Documents on the Now I recall that she once said, ‘Dave, you’d be much nicer if you stopped drinking coffee.’ I did, but wasn’t. January 21, 2008 (Monday) Windsor (England) UP at 8 am A reader writes: “Just the few extracts of your memoirs that you have released on your site are enough to convince anyone that not only is the content fascinating, but the style is especially engaging.” He asks when they will be complete.

I reply: “Publishers are fighting shy at present and I am reluctant to show them more than a sample chapter. I am patient.” I ask B. to report as soon as she decently can. She is at the RMH since nine am. “Fingers and thumbs crossed.” She replies at 12:10 “Have found a quiet corner with a comfy sofa. Quite a beautiful old building.” I chat with her for a long time, settling her mind. January 22, 2008 (Tuesday) Windsor (England) I DRIVE to London with Tete at 3 pm.

First Chiswick, Post Office, bank, and ironmonger, then on to Fortnum & Mason for tea with Tete and his friend Gina Thomas of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung . We have a good talk. She has been with the FAZ for twenty years, and we have many mutual friends.

These do not include her fellow-journalist Eva Menasse ( right ) — we agree that Eva is a superb writer, but G. now tells me of how when the Lipstadt Trial began in January 2000, Eva pushed her aside, although a newcomer, and demanded to cover the courtroom proceedings herself (Eva is a Jewess, I believe). Her first trial report to the newspaper was, I recall, well-written, personal, and not unfavourable (she had come round to Duke Street for an interview en famille ).

But for some unknown reason she did an immediate 180-degree volte face after that and her reporting on me became progressively so shrewish that at the time of the 2006 Vienna trial she was shrilly demanding in the Süddeutsche Zeitung at least a five year sentence for me (a contempt of court which in England would have seen her clapped into Holloway, if not Pentonville). 6:30 pm I collect Jessica from Sloane Street, and we go to Prezzo’s for supper — her suggestion.

She is very quiet and collected, and after a while asks me if I know too. We talk about Josephine’s first accident, and the letters she wrote me apologising, bless her heart and God rest her soul. Jessica asks if I still have the letters; I say the file is among those returned to me

on October 16 last year by the authorities , but I could not bear to read them again. She is too well bred to comment, perhaps even embarrassed by it all. I tell her that […] is in God’s hands now. “I don’t think there is a God,” retorts Jessica, and for once I do not try to argue.

We soon resume our normal chatter, and I drive over to Piccadilly to pick up Tete, and park at the roadside; after a while, at 8:50 pm, he phones to say he has been invited to the Russian dinner at the Royal Academy, and can I hang around until eleven pm? Under the circumstances I am quietly furious. I tell him ich bin mit den Nerven ganz herunter , and I drive