by the electric fire with a good book on my knee. Whilst trying hard not to appear bored to my friends, my head turned surveying the crowds, when I saw him again. He was sitting up straight, his arms wrapped around his legs staring up at the speaker in rapt attention. Almost crawling, I managed to wriggle myself nearer to him and whisper "Hello."

"Shush," he said, without turning around, and I felt hurt, the smile of welcome froze on my lips. I sat behind him waiting for the fool on the platform to stop shouting and waving his arms about, annoyed and even more uncomfortable. At last he turned round and said quite casually, "Oh, it's you. What are you doing here?"

"Giving my support to a good cause, And you?"

"Oh, I came to hear Jerry speak. Honestly isn't he just adorable?"

Adorable wasn't one of the adjectives I would have used to have described the bearded wonder who was descending from the dais amidst loud clapping and a few boos.

My astonishment must have been plainly written on my face for the youth laughed again, "See now I've shocked you, but I won't say I'm sorry because I rather like shocking people. I love saying things which people don't expect." "Why?" I asked him in a bored manner, watching him shrugging his slim shoulders.

"Oh, I think it makes me more interesting, you know, different. I like to be different from the average." His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and his thick almost negroid lips pouted babyishly. For a moment I felt like taking him in my arms but fought the feeling. The moment passed and I breathed a deep sigh.

As I turned to speak further to him my friends came running up and begged me to join them for coffee.

After that meeting we saw each other at various odd times, in many different circumstances. He turned up on a train going to Monte Carlo, his arm around a young French boy. The next was at the Opera in the autumn, when I saw him getting into a huge car, whilst I shivered in the rain. He smiled at me through the streaming glass of the window. The older man by his side glared at me over his shoulder.

Each time we met we spoke as old friends, yet still I didn't even know his name. Each conversation was intimate, he hinted at things which frightened me. He spoke straight from the heart without giving a thought for my feelings.

In April, I saw him across the room from me at a large party, given by Terry Lloyd in honour of the great success of his latest comedy, "Alone on Honeymoon". As I sipped a very dry Martini I watched him flirting with Terry. He reclined gracefully against the bar in an orange sweater and tight black jeans. His hair was blonde, obviously dyed. Somehow he looked out of place amongst the gay theatre crowd, although by then I was sure he was "Gay" in another sense of the word.

Terry came across and we chatted about the play. Then he turned and said, "Have you met . . .", but the boy cut off his words, "Yes, we are old friends."

He smiled at me and my heart skipped a beat. This feeling was wrong, it lay in the past. A past that was better forgotten. Thirty-eight is too old to start clinging to ships passing in the night. Terry moved away to talk to other guests.

Pleading a headache I left soon after and I noticed him half smile and raise his hand to me across the smoky room, but somehow his eyes had lost their sparkle, his smile was a little too fixed to be natural. He looked tired.

Coming out into the cool night air thinking about the boy I bumped literally into Mike and Maria, two very old friends. I decided the best way to rid my mind

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