I Once Met Cynthia Payne, by Heather Evans

While I was on a package tour of the Amalfi Coast in 2007, staying at a hotel in Sorrento, one of the fellow travellers stood out from the rest. She wore a striking tweed jacket and, apart from being constantly shadowed by her diminutive female companion, very much kept her distance from everyone else. It wasn’t until a week later, in the minibus taking us from the hotel back to the airport, that I spotted her luggage label: ‘C Payne’ – and the penny dropped. Over the next few hours on the flight, I experienced a mixture of feelings, ranging between embarrassment and amusement. My own companion, Gordon, was a charming elderly gentleman, somewhat old- fashioned, who in years past would have been considered gallant. I went cold as I recalled his words to Ms Payne as he’d helped her into the cable car in Capri with the words, said...

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