virginia. So the whole party was going with a swing, ending up with a jiving session in the drawing room. Unfortunately we were all rather tight, and quite a few ornaments were broken. But Dad himself was in far too good a mood to be angry, so we were all promptly forgiven. [V] even managed to get Dad dancing. He made his usual excuse when she first tried to coax him up on the floor, about having sciatica; but she paid no attention to that, and just dragged him up along with her. This is the first time that I've actually seen Dad participating in such revelry.

[V] had been whirled off her feet by everyone, so it came as no surprise when she was finally sick, shortly after we'd got her back home to Longleat. I'd put Laurence in one of the rooms up on top of the house. But I'd forgotten to show him where he might find a loo. He told me later how he'd been in agony by the early hours of the morning, and had to open his bedroom window from which to have a pee. But he couldn't see from up there if there might be anybody, like a gardener, walking underneath. And the flow of his urine kept drying up in his terror, almost anticipating that he'd be hearing some roar of outrage come wafting up from below.

By Easter Monday we were both feeling a bit liverish. Laurence had to leave for some appointment. But [V] and I went wandering round the park. At one point she had a prickly leaf stuck down the back of her jumper, and wanted me to remove it for her. But I felt nervous about groping so visibly up her jumper, in case my behaviour might be observed from the Lodge Gates - a piece of paranoid inhibition which caused [V] a fair amount of merriment. She continues to tease me on that subject, and I suppose she may have a point. I do always tend to suppose that I am the focus of people's attention, when they couldn't be less interested in me. On the other hand, perhaps such caution is justified. People round here in any case would take a far too inquisitive delight in noting anything that I might get up to.

On Monday evening I'd been invited over for a drink with the Freuds, and took [V] with me of course. Caroline F was looking all sunburnt and beautiful, but perhaps unhappy. Virginia tells me that their marriage is going through a difficult patch, to an extent when people are wondering if it will last. In fact it was quite noticeable how the two of them were barely speaking to one another at all, on this particular evening. So the conversation didn't come easily. [V] felt quite an antipathy for Lucian. She says that he was continually endeavouring to get her to notice the beauty of his hands, by contorting them and gesticulating within her line of vision. We didn't stay for very long.

Adrian Bridgewater called in to see me on Tuesday, bringing with him someone called Charlotte Pumphreys, who is apparently a cousin of Sally Marris. Adrian appears rather keen on her. I think Adrian has turned into someone distinctly likeable, which rather surprises me, since I didn't think much of him in time past. I found him to be on the pompous side. But there's no sign of that now.

We were beginning to worry towards the end of [V]'s visit because her period hadn't arrived. But this was quite ridiculous, in that the chances of me having got her pregnant within our previous bouts of limited love play were virtually nil. But the release from our anxiety did finally occur, just about an hour before she was due to go and catch her train. In any case I did not get the impression that she was using this situation to test me for my willingness to wed her. She's above indulgence in that kind of trick. I feel sure that she has considerable depth of character, and has worked herself out as a person, to a degree that is well beyond her years. Far beyond myself for example.

I might add that I do not suppose that the prospects of any marriage (to her that is to say) should alarm me. I do indeed think that she'd make me a good wife. It's just that I do not think we are quite so well suited to one another as I am to [Y] for example. And I might find her essential independence of spirit to be a barrier between us. I cannot see me having much success in shaping her into whatever I might want. And then again (quite absurdly I daresay) I am still hankering after that lost ideal - the virgin wife. Marriage to [V] might collapse in a feeling of disillusionment - or a resentment that I didn't manage to hold out against her.

When I drove her to Westbury station, we met the entire Battine family up on the platform. And they instantly displayed a voracious appetite to discover all they could about [V] - evidently having already heard from the grapevine that I had discovered myself a new girlfriend, to replace all those who derived from drawing rooms which they themselves had visited. It was comic to watch, but I felt sorry for poor [V]. And they had her all to themselves on the train no doubt!

In the absence of [V], all that I could do was to write her a letter, in an effort to keep up the pace of my courtship. I had some fun in telling her (as if quite seriously) that the gardener had spotted her standing naked at my bedroom window, and had gone as far as to report the matter to my father - supposing that he might object to the moral standards of my guests. I went on in this vein, assuring her that she need not worry since Dad is able to rise above such tales. And it was only towards the end of the letter that I broke the fictional thread to say that the whole story was a product of my imagination - a belated April Fool's tale, one might say. I regard this as a return measure for her continual teasing of me about my tendency to give voice to paranoid suspicions!

