I was lucky enough to become friends with Benazir Bhutto, or BB as I used to call her, while she lived in London between 2003 and 2007. Twice prime minister of Pakistan, BB was an extraordinary woman who went storming to the top, overturning prejudices as she went. Never before had a Muslim majority country had a female prime minister and never before had the Oxford Union had a female Asian president, but she was both.

BB put her tea down and a smile crept across her face: ‘Desmond, I have never played it safe’

It was during her time in exile that we became friends. Having fled accusations of corruption, she had settled in London where she started to reform her father’s political party.

I was working with a UN-sponsored international war crimes tribunal so was often away, but whenever I was in London we would meet up at her flat in South Kensington. I’d climb into the small lift with my daughter Victoria following behind and we’d go rocketing up to the fourth floor where she’d welcome us in. She’d be wearing a colourful salwar kameez with a white dupatta hanging over her black hair and would give us an enormous smile to greet us.

My daughter and her son Bilawal became great friends and while they’d go into the next door room to play, we’d sit on the sofa sipping tea and discussing the politics of Pakistan. Her determination to bring about change in the country never ceased to amaze me. She talked of her father, who she adored and who was executed in 1979, and how he’d unsuccessfully tried to persuade her to leave the country. And she talked about Pakistan and her need to continue the fight for democracy and against Islamist extremism.

It was in October 2007 that she finally told me of her plans to return to Pakistan. A few of her friends had become increasingly worried about her safety and what would happen to her. In the meantime, I was aware of the position of Secretary General of the Commonwealth opening up in 2008. The position had never been held by an Asian, let alone a woman, and I believed Benazir would find the role rewarding and it would provide her with security as she’d work from the safety of Marlborough House.

I felt sure that this would be something she’d be interested in as I made my way to the up to the fourth floor on that day. As we sat down in our usual spots, I began to explain to her the advantages and its appeal.

“BB, you’ll be safe.”

She put her tea down on the table in front of us and turned to look me in the eye. A smile crept across her face and she said: “Desmond, I have never played it safe.”

She returned to Pakistan and two months later she was assassinated at a political rally in Rawalpindi. BB lived in fear, but was not afraid.

Madam, Where Are Your Mangoes? by Desmond de Silva is published by Quartet Books at £25. To order a copy for £21.25, go to guardianbookshop.com