I couldnt wait for our big kiss… but my hopes were dashed. In her dramatic new memoir, Petula Clark reveals Anthony Newleys romantic confession and remembers their poignant final meeting

I was 16 years old when I filmed the movie Vice Versain 1948. It was a comedy about a father and son who swap bodies and it was a hoot; I laughed through the whole thing.

The best part, for me however, was meeting my co-star – Anthony Newley. He was a year older than me, handsome and brilliant and, importantly, funny: that’s always been the clincher for me. I had a crush on him as soon as I met him. But I knew I didn’t stand a ghost of a chance. He was a lad, flirting with all the ladies, and I still seemed like a little girl.

We were signed to the same studio, Rank, and one year later we worked together in another film – Vote For Huggett. I was just as smitten with Anthony as before and, once again, he never even noticed me. Like all the men, he was more interested in Diana Dors.

But we soon became friends. Whenever a film we were in came out, Rank would send us around the country to do promotional events. We’d go to premieres in Birminghamor wherever, meet the mayor and local dignitaries, and sign autographs.

Sometimes, rather than just saying hello to local film fans, Tony and I would put on a double act for them. We’d sing Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better) and silly songs like that. It was fun, and I think that was what got Tony interested in the idea of having a singing career alongside his acting.

By 1950, I got a part in a film called Dance Hall. I was excited about this one… and the main reason was that I would get to kiss Anthony Newley.

With Anthony Newley in Las Vegas, 1974

I played Georgie, a factory girl who wanted to become a ballroom dancer, and Tony was my boyfriend, Peter. We had to become good dancers for the movie, so the studio sent us to a dance school. It was great because it meant that Tony was holding me in his arms every day.

When the filming began, I couldn’t wait for our big kiss scene to come around… but then, suddenly, Tony got conscripted into the Army and was replaced in the movie by Douglas Barr, who was a nice boy but a lot younger and kind of pale, spotty and, frankly, uninteresting. So, my hopes were dashed.

Tony and I stayed friends and I saw him, often, for years after. I even, as a rather unexpected sideline, taught him how to sing. It was 1959 and I had met the man who would become my husband, Claude. He was in France and I was bouncing to and fro between London and Paris. Tony, meanwhile, had just starred in a movie, Idol On Paradeabout a rock-and-roll singer getting conscripted into the Army. Off the back of it, he had decided to try to launch his own singing career, but he was extremely nervous.

I went into the studio with him as he did his first proper recordings. Singing is mostly about breathing, so I stood behind him and literally tapped him on the shoulder to tell him when to breathe. I believe it helped him a lot.

Our lives continued to intersect. In 1970, I did a show for NBC and Tony was my special guest; we did sketches, bantered, and became a mock music-hall duo called ‘The Lovebirds’. But most joyous were the three weeks we spent in 1974, doing double-header shows at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas.

We began the evening by showing a clip of Vice Versathe first film we’d made together, before performing a duet. Then I’d do my set and Tony would do his. I always closed my half with The Beatles’ Fool On The Hill. The audience would be standing, the place would go wild and, as Tony came on for his set, he’d whisper in my ear: ‘Petula, how do you do that?’

We would duet again at the end of the night. They were really emotional shows, for both of us. I have such wonderful memories of them.

By the 1990s, Claude and I were still married but living separate lives. I’d bought an apartment in Miami and spent a bit of time there. On one trip, in 1991, I happened to notice an ad for a play called Once Upon A Song. It was written by, and starred, someone who by now was a local Miami resident: Anthony Newley.

Of course, I went to see it. If I’m honest, I didn’t think the play was all that great but, of course, Tony was. Afterwards, I said hello to him backstage. He and I headed off to an outdoor café, shared a bottle of wine and talked. He said he’d had some serious health issues. And we had a conversation like we’d never had before.

For the very first time, I told Tony about my crush on him, all those years ago. And he astonished me by saying he’d felt the same about me. Yet he explained that when we were young, he’d found me daunting: so bright that I was an intimidating prospect for ‘a nervous young man with pimples’, as he was then.

Tony said he hadn’t dared believe his feelings for me would be requited, so he’d never made a move on me. Instead, he’d resigned himself to us only ever being friends. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I’m sure he felt the same.

If only one of us had ever dared to say how we felt – who knows what might have happened? Tony and I sat in the Miami twilight, sipped wine, smiled, and reflected on just how different our lives could have been. How many years we might have spent together. Ah, well.

Life plays these tricks. It was a strange, magical and very poignant evening.

Five years later, Tony’s manager called me and asked if I wanted to record a duet for his new album. The manager also said that Tony’s serious health issues (which he’d told me about that night in Miami) had worsened, and hinted that the album might be his last. I was shocked but, obviously, immediately agreed.

Tony and I met in a studio in London and recorded a version of a song called The People Tree. Tony was 65 and clearly not in the best of health, yet there was nothing sad or sombre about the day. Far from it. He and I found the recording session almost impossible because we were laughing so much. It’s very hard to sing if you’re laughing or crying.

He died three years later, in 1999, and that recording session was the last time I ever saw him. It means that my final memories of Tony are of the two of us singing and laughing together. Which is exactly how I want to remember him.

This is an edited extract from Is That You, Petula?published this Thursday by Ebury Spotlight, £25. To pre-order a copy for £21.25 until 2 November, go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937. Free UK delivery on orders over £25