Life with Jack Nicholson and Ryan O' Neal

Angelica Huston's baby sister writes beautifully about growing up around a famous sister and her even more famous boyfriends:

"Look, Allegra. Come and see this.” Nana held up a copy of Vogue. She flattened it open on the dining table. Underneath her weathered fingers was a photo of a dark-haired girl with her hand to her cheek, gazing soulfully out at me.

“That’s your sister. That’s Anjelica.” I knew I had a sister and her name was Anjelica, but that was about all. I hadn’t seen her since the turbulent, forgotten months in London after Mum died when I was four. She was nearly as lost to me as Mum was. She had inherited our mother’s beauty, I knew, and was modelling in Paris and New York.

After Mum’s death in a car crash I had lived for a while in Ireland in the manor house of our father, John Huston, the film director. I didn’t see much of him. He’d split from Mum, a former prima ballerina, long before she died. Now I was living with her Italian-American parents in Long Island.

I was eight when Anjelica came to visit. She was 21, taller than anyone else and thin, with the bony angles of someone who was important in the world. Neither of us knew what to say to the other. I showed off my bicycle-riding skills, waving with one hand. She didn’t look impressed.