My interview with Sacha Distel was not going well. Over the years, the French crooner had seduced millions of female fans with his Gallic good looks and velvety voice but his attempts to charm me, a young writer trying to make her way in the world of celebrity journalism, were getting nowhere.
It didn’t help that his dressing room at the Prince of Wales Theatre in London was so cramped – surprising given that he was starring in his own show, and was halfway through a long season with guests including Olivia Newton-John.
I ended up behind the door while he sat in the only other chair, directly opposite me. It was December 1972, and Sacha – then in his late 30s – was chatting about family life, and how much his wife trusted him.
