"Invited to be a juror at the 1968 Cannes Film Festival, I drove Sharon down to St.-Tropez in my red Ferrari, which had been shipped over from L.A. Neither Sharon nor I sensed the imminence of the “revolution” that almost toppled the Fifth Republic. I thought it utterly absurd to disrupt the festival on the ground that it was an elitist, capitalism symbol. I knew what it meant to a director when a film was accepted for Cannes. The festival authorities tried to keep going …but the festival ended in complete disarray. "

"Sharon and I returned to London, then left for Los Angeles once more. Sharon's film career was progressing far better than mine." (In mid-68 Sharon was working in The Wrecking Crew, which starred Dean Martin) “After working all day on the set, Sharon would return to our latest rented home, Patty Duke’s house on Summit Ridge Drive, and insist on cooking for me and the whole gang. Her repertoire included Virginia ham, upside-down cake, and all the great southern dishes she’d learned from her mother.”  

Being interviewed in the house on Summit Ridge Drive

“All our friends adored Sharon. It wasn’t just her looks that captivated them, though her beauty was breathtaking and her miniskirts emphasized her marvelous legs. She was among the first to flaunt theses symbols of the sexual freedom of the sixties. Miniskirts were erotic yet innocent, romantic and charming and somehow vulnerable, so different from the forbidding, aggressive look of the seventies. When Sharon appeared in one, the whole street would turn and stare: men with admiration; women with envy; elderly matrons with vitriolic disapproval; old gentlemen with nostalgic appreciation. There was far more to Sharon than a lovely face and a sexy figure. What enchanted me about her as much as anything was her immutable good nature, her natural high spirits, her love of people and animals-of life itself. Overdemonstrative, over solicitous women had always made m me uneasy, but Sharon struck the perfect balance between affection and concern. Though more a spectator than a participant in our gags and shenanigans, she had a great sense of humor. She was also a born housewife. Aside from cooking like a dream, she used to cut my hair – a skill acquired from Jay Sebring. She liked to pack my bag whenever I had to take a trip. She always knew exactly what to put in so much so that I can never pack or unpack, even today, without thinking of her.”

 "By the end of 68, Sharon became pregnant. It was an accidental pregnancy since she’d been using an IUD. Our L.A. doctor pronounced it a near miracle and put it down to Sharon’s animal vitality. If truth be told, I was rather thrown by the news. A child seemed such a luxury, such an important event, that I felt it deserved the same careful planning as a film. I wanted the circumstances to be just right-bigger house and adequate time for preparation. What was more, Sharon had contracted to make a picture with Vittorio Gassman in Rome and in London, and I knew that her pregnancy would be obvious by the time shooting ended. I urged he to tell the director, Nicholas Gessner, but she wouldn’t. 'Everything’s going to be fine,' she said soothingly."

"Terry Melcher, the young record impresario, was splitting up with Candice Bergen, so their rented house off Benedict Canyon was on the market. Sharon, who had always liked it, contacted the owner, Rudi Altobelli, and we signed the lease on February 12, 1969."

10050 Cielo Drive

"It was an attractive place in many ways-a country house with a flower-filled garden enclosed by a post and rail fence, the interior was all white walls and exposed beams, and the furniture included a rocking chair, comfortable sofas, and a short grand piano. Most important of all, there was plenty of room for the baby, not to mention the British nanny Sharon had set her heart on."

"Set back from a narrow, winding road called Cielo Drive, the house itself could not be seen from Benedict Canyon. Candice Bergen had rigged up some Christmas lights along the fence, and we left them there, switching them on whenever guests were expected so as to guide them to their destination. Almost as soon as we moved in, Sharon had to leave for Rome to start filming. I remained in London for business reasons."

"As if to remind me that every horizon, however radiant, conceals a cloud or two, I received an anguished call from Wojtek Frykowski in L.A. We asked him and his girlfriend, Abigail Folger, to look after the Cielo Drive house in our absence. While parking the car, he'd managed to run over Dr. Saperstein, our dog, named after the character in Rosemary's Baby. 

The dog had been a member of our family, almost like a child. I was miserable-appalled at the prospect of breaking the news to Sharon. I consulted Victor Lownes. 'First,' he said, 'buy another dog.' "

"I already had one surprise present on order for her - a white vintage Rolls Silver Dawn - but I knew it wouldn't make up for the loss of her dog." 

"I phoned Sharon in Rome and told her that Dr. Saperstein needed some female company. Then I bought a Yorkshire terrier puppy, which we christened Prudence. Later, when Sharon joined me in London, I broke the news that Dr. Saperstein had 'disappeared.' It sounded plausible enough - Saperstein regularly took off like a randy little tomcat and returned, looking shamefaced, after a couple of days on the prowl. Sharon never did get to know what really happened."

"The baby had become the focal point of her life. She read every available book on childbirth and baby care and went on a marathon-buying spree for baby clothes."

"Quite unabashed by her appearance, she didn’t object to being photographed; in fact, she reveled in it."

"Our conversations revolved around the unborn child. I wanted a girl, but she was convinced it would be a boy and debated what name to give him. She asked if there was anyone I’d particularly admired as a boy. Only half-joking, I told her that my hero between the ages of twelve and fifteen had been the founder of the Boy Scouts, Robert Baden-Powell. She doubted if it would be fair to saddle our child with a name like Baden Polanski."

"It had always been taken for granted that Sharon would have the baby in America. No airline would fly her across the Atlantic-she was in her eighth month by now-so I booked her a stateroom on the QE 2. We spent our last evening together at Harry Saltzman’s newly opened restaurant overlooking the Thames. Sharon had never looked more beautiful. The last picture I have of her, taken only a few days before she sailed, is a little Polaroid test for a photo portrait due to appear on the cover of Queen magazine. Another legacy from her is the book she left behind in our bedroom: Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d'Urbervilles. She’d just finished reading it and said it would make a wonderful movie. Never setting foot in a big ocean liner before, we explored it like excited children, Sharon with tiny Prudence nestling in the crook of her arm."

"Something about this parting made it different from the other, more casual leave-takings, and both of us had tears in our eyes. 'Okay, go now,' she said abruptly. We walked down the companionway to the main exit. She hugged me tightly, pressing her belly against me in a way she’d never done before, as if to remind me of the baby. As I held and kissed her, a grotesque thought flashed through my mind: you’ll never see her again. If nothing had happened, I might have no recollection of this premonition; as it is, the memory remains indelible."

"There are little things, like packing a suitcase or getting my hair cut, or dialing the 213 code for California or the 396 code for Rome, that invariably steer my thoughts back to Sharon. Even after so many years I find myself unable to watch a spectacular sunset, or visit a lovely old house, or experience visual pleasure of any kind without instinctively telling myself how she would have loved it all.

In these ways I shall remain faithful to her till the day I die."

In 1979 Polanski filmed Tess and dedicated it "To Sharon"