I first heard Deirdre Simms’ lively and energetic voice in 1976, when she answered our ad for a head of film sales at Seuil Audiovisuel. She admitted in terms of experience, she had been only been an assistant, so I thanked her for calling. The weeks went by, we talked to foul-mouthed LA men, French executives with garbled English. Every week or two Deirdre checked in. I looked forward to her calls, she was persistent without being a pest, she was funny without being silly, intelligent, fluent in both English and French with a touch of Arabic, and finally, fortunately, I hired her. The company prospered, and we became friends. We imagined a purple prose novel called “Over the Threshold (Seuil).” Violet satin sheets were prominently featured as we worked hard, taking the time to laugh, drink perhaps more than our share of wine. After the company closed, she returned to the UK, and I to the US. We kept in touch as our careers flourished. In he mid-1080’s, I recommended her to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, where she became #2 in the London office. A year later, I headed CBC’s US office for sales of Canadian TV programs and a year later co-productions, which took me to London. At MIP in Cannes we had to sneak away to private dinners to catch up, I introduced her to a man, she fell in love, which was not the plan. When her heart got broken, we spent endless hours on the phone. When I moved to London, and our dinner parties were legends of wit and fun and more red wine. Dinners at Caprice with R2D2, dinners at her tiny two up two down in Fulham, Moroccan dishes of pigeon, dinners in my garden in Clapham, the Air India and broccoli jokes. Her store of jokes was endless and told in the same lively voice, captivating and clever and genuinely funny. Her very giggle induced hilarity. And her sneeze. I have never known anyone whose sneeze was so adorable. When I told my daughter Hélène that Deirdre had succumbed to cancer on January 13th, coincidentally my birthday, we both remembered Deirdre’s sneeze, and immediately granddaughter, almost two-year-old Sophie, imitated it perfectly. Deirdre lives on. How I shall miss her though.