Charles Moore’s third volume on the life of Margaret Thatcher is published next month, and the Iron Lady’s fans are in a frenzy. This gigantic biography has captured her every quality (and those ultimately fatal flaws) so truthfully. I wouldn’t have expected any less of Charles, who is a superb prose stylist. He is also a real gent, as I discovered when I was editor of this magazine in the early 1990s. Charles, then editor of the Daily Telegraph, had invited me to lunch at the Savoy Grill. I was nervous, as everyone told me this was a job interview served up as a lunch invitation. We got off to an excellent start: Charles had just converted to Catholicism, and spoke with a convert’s zeal about our Church and its steadfastness in a time of chaos. He was also gratifyingly supportive of the Catholic Herald. Suddenly the doors opened and in came Sean Connery. The former James Bond joined the actor Richard Harris at the table behind Charles, with Connery facing me. I tried – really tried – to pay attention to what my potential new boss was saying. But all I was conscious of was 007 – or at least, the only 007 who ever really mattered. In vain, Charles tried to catch my attention; I – goodness, how could I? – waved him aside, instructing him, “Please, could you just move your head slightly so I can get a good view?” Incredibly, Charles, instead of being put out, just laughed. He forgave me – though it did take him another 12 months before he offered me a job as TV critic at the Telegraph.