Over one side of the garden was a party of people huddled together; I got the impression that this was a whole organisation that had shown up to see the premier and not just their duly elected representatives. We were shown into a kind of outer room and the others waiting in there seemed very nervous.

I suppose as an actor I had worked, and have worked since, with well known people; well known people in show business, that is, not world leaders who go down in history; well known people so full of themselves, sometimes, that they are very unpleasant and sometimes when these well know people suddenly become unknown people it’s a bit of relief.

After about five minutes or so we were called and led into another room. I have to say the room didn’t seem to have any aesthetic qualities at all; the furniture was functional: a sofa, an occasional table and a few chairs; behind the table was an open French window, which led to a quiet part of the garden, and another doorway was covered by a curtain.

When Mrs Gandhi entered she did the full theatrical bit through that curtain; she walked in as if she was the leader of the biggest democracy in the world, she walked in like a world leader, an important member of the Gandhi-Nehru dynasty, a figure of history.

She was accompanied by a few bodyguards; I have often thought about those body guards as it was her private bodyguard that turned and killed her eighteen months later in the grounds of that very building.

Everybody stood up when she entered and she sat down between the two girls on the sofa; straight away it was obvious she was very comfortable with them; she started to chat informally but I noticed she didn’t have any small talk at all; she asked them about their essays, how they liked India – even though we had only been there eight hours – and would they ever consider coming back again; then she asked them where they lived; when it was Rebecca’s turn she said she lived in Northampton sixty miles north of London: “I know where Northampton is” Mrs Gandhi snapped “I was at Oxford.”

At one point I noticed Mrs Gandhi ring a bell she had secreted in her hand; through the curtain came somebody and before we could see them she asked them to get a photographer: this was the cue for us to stand behind her but it was also the cue for the bodyguards to push and shove each other to try and get into picture. I was standing at the end so didn’t think I had a chance of being in shot because when the photographer got ready to take the photo he seemed to aim it over to the other side of the room; but one of the body guards tried to get his face in to the shot and gave me a little push; I shoved gently back and in the subsequent photo he has disappeared totally behind the person who was standing next to me; serves him right.

After the photo Mrs Gandhi shook hands with a couple of us and swept out as sweepingly as she had swept in.