Anji [Hunter, her husband's political aide] had told me that on no account could I go down to the conference on my own. If I wanted to go, then somebody had to come with me. And suddenly I thought, I've been coming to conference for years, what are they talking about? I'm hardly a novice. So I opened our door, sneaked down the back stairs to avoid the lift, and emerged into the hotel lobby, where I immediately caught sight of Glenys Thornton, my old friend from LSE days and, later, Hackney co-resident.

We were having a chat when suddenly there were lights and cameras all around and someone with a microphone asking Glenys who she was. I completely froze. The next moment, I felt a hand on my back and then on my arm, and Hilary Coffman was propelling me towards the lift, saying “Thank you, Cherie”, and it was back to my prison.

The pair of us stood in that lift not saying a word, and I felt my blood pounding. I had known Hilary for years. She had been head of press for John Smith and had also worked for Neil Kinnock. Alastair had brought her in to work for Tony. When the lift stopped at “our” floor, she handed me over to Anji.

“I thought I told you not to go down there, Cherie,” Anji said as she walked me down the corridor. “You really don't understand politics.”

“Thank you, Anji, but I do understand politics.” If looks could kill, she should have been dead. Our relationship was deteriorating rapidly.

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