My feud with Liz and Hugh

The telephone call from Elizabeth Hurley was brief and to the point. "Toby," she said, "you're a complete scumbag, d'you hear me? A COMPLETE AND UTTER SCUMBAG." This was an interesting situation.

Usually, it's beautiful actresses who get threatening phone calls from dotty young men, but here was Elizabeth Hurley abusing me. What was next? Would she loiter outside my house, searching through my rubbish? Try to murder my wife? Was I destined to be the first fan ever to be stalked by an obsessed actress? Actually, what happened next was that her solicitor called and threatened to start injunction proceedings against me. Elizabeth, who up until this point had been a friend of mine, had just found out I intended to print a nude photograph of her on the back of a talking book she'd just recorded which I was planning to give away free with the magazine I was editing.

I should quickly point out that this was in 1994 and I'd completely forgotten about it until a few weeks ago when Hugh Grant, who was on holiday with Elizabeth in Mustique at the time, turned down the opportunity to play me in the film version of How to Lose Friends & Alienate People, my recent autobiography.

It wasn't the fact that Hugh rejected the offer so much as the language he used that revealed feelings still ran high. "Toby Young?" he repeated incredulously. "Absolutely not. No f***ing way."

Of course, it's perfectly possible that Hugh's violent reaction to the prospect of playing me had nothing to do with his loyalty to Elizabeth. I'm almost completely bald and the floppy-haired actor may have objected to the idea of shaving his head. But if you discount the fact that Hugh is a thousand times better looking than me, he's a natural for the role.

The book is an account of the five years I spent trying - and failing - to take Manhattan. It's a fish-out-of-water comedy about a hapless Englishman working as a journalist in the cutthroat world of glossy New York magazines. Who better to play the lead? But no. In a decision that reflects rather well on the 40-year-old actor, he elected to remain loyal to his then pregnant ex-girlfriend.

I first met Elizabeth at a party given by Dai Llewellyn in 1993. She was there with William Cash, a friend of mine from university. He'd met Elizabeth in Los Angeles where he was researching a book about Hollywood and had become her walker, accompanying her to social events when Hugh Grant wasn't in town.

She and William were part of an English set in Los Angeles which embraced everyone from rich aristocrats like Henry Dent-Brocklehurst to virtually destitute actors such as the Eton-educated Baron Clement von Franckenstein.

In spite of varying levels of success which, in American terms, put the members of this set at opposite ends of the social spectrum, they behaved like an extended family, calling each other every day, going to one another's parties, even helping each other out of jams.

In this group, Elizabeth occupied a position somewhere between matriarch and wayward daughter. She had a slightly high-handed, imperious manner which could occasionally put people's backs up, but was so essentially down to earth and good humoured it was impossible to dislike her. She was an odd combination of a thoroughly English character with a Mediterranean temperament. She was warmhearted, but not someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of, as I was shortly to discover.

When I originally asked her if she'd be interested in reading Ambition, Julie Burchill's f***ing and shopping novel, I expected her to refuse because it's such a saucy book. It contains passages every bit as

explicit as readers' letters in Penthouse. But she readily agreed. She was at that stage in her career when she'd do almost anything for a bit of publicity. Her only Hollywood role to date was that of a trolley dolly in Passenger 57, a mediocre action film with Wesley Snipes.

I took a copy of the book round to the flat she was sharing with Hugh at the time in Redcliffe Gardens. It was the evening of 10 May 1994 and she'd flown in on the red-eye from LA that morning to attend the British premiere of Four Weddings and a Funeral the following day.

When she answered the door I got the shock of my life: she was wearing the smallest black dress I'd ever seen. It was held together by 24 safety pins and couldn't have weighed more than a spoonful of sugar. She'd borrowed if from the London headquarters of Versace and was in two minds about whether to wear it to the premier.

"What do you think?" she asked, struggling to get it to accommodate less of her bosom. "Is it too rude?" When I'd picked my jaw up off the floor I assured her it wasn't. Or, rather, it was, but then that was the point, right? The paparazzi would love it.

"Oh, I'm not worried about them," she said dismissively. "The problem is Hughie's mum. She's going to be there and I'm afraid she'll think it's a bit common." The following morning, when I went along to the recording studio to see how she was getting on, Elizabeth's concerns about "Hughie's mum" appeared to have receded. That day The Sun had published a topless picture of her on page three - it had got it from a film she'd made in 1987 - and she seemed absolutely delighted by this. During a break from recording she called her agent at ICM to tell her about it: "Have you seen today's Sun? I was horrified, utterly horrified." But she said this in such a breathless, overexcited way I could tell that, far from being horrified, she was tickled pink.

History doesn't record what Mrs Grant thought of the outfit Elizabeth wore to Four Weddings but it proved a huge hit with everyone else. When she stepped into the glare of the klieg lights outside the Odeon Leicester Square on 11 May 1994 wearing "that dress" she made headlines around the world. Rarely has a gown been so directly responsible for launching a star's career. Most actresses don't get noticed until they take their clothes off - who'd heard of Sharon Stone before Basic Instinct? - but Elizabeth had stripped off in numerous low-budget British films and no one had batted an eyelid. She must be the first actress in history who didn't get noticed until she put her clothes on.

Unfortunately, once Elizabeth had become famous she didn't want any more nude pictures of herself appearing anywhere. The fact that similar photographs from the same set had already appeared in Loaded, Esquire and GQ was neither here nor there as far as she was concerned. By this time I'd already printed the cassette covers and was reluctant to pulp them - hence the irate telephone call. In the end, I caved in, but the dispute went on long enough to completely sour our relationship. It's a pity because, up until this point, I'd really liked her.

The last time I saw her was in 1996 at a Versace party in New York. At that time she was thinking of converting to Catholicism - I can't help noticing that she's chosen a very Catholic name for her son - and I marched up to her and pointed out that if she was serious about her conversion she'd have to forgive me.

"I doubt it," she snapped. "There's no room for doubt in the Catholic Church," I joked, but by then it was too late. She'd already turned on her heels and left.