I first met Tom Rosenthal in the 1970s in Secker and Warburg's offices in Carlisle Street, Soho. I had been commissioned by Tom's predecessor, James Price, to write a kind of handy encyclopedia of film. It would have entries on leading people, on technical terms, on styles, genres and studios. But modest. Sensible. Publishable. Then, in the writing, things got out of hand. I started by writing about the people, and the essays that emerged were not just longer than intended, they were far more personal, opinionated and other than sensible. I could not help myself. But I did think that I had to show what I had to Secker's so that they could scream (as was their right), scold me and perhaps abandon the entire venture. That meant going to see Tom.
He was circumspect, polite, urbane. He listened to my account, and said, like a great rabbi: "I shall read." Then he looked at the amount done, already twice as long as the contracted proposal, but far from finished, and added: "Not too soon, I fear." Well, another meeting came and he was urbane in saying that no, this was not the book planned and contracted. However, he admitted, the other book it was becoming might be interesting. He smiled and he said: "I like it." We estimated that it could be four times longer than intended. No, there would be no technical terms. No entries on national cinemas. "Farewell, Bulgaria," he murmured. "Let us proceed." This was his characteristic combination of considerable thought followed by boldness.
The book was the Biographical Dictionary of Film, and Tom was from then onwards its steadfast supporter and – increasingly – my friend. We did many other books – Suspects, Silver Light, Showman, a biography of David Selznick and two more editions of the Dictionary, which finally in the 1990s turned into what Tom admitted was "hot cakes".
We had dinners together on both sides of the Atlantic. We got to know each other's family. We moved over as one from Secker's to André Deutsch. I count myself lucky to have started early enough as a writer to ride along for vital years on the style and the wisdom of one of the last gentleman publishers.
Whenever Tom said "I shall read", he meant exactly that, for the only reason he was in publishing was as a natural, exuberant offshoot of a lifetime of enjoying books. He loved every detail: the binding, the paper, the type, the smell and the right price.