22nd April 2006
I should not presume to say what I am about to tell you,Will, but I find that I can't help it. I am unable to leave this, my first communication with you (could first imply second?) without telling you this, one single thing that rises up and overpowers all my other inglorious feelings.
There is no evidence I can give you for what I am about to say,I know that.And there is no point in denying that in the years since you were born I have been fortunate and often very happy.
But there are certain things so deeply buried that one is unaware of them until a trigger, a person, or an experience, unlocks them. I already knew this, of course, because the events in this diary are themselves the consequence of one of those cataclysmic discoveries.
And now I have found another, and it is almost beyond belief to me that I did not know this before.
There was a love requited, and a love given away. I cannot deny that,Will. But please try to believe this. It is also true to say that I have missed you for every day of your life.
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to the Sesti family of Castello di Argiano, Montalcino – the physical model for my otherwise entirely fictional Castello di Monte Leccio. Sarah, Giuseppe, Elisa, Cosimo, Petroc, and the late Orlando, submitted – always graciously – to endless interrogation, and I thank them all, not only for their time and patience but also for their generous hospitality and joie de vivre.
Other friends contributed in many ways. An early discussion about biography with David Marr over a long lunch was extraordinarily fruitful in kick-starting the imaginative process. A major part of the book was completed over an idyllic summer at Kathy van Praag's house. Long sections were written in the tranquil Sydney refuge of Jeremy Steele's shed. I am grateful also to Helen and Ross Edwards, Pamela Traynor and Christopher Bowen, and Kristin and David Williamson, who generously provided further writing retreats at the beach and in the mountains. I could not have taken advantage of any of these without the help of the marvellous McLennans – Jane,Andrew and Tara – and of Eva Buczak.And once again, Robin de Crespigny and Sophia Turkiewicz read the work in progress – an unstinting support.
The novel was signed off at Casa Moorehead in Porto Ercole. My gratitude to Caroline Moorehead and Anne Chisholm for three perfect weeks of productive conviviality.
At the all-important business end, thanks – anything but perfunctory – to my agent, Sophie Hamley, and at Random House to Meredith Curnow, Roberta Ivers, Catherine Hill, Jessica Dettmann and Judy Jamieson-Green. You were all a delight to work with.
Also by Virginia Duigan
Days Like These
There are certain friends with whom you don't have to pretend
Lou, a freelance journalist, leaves New York after the breakup of a long relationship. Taking refuge in Mim's North London house, the nerve-centre for a group of old university friends, she becomes drawn into an escalating series of personal dramas.
Days Like These is about women behaving badly. It is about love and loyalty, deceit and disaster, and the onset of moral choices. In a world where you can touch most things, what – and who – is untouchable?
Told with wit, humour and sophistication Days Like These tests the bonds between friends.
'A tremendous first novel possessing real charm, a kind of freshness and guilelessness that is very potent - and a toughness and reality that I genuinely applaud.'
William Boyd
The Biographer Page 32
