Six decades on, the Profumo Affair still captivates with its heady mix of sex, power and espionage.
This week, a new TV drama, The Trial of Christine Keeler, retells the tale, this time very much from the perspective of the title character.
The ex-topless dancer was just 19 when she was befriended by social-climbing osteopath Stephen Ward, who she would later claim was a Soviet spy.
Her simultaneous affairs with War Minister John Profumo and Soviet spy Yevgeny Ivanov led to the fall of a government.
Christine died at 75 in 2017.
As the BBC prepares to give her a long-awaited voice, here, in an emotional extract from her memoir Secrets and Lies, she tells what really happened...
It was not John Profumo who was the victim of a set-up at Cliveden on the weekend of Saturday, 8 July 1961. It was me.
Stephen Ward has been portrayed as an immoral rascal; in reality he was a Soviet spymaster who befriended hosts of powerful people in the government, aristocracy and even members of the Royal Family.
He had been my mentor, my Svengali, from the time I arrived in London as a teenager. I loved him but we were never lovers.
He wanted to know all about America’s intentions for nuclear weapons. He had talked about it openly in front of me in the house we shared in Wimpole Mews.
Fortunately for Stephen, Profumo was a man with wandering eyes and hands to match. And I was a mixed-up, lovesick young girl in that long, hot summer when the temperatures soared.
That night we first met, Lord Astor – Stephen’s patient – was entertaining nearly 40 people including the President of Pakistan and Profumo and his wife, leading actress Valerie Hobson.
Stephen and I were allowed to use the grand, walled swimming pool. I’d forgotten my swimsuit but there were always spare ones in the pool house. I put on a black one-piece but it was old fashioned and tight around my bottom. I liked to swim with lots of energy and just couldn’t get going in that suit. Stephen told me to take it off as it was only us.
Nude, I felt a lot better and happily swam around – until Bill Astor strolled in with Jack Profumo. I had no idea who Profumo was.
I was stuck naked in the pool but there was a small towel at the deep end and I quickly splashed over there and grabbed it. The men were all watching my mermaid act, a fish out of water.
It was impossible to be dignified: I could either cover my breasts or my backside but not both. I attempted to walk out at the shallow end without giving them the full Monty.
They had obviously had a few drinks and with Stephen’s encouragement started trying to whip the tiny towel away from me.
I ran around the pool with Lord Astor, head of a legendary family, and John Profumo, one of Supermac’s most important ministers, chasing me. I had been drinking too and accepted this as great fun. I was giggling and enjoying the game.
The towel would slip or I would let it slip a bit and there were schoolboy shrieks from the two of them. Then more of Bill’s guests arrived, including Jack’s wife.
The women were in evening gowns and jewellery. All I had on was this sad square of towelling. With dripping hair, I smiled and hoped the ground would swallow me up.
But I was rather taken with Jack, impressed with him. Once dressed and back in the main house, he invited me to look round with him.
He showed me Bill’s office and the study. When no one was looking, he chased me round a table or desk. It became a little game for the two of us: what was behind the next door? Jack suggested: “A kiss?”
It got a little naughtier with him stroking my back as we walked. I hadn’t noticed but Stephen was suddenly there and was watching Jack’s eyes on me. He knew what had happened and what could happen – it was part of his tradecraft.
The next morning Stephen woke me early. This is when the Profumo Affair, the espionage aspect, not the sex, began.
He said he must get back to London fast but had to make a stop at Cliveden as Bill Astor had left something for him to pick up.
I was still sleepy and happy to sit in the car while Stephen went inside. He’d seen Jack’s briefcase in Bill’s office. When he returned, Stephen had a small bundle of envelopes and papers.
They were about the Skybolt missiles which were to be Britain’s nuclear weaponry.
Jack Profumo never revealed that letters were stolen – whether out of incompetence or sheer arrogance to conceal his negligence, I don’t know.
The next day Stephen invited Eugene Ivanov, a big bear of a Russian naval attaché and Moscow spy, to Cliveden.
Soon after we arrived at the pool some of the men decided to have a race. I said we should have a girls’ race but Jack wanted it to be a mixed doubles. The same men were in the race and we girls climbed on to their shoulders.
I was on Jack’s and he hoisted me on to his neck; I had my legs wrapped around him as we started to race but then we decided the winners would be the couple who could stay afloat the longest but we were all flapping about, falling over and sinking.
I left Cliveden with Eugene. He’d kept his distance from the other guests and was in a bad mood.
At 17 Wimple Mews I was surprised when he asked to come in but I didn’t refuse: he was Stephen’s friend. He produced a bottle of booze from the boot of his car. “In Russia, we drink vodka.”
We drank and talked more about his country. Then he started kissing me. He thrust me to the floor. Then he took his time – he wanted good, old-fashioned sex without any fuss or trimmings. He was a Soviet warrior.
He did what Stephen had ordered him to do and was pretty good at it. But I realised I had just had sex with a Soviet spy. If anything went wrong from now on I would be painted as the wanton woman who had betrayed her country by bedding a spy and selling secrets.
I was not that willing a partner and he didn’t like it much, either, but he’d carried out his orders.
Stephen arrived back in a fabulous mood the next morning, announcing he’d given Jack my phone number. He laughed about me and Eugene: “With the two of them you could start a war.”
Stephen, as he always could, got the full story from me. He wanted to know just what went on between the two of us. Had he got my knickers or my bra off first? Was he gentle or rough? He asked about everything in his soft, convincing, sincere voice while all the time making light of it. And, of course, I told him.
Jack did as expected, for he really wanted me. I’ve had men hot for me but Jack was panting, absolutely rampant – you could smell the need on him. Nothing mattered but getting his way.
He telephoned on 12 July 1961. It was hot and he suggested a drive to anywhere I wanted to go. I had no idea what to say and I blurted out: “We could drive by where you work.”
Jack was 46, more than twice my age, but he had a natural style: confidence and an aura of being totally in control. I climbed into his glistening black car with no other thought than keeping everybody happy.
And so I began the Profumo Affair. I don’t remember the sex that much other than it was furtive at first, increasingly pleasant, and all over before I knew it.
The first time was in the front room of Wimpole Mews. It was more force than seduction – you could call it date rape. We’d been talking, he was charming and flirting and next thing we were kissing and he was leaping on top of me.
I never thought about the implications. That summer I was happy having our illicit love affair.
It was exciting. I don’t know if Jack was being reckless or was just too arrogant and thought he could do what he wanted with impunity.
Also, it was not the sign of a worried man to take me into his marital bed. Jack offered me a tour of his house. He showed me the dining room. “We often have the Queen for dinner here.”
He led me up the great staircase to where his office and the master bedroom were. In his office he tried to kiss me. His desk looked like a telephone exchange and one phone looked unusual. “Oh, that’s a scrambler. I use that if I want to phone the Prime Minister.”
Jack seemed a most powerful figure. Soon we were making love in his bedroom. It was a great turn-on for both of us.
Late one night Stephen came into my bedroom. He paced the room, puffing on a cigarette – his usual routine when he couldn’t sleep and wanted to talk.
But this time the talk was of world importance. He asked me straight out to ask Jack what date the Germans were going to get nuclear weapons.
I knew he was a spy but I didn’t think how great his scope was. This seemed so bold.
I begged him not to ask me. I couldn’t betray my country. I also knew if I did not do what he asked, my life would be in danger.
- Extracted by Jessica Boulton from Secrets and Lies: The Trials of Christine Keeler by Christine Keeler and Douglas Thompson, John Blake Publishing, £8.99.
