By Rhik Samadder for the Observer..

We met thanks to the Ayatollah. Debbie was a ballerina, but had to escape his revolution. She managed to get out, leaving behind money, clothes, everything. She returned here and auditioned for Bernard Delfont, the huge theatrical group – it was a cattle market in those days. It probably still is.

I remember her sitting on a wall outside the rehearsal room, looking like the little mannequin drawing between the paragraphs of Playboymagazine. We got chatting. She had personality and life – and presence. She became a box jumper, as we call them. We dated a little, but she was far too young. I said: “Those nasty people called journalists will shred you, call you a gold-digger. Find someone your own age.”..

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