A couple of years ago, my partner Scott Gill - a successful architect and the other love of my life - and I were at a dinner party at a friend’s house in Holland Park. A gorgeous tanned man in his late thirties was seated across from us. It quickly became clear that he recognized me from somewhere other than showbiz, and I knew I’d seen him somewhere too.
Finally as our host was serving coffee, the man remembered.
“Were you not a guest of Valentino one summer on his yacht?”
“Oh my God, yes! Were you there?”
“I’m Tomas,” he said. “I was with my companion who was following the TM Blue in his own yacht.’
“What are you doing now?” I asked.
“My dear friend died a few years and we had an arrangement. He left me almost everything. His art galleries, his yachts, his homes on three continents.”
Scott leaned close and with a sly grin whispered, “Christ John, you should have fucked him.”
”
— John Barrowman, Anything Goes.