In the opening pages of Part Two of his Evelyn Waugh’s biography, Martin Stannard describes a brief encounter between Waugh and Tom Burns, a British writer and editor (of Chilean descent) who maintained a good relationship with Waugh for decades—no small feat, given that Waugh was a frequently insufferable snob.

Burns was one of those characters who pop up in contemporary memoirs. During World War II, while Waugh was playing a pathetic commando in the Mediterranean, Burns spent several years in Madrid, where he met a daughter of the famous Dr. Gregorio Marañón, a lady he married and with whom he had several children. He worked in Spain as press officer for the British ambassador to Spain, Samuel Hoare, another colorful character of the era.

For years, I didn’t know that Tom Burns Marañón, a skilled columnist and communications professional (flak) whom I met in several occasions, was a son of this Tom Burns. Since I’ve shaken Burns Marañón’s hand, that means I’m a mere two handshakes away from the long dead Evelyn Waugh, much closer than I ever thought I would be.