The time was 2am and another dinner party was ending at the villa in Barbados. I was drying the dishes in the kitchen, gazing out of the window at the darkened beach, when I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, strong arms grasped me round the waist. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck. He pulled me back into his arms and kissed me passionately. Then he led me outside into the steamy night and, amid the lush foliage of the garden, he pressed me up against a palm tree. Wild and impatient, he began pulling at my clothes. I didn`t have time to think, or draw back, or even to consider where I was. The stars were out, the crickets were chirping and the temperature was a balmy 78 degrees. Andrew kissed the back of my neck, my face, my back. He was a great kisser and was visibly aroused by me. He slipped off my turquoise sarong, pulled down my bikini bottom and made passionate love to me. It was an extraordinary moment - a prince having sex in the open air with me, a woman who had fled Britain to escape my violent lover and the drug-fuelled excesses of life in London. How could it have happened?