Jeffrey Archer, one of the world’s bestselling novelists, is still an incorrigible flirt. Enter our photographer with his pretty young assistant and Jeffrey is entranced.
Before I know it, we’re all in his penthouse bedroom, admiring both the spectacular London skyscape through vast floor-to-ceiling windows – and Jeffrey’s magnificent, intricately carved 17th century four-poster bed.
Above the bed, a huge Lichtenstein speech balloon Pop Art cartoon proclaims: ‘Oh Jeff… I love you too. But…’
Lord Archer’s long-serving PR is mildly incredulous. ‘I’ve only been in this room a couple of times and I’ve known Jeffrey for decades,’ she says.
Ah, the power of youth
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