I Once Met Cynthia Payne

The late Martin Amis is one of the greatest writers of his generation.

He was also one of my relatives.

I have known of him all my life. We were quite closely related and yet had no real knowledge of each other at all. He was my second cousin: my mother, Mary, and his mother, Hilary, were rst cousins.

As the sad news of his death started to lter

Pompeii and calling her ‘madam’ on several occasions. Oh dear, if only we’d known!

On arrival at Heathrow, lingering at baggage reclaim – being a very keen collector of autographs – I approached Ms Payne with a request for her signature. She responded eagerly, asking, ‘Was it my voice gave it away?’

I resisted the temptation to respond in similar London tones, ‘Nah, it woz yer bleedin’ luggage label!’ as she rummaged in her capacious handbag, scattering plastic cutlery, paper cups and other random detritus from the flight – totally oblivious to the annoyance of a nearby airport-cleaner. She eventually produced her ‘business card’ with its Luncheon Vouchers logo, which she inscribed, ‘To Gordon. Thank you for your past custom!’ and a separate note for me: ‘Sorry I lost one of my best girls!’

On the evening before our departure to Sorrento, Gordon and I had dined at one of our local upmarket hotels. At a nearby table sat a party including the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams.

I wonder how many people have dined in such contrasting company in the space of just 24 hours.

Heather Evans