CHAPTER ONE
Alicia Berenson’s Diary
JULY 16
I never thought I’d be longing for rain. We’re into our fourth week of the heat wave, and it feels like an endurance test. Each day seems hotter than the last. It doesn’t feel like England. More like a foreign country—Greece or somewhere.
I’m writing this on Hampstead Heath. The whole park is strewn with red-faced, semi-n***d bodies, like a beach or a battlefield, on blankets or benches or spread out on the grass. I’m sitting under a tree, in the shade. It’s six o’clock, and it has started to cool down. The sun is low and red in a golden sky—the park looks different in this light—darker shadows, brighter colors. The grass looks like it’s on fire, flickering flames under my feet.
I took off my shoes on my way here and walked barefoot. It remi
