And yet other events, important ones, which may have shaped your destiny or had a huge impact on your development, may be barely remembered. Their importance cannot be denied, yet the details of the story remain hazy, like a country landscape on an autumn morning, with only the general outlines visible. So it was with Guillaume, my first love, the man who more than anyone else made me what I am, the man who showed me how to love and how to make love. It is a source of constant regret to me that I cannot remember our first sighting, or what my impression of him was, or even when I began to fall in love with him. Stubbornly, the curtain of mist which shrouds my memory of those days refuses to part.

This much I remember. It was my first holiday abroad, three weeks in Monaco taking in the Mediterranean sun, revelling in the exotic sights and sounds and, above all, colours of the Cote d'Azur. I was an excitable girl, 18 or 19, on the look out for adventure and romance. We were staying in the Hotel Abela, a newly built hotel in Fontvieille. Fontvieille was one of five sectors of Monaco, a reclaimed area adjoining the harbour and used principally for residential, tourist and sporting functions. It was on the west of Monaco, close to the Condamine, the harbour area which was my favourite place, and a mile and a half from garish Monte Carlo, which I didn't like at all.

The first week I did all the tourist things. I was stunned by the scale of the place, with its buildings teetering up the hillside, brown and cream, topped with red roofs, soaking in the sunshine, tiny houses nestling among giant skyscrapers. And the mountains above, dark and stony, guarding the town as they have for centuries, bathed in the purest, most perfect blue light. I had never seen light like it; it was so intense, so vivid, you felt you could touch it, as though it were a texture, not a colour. And the sea. The sea was magnificent, a proud, lazy expanse, rich and beautiful, mesmerising and hypnotic in its depth and serenity. I stood for hours on the spit leading from the Quai des etats unis, staring into the distance, watching the elegant progress of the sea with no tide, imagining it gently lapping all the way to Africa. Was it here, alone with my thoughts, that I first saw Guillaume?

Sometimes I would sit in les Jardins St Martin, up in Monaco-Ville, the old part of the city, after a morning touring the Cathedral, or the Oceanographic Museum, or the Prince's Palace, and just relax my mind, free it of all thought, let it glory in the beauty surrounding me. The steep incline to the sea was host to a fascinating array of plantlife which gave off powerful aromas of aniseed and musk. To this day those smells transport me back to my youth, staring into the blue horizon of the Mediterranean. The world was ahead of me, vast and unknown, like the sea which so transfixed me. I felt the first yearnings to enter an adult world, to begin to fashion for myself a life, to set off on a voyage of adventure. I was so happy then. Was it here, as I began to plan my future, that I first saw Guillaume?

Occasionally I ventured along Boulevard Louis II and through the giant tunnel which you may remember from the Monaco Grand Prix and up the Avenue des Spelugues into Monte Carlo, to the casino, the Boulingrins Gardens and the giant hotels, vying with one another for ostentation and combining to create a garish melange, a conceit, a glorification of wealth in all its empty vulgarity. Was it here that I first saw Guillaume?

I was in the seafront restaurant one evening, probably in my second week, dining alone and looking out on to the sea which was lapping gently right up against the rock on which the restaurant was built. It could not have been closer to the sea, and the sights, sounds and smells of the water were an unforgettable backdrop as I ate my meal. I was conscious that a man was sitting alone, like me, at a nearby table, and was watching me shamelessly. This is a very French thing, of course, and we reserved Britons feel uncomfortable with it. I was vaguely aware that I had seen him a few times before, but couldn't quite place where. He was handsome, in his thirties, I guessed, with short, black hair. He had deep set eyes nestling beneath dark, bushy eyebrows, and a long, very Gallic nose. His mouth drew me to him: it was wide, with fuller lips than normal for a man, and within sat two rows of even, white teeth. It was a warm face, gentle and wise, friendly and outgoing. You felt that this was a man with no secrets. He smiled at me and raised his glass, and I reciprocated, taking a swig of wine to hide the slight embarrassment I felt. I don't think we spoke on that occasion, not yet.

The first time I remember a conversation, though it may not actually have been our first, was a couple of days later. I was in the Place du Palais, before the Palais Princier, watching the daily ceremony as the guards changed. The square was crowded with tourists, frantically snapping pictures as the band played and the soldiers, in crisp, white uniforms marched into the Palace. There was a cry from the crowd and people pointed upwards at the Palace balcony, where Prince Ranier stood solemnly and proudly, watching the events. It was quite unusual, apparently, for him to appear, so I felt pleased to have been there. It was then that Guillaume spoke to me. I have no idea what he said or how he introduced himself. I do remember that he was friendly and easy to speak to. He was French, but spoke excellent English. As we walked along the fortified walls of Monaco-Ville, looking out first over the Condamine and then the sea, he related bits of the history of "The Rock", as Monaco is called. How the Grimaldis have held it for centuries, how it was coveted by the French, Spanish and Genoese, and the conflicts which arose as a result. How Monte Carlo came to be built in the nineteenth century. The history of the place came alive in his descriptions, adding to my sense of awe. We wandered all over the old town, through its narrow, cobbled streets and into the gardens of Fort Antoine.

Over the next few days we met often and I grew to like Guillaume. Although he spoke good English he insisted we converse in French to improve my skills. He was a gentle teacher, correcting my lapses with humour and patience, even when I made the same mistakes over and over. We had lunch and evening meals together, trying new places each night. One evening in Le Belle Epoque, another in Rampoldi, and then Le Bec Rouge. I especially like Le Castelroc, with its authentic Monegasque menu.

When did I start falling for him? I really don't know. I remember walking hand in hand along Quai Albert Premier; was it then? Or was that just the first sign? I wish I could tell. I remember our first kiss though, will never forget it, will cherish it forever, will recall it in times of sadness. Was it then that I fell for him? It could be.

We were sunbathing on the huge concrete slabs below the spit at the harbour to protect it from the sea. They were piled in a random manner, some lurching drunkenly towards the water, others sedately fixed upright and correct. Monaco is quite strict about dress code, but it was possible to sunbathe peacefully here in relative seclusion. Guillaume was dark skinned and in good shape. Slight love handles were forming on his hips, but his stomach was firm and his thighs and arms muscular. The sunlight kissed his skin, streaks of silver and gold cascading down his body and rippling across his torso. I think it was he who kissed me, stretching over and gripping my arm gently, pulling me towards him and placing his lips on mine. A gentle brush, no more. Then another, then another, small kisses planted delicately, placed deliberately. I had never been kissed like that. My heart pounded, my muscles lost their power and I felt weak all over. I was almost giddy with excitement, drunk with anticipation, tipsy with experience. I felt a sexual urge that I had never known before, rampant and forceful, gripping at me, gnawing at me, churning my insides into a tumult of emotion. Yes, perhaps it was then that I fell in love with him.

In the ensuing days we were inseparable, kissing, stroking one another, walking hand in hand, wrapped up in our own world, joyous in our own company. I was very inexperienced, and apprehensive about taking things further, which Guillaume sensed, I think. Both of us were waiting for the right moment.