DUNCAN: I’m more superficial than Laura, to say the least. I was always trying to show off and I think I probably caused her huge embarrassment. When I took over another big agency, ICM, the first thing I did was get myself a long-wheelbase Bentley and a chauffeur. I thought it was the best thing on God’s Earth. Laura refused to go in it. “And you,” she said, “look like a prat.” She is beyond direct.

Laura is the least greedy person. Not only is she unimpressed by money, she’s uninterested in it.

And that’s where we differ. I love the trappings and I’ve been a bit of a wastrel. Motorbikes, vintage cars, racehorses, boats… Folie de grandeur. It’s odd, because I hated my father’s boat. As a child I was a loner, I’d wander off with the dogs a lot, and that’s Laura’s tendency too.

My parents were completely uninterested in me. My brother was the star and I was a bit of a dummy. Laura’s love was the best tonic. And she was such a great kid, I found her totally fascinating — which made me wonder all the more why my parents hadn’t liked me. I was distraught when she wanted to go to boarding school: it was the ultimate rejection. But Laura wanted Enid Blyton; she wanted order and structure. And, to be fair, neither her mother nor I could provide it.

I’d always found school a pain in the arse. The pretension. The crap they talked. I remember going to Laura’s speech day, and there was some terrible fascist priest talking about women’s role in life. Honestly, it irritated and angered me so much that I let out a huge fart in church. Every figure of authority, to me, was a threat to her. I went far too far.

I said: “The teachers are all full of shit. Don’t trust any of those f***ers, and if you want to come home, just phone.” It was all about me, desperately wishing my parents had rescued me from the shithole they sent me to at seven and showed some interest in me. Where I went wrong was to mobilise my own rebellion through her. I’m still doing it now, and I’m in my sixties. It’s a bit pathetic, really. I had a thing about all those smug parents in their f***ing Volvos. The only time I’ve ever lost my temper with her in my life was during a parents’ tennis match. I ended up throwing my racket across the court. I still feel guilty about that.

In many ways, Laura is what I wanted to be. Socially she’s got real bottle. When I’m in company I will not pursue a difficult subject; but if Laura is sitting with people who stag-hunt, she will make it her topic for the evening and not let it go. I’m good at what I do, but I don’t throw my weight around. I feel lucky I’ve got the gig, to be honest — there aren’t many jobs that are more enjoyable. Laura is far bossier than me. She runs the whole show out there in Barbados and she’s pretty formidable. She really, really cares. Every times she sees something — whether it’s a bird on the road or a stray dog — she does something about it. I’m conscious that she’s extraordinarily vulnerable — I sometimes think she’s like an open wound — but there’s not much I can do about it. We talk, and I think I’m pretty good at that.

When she was a child, I wanted every day to be an adventure, to the point where I think it may have become a burden. There was an element of me showing off, because deep down I suffer from a huge inferiority complex. And there was a desire to be loved — I wouldn’t be in this job if I didn’t have that. Laura loved me in spite of what I did, but my lack of self-love had an effect. I was a bit of a performing flea: “Let’s do this… Where do you want to go now?”

For all I know, she probably didn’t want to go anywhere. I think she was confused by the lack of rules. She didn’t want to be allowed to stay up all night: she wanted us all to sit down to a meal, then have a proper bedtime.

I used to have a terrible drug problem and Laura and I had colossal rows about it. Her contempt was beyond crushing. “Dad, you’re a complete tosser. It’s pathetic.” When I gave it all up a few years ago, I made a list of all the things that terrified me. Ballroom dancing was at the top — that and death, because if I carried on I was going to kill myself. I absolutely love ballroom — it’s my passion, and Laura totally gets it too. I adore the discipline and the campery. Laura’s quite camp. She’s eccentric and funny and that’s what I love about her — though I’d like there to be more grey in her life. Her focus on her work means she misses out on other things. My biggest wish is for her to meet someone and be happy. But she’s a great romantic. She doesn’t want free love; she wants Wuthering Heights. And any suitor is also going to have to take on 20 one-eyed dogs. I just think she’s a completely awesome person. The last time I was in Barbados, I was driving from the airport to her place and there was a dog limping along the road. I felt so guilty I stopped, and a local woman said: “Don’t worry, the dog lady’s coming.” That made me immensely proud.

LAURA: Nobody makes me cry with laughter like my father does. He is childlike both in his ability to grasp the moment and in terms of the lightning speed at which boredom sets in and he wants to move on to something else. I adore being with him, but I was at least 19 before I stopped feeling crippled with embarrassment around him. I was this very straight, very conservative little girl. I covered my walls with Laura Ashley wallpaper and wanted desperately for everything to be ordinary. It wasn’t easy. At parents’ evenings, Dad would be making V-signs behind the headmistress’s back and I’d be crying with embarrassment in the cloakroom.

He was out most nights at the theatre or screenings, but the times we did spend together were hysterical. There were no rules. He was into big, grand gestures. He took me to Disney World when I was six, stuffed me with Toblerone on the plane, then — and this is typical of him — abandoned me when I threw up. He became very frustrated when he realised I was too small to go on the rollercoaster, left me on my own while he went on it, then lost me. I felt I was parent to the child a lot of the time.

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