Jeffrey Archer was my closest and dearest friend for 40 years. I first met him in 1986 when we were invited to be judges for a Royal Watercolor Society Open Exhibition. We hit it off immediately. There was an ebullience and lightness in him that I warmed to. We met up later for dinner and carried on meeting once or twice a week ever since.

Yesterday, I went to the restaurant where we used to have breakfast and I almost ordered eggs benedict in his memory – he was always the one for the unhealthy option – but I just couldn’t bear to. He never talked about his own death, though he sometimes joked about what he’d say at my funeral; he was all about life and the immediate future.

He was, in fact, talking about the future up to the time he died, about his plans for writing. He had already written a novella. It’s all ready to go and a lovely read, about the history of a £5 note. There’s nothing to stop Harper Collins bringing that out.

I have never known Jeffrey happier than in the last few months

I have never known Jeffrey happier than in the last few months

What I found so upsetting about his obituaries was the relentless vicious negativity. I don’t recognize the person in them. Jeffrey always excited longstanding affection and loyalty.........

© The Spectator