My nudity on the cam direct
Serge lightly recounted how he had spent most of the war up a tree, hiding from the Nazis (his sister Jacqueline claims that it was one night at most).
Being Jewish, he had had to wear a yellow star pinned to his coat – which his mother would carefully iron, telling him to wear it with pride.
She claimed that I had been annoying her, and she was made to stand in the corner for an amount of time that seemed to me far too short to fit the crime. Nevertheless, for five halcyon years we existed in a bubble of our own devising, on a farm of great beauty in the depths of the English countryside.
It was not long before Jane was losing hers to the composer of the piece – one John Barry, better known for his James Bond scores.
Against all advice, Jane succumbed to John’s proposal of marriage that summer; stowing my jealousy, I couldn’t resist kissing her on the lips at Heathrow, just as they were about to set off for Rome on their honeymoon.
Our parents came to visit – it was their introduction to Serge – and as I was by now in the habit of carrying a camera wherever I went, I felt no inhibition about snapping away.
Our parents’ love for Serge was as immediate and spontaneous as my own.