I also enclosed a poem which I'm hoping marks my final emergence from too long a period of depressions about my love life. To that extent I have entitled it "Reawkening". She only gives it a fleeting mention in her letter of reply, from which I should perhaps conclude that she is not greatly impressed by my potential as a poet!

On Tuesday evening I went over to dinner with John Jolliffe at Amerdown. No one else was there, so it was all a trifle strained. Or I suppose the truth of the matter is that I am not such a sociable person as John. I do not enjoy the company of my fellow men, as much as he....

He mentioned something about going to stay next weekend with Francis Nichols, amongst a whole lot of others it seems. But when I enquired whom they might be, he immediately became vague - deliberately so. And it struck me that he was subtly goading me, to see if I enquired if [Y] was included in their number, and just how much emotion I might have to offer on that issue. She must be back in London, from Kitzbuhl by now. And what is terrible is that I promptly felt rather sick, and miserable. It infuriates me to find that I should still feel jealousy for whatever she might get up to in her love life. I can say quite genuinely that I have no wish to see her myself just at present. But I somehow know that if I did, it would be as bad as ever.

On Sunday evening I gave a dinner party at Longleat. I had invited Dad and Virginia, as well as the Freuds who brought Michael Pitt-Rivers along with them. I was most curious to discover what he might be like; and he seemed quite charming - not in the least effeminate, or camp. But my attention was in reality focussed upon Caroline Freud, whom I do find quite fascinating to look at. She always gives me the impression of someone who has bottled up inside her a flood of things which she cannot quite bring herself to say. She seems to be checking herself through shyness - expecting me to assist her in bridging the gulf, although I feel myself inhibited by Lucian's presence. Lucian is in fact enormously friendly towards me, to an extent that is quite disarming. And I do naturally feel flattered when an artist of his repute displays such interest in my own paintings, some examples of which I have balanced on all available ledges around the room. And I like it too, in that Dad should be listening when Lucian makes favourable comment upon my work.

After dinner we sat round for ages talking about life in general. I was rather pleased to discover how it was myself, far more than Dad for example, who was directing the subjects for conversation - as indeed it should be when I am playing the host. But I was delighted to see how I can match up to the requirements in this game. I think I have glimpsed what my future dinner parties at Longleat are going to be like. It was a lively evening all round, and the Freuds didn't take their leave until about 03.00 hrs.

On Monday, I drove up to London via Oxford, so that I could collect [V]; and from there we drove down to Dover, where we spent the night before crossing over to Bouloigne. Then it was on to Paris next morning. This was to rank as a final holiday weekend, to round off the vacation.

It cannot really be described as an eventful weekend. I felt awkward in asking for a double room at the small hotel we selected in the Place d'Odeon in St Germain. (It was the Hotel Prince du Conde.) But it always does seem easier in France to request a bed quite openly for extramarital practices - because their society is less hypocritical about such matters, I suppose. But it's not easy to proclaim your intentions in that field, when you're half expecting them to look disgusted. It suited us fine incidentally - for its relatively cheap comfort, and for its Left Bank situation.

That evening we wandered round the cafes of Montparnasse, but it worried me when I perceived how she was sinking into a depression. I noted how quiet she had become, and it took some while for me to unearth that the reason was, in part, that she had been half expecting that we might run across her former lover, [J], who came to live in this part of Paris after coming down from Oxford. It took me aback to learn that I'd let myself in for such a possible encounter, by bringing her out here - hardly an event which I might have chosen for myself. And I did have cause to wonder if she might have been hoping for it to occur. But there wasn't very much that I could do about it now. I just had to wait and see what might transpire.

I gathered that she had holidayed in Paris with [J] on two separate occasions, and I began to feel as if my inadequacy might be showing, in that I might be failing to match up to the entertainment which he had furnished for her whilst they were in Paris together. She told me how the first visit was a wonderful memory, whilst on the second she learnt that he didn't intend to marry her - so was utterly miserable. He was apparently engaged to some girl out in Canada. And if they kept to their original plan, he would have married her on April 2nd - while [V] was in fact at Longleat with me. And this might possibly account for the timing of her decision (at long last) to let me finally make love to her.

