MORIS: Nicole is very dear to me. She’s my cousin but she’s like the little sister I never had. Of course, she doesn’t remember our first few encounters, because there are 11 years between us and she was only two years old when I first met her. But I can remember raising her up in my arms and thinking what a beautiful little girl she was, all star-like, full of life and sparkle, radiance and laughter — all the things that I still see in her today.

I was 13 then. It was during the summer of 1948, and I’d travelled with my family from Turkey to see Nicole’s family, who were living in Nice. Our fathers were brothers and they were extremely close. And in fact it was a very happy time for our two families, because they had just been reunited again after all the uncertainties and anxieties of the second world war.

Nicole’s father, my Uncle Freddie, had gone to the south of France in the mid-1920s in search of work. It was just after the war of liberation in Turkey, so it was the end of the Ottoman empire, and a new Turkish republic had come into existence. There was high unemployment and poverty everywhere in Turkey, so many people left to look for work. Although I was only a boy when the war broke out in 1939, I remember it being a very hard time for our family. We were Jewish, and not only was my father taken into forced labour during the war but we lost contact with Nicole’s family, and that was a huge worry.

So when the end of the war came, my family were determined to track down Nicole’s family, and in the end they did, so it was indeed happy times for us all to be reunited with them. And every summer from then on we’d take the long ferry journey to Marseilles to see them. Nicole has a younger brother, Dannie, and I have a younger brother too, Jacky, and looking back those were wonderful years for all of us because, as in any extended family, it was always a coming together of family traditions and shared experiences.

As young adults, the four of us all went off in different directions, and it was no surprise to me that Nicole moved to Paris to study fashion. She’d always had creative impulses — not to mention a very strong sense of style and ebullience — and now she was just brimming with ideas, and a confidence to match.

I remember her joking with me once — given that I was, and still am, the worst-dressed man in Europe — that one day she would design something that would make me look absolutely stunning.

I told her that even

she couldn’t smarten up a hippopotamus!

I have enormous admiration and respect for all that Nicole has achieved, from her amazing partnership with Stephen Marks in running French Connection in the 1970s to the setting up of her own successful label in the early ’80s. She’s clearly been a dynamic force in the fashion industry from the very beginning. And what’s amazing is that in the last 20 years she’s also pursued her other great passion — sculpture, which brings a whole other dimension to her artistic sensibility. Eduardo Paolozzi once said that she was one of the best sculptors in the country.

Of course it is of no surprise to me that Nicole, who is so incredibly warm, and loving, is also a wonderful mother. What’s also comforted me is that, in her husband, David [Hare, the playwright], she has also found a true soul mate. Nicole’s happiness is so important to me. I simply can’t imagine not having her in my life. And even though there are periods when we don’t see each other, she’s still that star, constant and shining ever brightly. I know she’ll always be there for me and I’ll always be there for her.

NICOLE: Although most people know my cousin as Moris, in the family we all call him Maurico, which is a nickname for his name in Turkish, which is Musa. My father and Maurico’s father, my Uncle Vitali, were both born and brought up in Turkey, but after my father emigrated to the south of France he met my mother and they stayed to raise their family — me and my brother, Dannie. Maurico’s father remained in Turkey.

My first memory of Maurico is when I was about six years old. It was during one of the trips his family made to see us in Nice. He’d have been 15 or 16 then, and the thing I most remember about him is how beautiful he was. He had these big, soft eyes and this most wonderful smile. It could light up a room. It was simply impossible not to fall in love with him. In fact, all the women in our family were in love with him, not least being my grandmother, who he used to stay with when his family came over. She was completely besotted with him.

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