Daily Mirror (Northern Ireland)
YEVGENY IVANOV was e victim in this al... AY BIG READ
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oisted me on to his neck; I had my legs wrapped und him as we started to race but then we decided winners would be the couple who could stay at the longest but we were all flapping about, ng over and sinking. eft Cliveden with Eugene. He’d kept his distance m the other guests and was in a bad mood. t 17 Wimple Mews I was surprised when he asked ome in but I didn’t refuse: he was Stephen’s friend. produced a bottle of booze from the boot of his “In Russia, we drink vodka.”
We drank and talked more about his country. Then tarted kissing me. He thrust me to floor. Then he took his time – he ted good, old-fashioned sex hout any fuss or trimmings. He a Soviet warrior. e did what Stephen had ered him to do and was pretty d at it. But I realised I had just sex with a Soviet spy. If anything t wrong from now on I would painted as the wanton man who had betrayed country by bedding a and selling secrets. I was not that willing a partner and he didn’t like it much, either, but he’d carried out his orders. Stephen arrived back in a fabulous mood the next morning, announcing he’d given Jack my phone number. He laughed about me and Eugene: “With the two of them you could start a war.”
Stephen, as he always could, got the full story from me. He wanted to know just what went on between the two of us. Had he got my knickers or my bra off first? Was he gentle or rough? He asked about everything in his soft, convincing, sincere voice while all the time making light of it. And, of course, I told him. Jack did as expected, for he really wanted me. I’ve had men hot for me but Jack was panting, absolutely rampant – you could smell the need on him. Nothing mattered but getting his way.
He telephoned on 12 July 1961. It was hot and he suggested a drive to anywhere I wanted to go. I had no idea what to say and I blurted out: “We could drive by where you work.”
Jack was 46, more than twice my age, but he had a natural style: confidence and an aura of being totally in control. I climbed into his glistening black car with no other thought than keeping everybody happy.
And so I began the Profumo Affair. I don’t remember the sex that much other than it was furtive at first, increasingly pleasant, and all over before I knew it.
The first time was in the front room of Wimpole Mews. It was more force than seduction – you could call it date rape. We’d been talking, he was charming and flirting and next thing we were kissing and he was leaping on top of me.
I never thought about the implications. That summer I was happy having our illicit love affair.
It was exciting. I don’t know if Jack was being reckless or was just too arrogant and thought he could do what he wanted with impunity.
Also, it was not the sign of a worried man to take me into his marital bed. Jack offered me a tour of his house. He showed me the dining room. “We often have the Queen for dinner here.”
He led me up the great staircase to where his office and the master bedroom were. In his office he tried to kiss me. His desk looked like a telephone exchange and one phone looked unusual. “Oh, that’s a scrambler. I use that if I want to phone the Prime Minister.”
Jack seemed a most powerful figure. Soon we were making love in his bedroom. It was a great turn-on for both of us.
Late one night Stephen came into my bedroom. He paced the room, puffing on a cigarette – his usual routine when he couldn’t sleep and wanted to talk.
But this time the talk was of world importance. He asked me straight out to ask Jack what date the Germans were going to get nuclear weapons.
I knew he was a spy but I didn’t think how great his scope was. This seemed so bold.
I begged him not to ask me. I couldn’t betray my country. I also knew if I did not do what he asked, my life would be in danger.
Extracted by Jessica Boulton from Secrets and Lies: The Trials of Christine Keeler by Christine Keeler and Douglas Thompson, John Blake Publishing, £8.99.