Anyway the effect of all these memories was to plunge her into a deep depression. So I had visions of our trip turning out to be a disaster, of the proportions I had previously experienced in the company of [Z]. And I may have contributed to her depression by giving her some reason to perceive that I too had the memory of a loved one engraved upon my heart. In fact she asked me outright if this girl that I was fond of, was [Y],whose photograph she had observed within my photograph album. I admitted that it was, and she was probing slightly to discover just how deep my attachment to her may have been. I replied that I had no wish to see any more of her for the time being, but that if I found that my feelings for her were still strong in about two years time, then I'd probably attempt a reunion. Well the immediate effect of this pronouncement was to shroud us both in gloom. But she did eventually manage to snap out from the mood which had been descending upon her, regaining a certain gaiety of spirit. And I endeavoured to respond in reciprocal fashion.

By Wednesday morning we were both feeling a lot better, wandering around the Concorde area - going to see the Vlaminck exhibition, amongst other things. And that evening, we looked in at a variety of `caves', which for some reason were almost empty. So we were unable to savour the atmosphere which I had been proclaiming to her. But we made quite a hit with our performance at the Kentucky, where the others left the floor to cheer us on. (Or perhaps they do that to every tourist who ventures into the club!)

After all this walking round the streets of Paris in search for clubs where we might dance, [V] was completely frozen. We hadn't been expecting such a cold spell, so had arrived in Paris without adequate clothing. And as a result of this, she was feeling rotten next morning, with a temperature of 101° F to show for it. I myself felt under the weather as well. So we stayed in bed until about three in the afternoon. The proprietors of the hotel took this to be quite normal behaviour! And even after getting up we took things quietly - going to a cinema in the Champs Elysees, and then on to a restaurant.

The final day, Friday, was spent on a round of additional exhibitions, and upon finding a few souvenirs to buy. Then after luncheon, we set out for Calais - stopping there overnight, and then crossing to Dover the following day.

[V] wanted to call in at her sister's house, so as to collect some things that she needed for Oxford - which involved a big detour on the drive back home to Folly Bridge. And it was largely as a result of the frustration over getting lost in all the rambling streets of South London that we had what almost amounts to our first quarrel. I was fed up that she had obliged me to make this detour, and when we began to get lost, I found myself being curt with her. And then in a spirit of anger, we both fell silent - which is all that it amounted to.

It was interesting to note that [V] avoided taking me indoors, to introduce me to her sister, although I can only guess at the reasons in her head. Perhaps it was just that we were faintly quarrelling at the time - or that it might have been inconsiderate on her sister to bring me to meet her, without any manner of warning - or that her brother-in-law has some terrible aversion for people of my type! But whatever the reason may have been, the situation was quite curious. We had both been bursting for a pee during the half hour before arriving at her sisters home, and the simplest solution would have been for her to suggest that we hold out until arriving there. But that would have necessitated her taking me into the house of course, and it seems that she wanted to avoid this happening at all costs. So when we were driving past countryside, she got me to stop the car, and we both managed to find private enough spots where we could pee, within the bushes beside the road. And that enabled her to leave me waiting outside in the car, while she dashed inside her sister's house, to collect whatever she needed for Oxford.

So we arrived back at Oxford yesterday morning - which is to say Saturday. And despite all the emotional tremors which may have surfaced during the holiday, I do regard it as having been substantially a success. In any case it was quite an experience for me - going abroad with a girl as real lovers. The total expense amounted to about £45 all told, but it was well worth it.

I do now feel that I have an open mind upon the possibilities of how our relationship might develop. I certainly get on with her very well indeed - which is the most essential outcome for any relationship. I am certainly aware of all the problems which her experience of life might still cause me, in my comparative naivety of outlook and attitude. And there are barriers which still need to be overcome, if we are to discover any real unity of spirit. But I should avoid perceiving them as anything too exaggerated in my mind.

If I am wise, I should let the situation develop and then just re-examine my position after some lapse of time. As far as [Y] is concerned, there is an increasing bitterness which is coming into focus. I certainly don't want anything more to do with her just at present. But I'm still aware how it would be sensible, eventually, to discover what the potential in our relationship might really have been. Otherwise it would remain for ever as one of those nagging unknown quantities within my understanding of the life I have led. And I anticipate that this will involve living with her - at least for a while. But I'm no longer at all sure that [Y] is the right sort of woman for me; and I do see much that is preferable in [V], even if I intend to remain cautious about not rushing things. There is plenty of time ahead of us, and I need to bide my time before making any decisions