From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 25)

Christmas comes but once a year - thank goodness. I discovered, the year I acquired Jack and Griffin, the very best way to celebrate Christmas. That is, alone, at home in my apartment, having been well-fed (by my own hand) then retiring to my favourite chair with a roaring fire in the hearth, a dog at my feet, an excellent book (that I gifted myself) and a glass of brandy. This, along with the knowledge that Griffin was manning my section of the office and would contact me if anything I needed to know arose, was quite all that I desired.

Of course, over the festive period, I would spend a day at my father’s house, to remind my dear relatives that I am still very much alive. I am the youngest among my siblings by ten years, and my father, being completely indifferent to me, I have always found myself being something of the spectre at the feast. This being infinitely preferable to the weird uncle/cousin all families have. That my family believe I work in administration has, naturally, never helped my cause. By the first Christmas of the Great War, my family had already suffered losses such that many a cold stare was aimed in my direction. I can generally ignore these, but they do promote indigestion. Being thought a coward by one’s own kith and kin is not an experience I would recommend but telling my numerous and assorted relatives that I am a spy would be a serious breach of the Official Secrets Act, never mind being a damned stupid thing to do. Their combined ability to avoid gossip and keep secrets being on a par with holding water in a sieve.

So, just my dog, my brandy and I - an excellent combination, and thus is would have stayed, except for Alice.

You would have thought that going on missions for King and Country would be enough to keep any female entertained and that she might actually relish a break in the countryside, in the Fens with her devoted husband. I know Bertram is happiest being beaten at chess (I’m not sure he has ever won a game, either playing Alice or myself, but he has come close), discussing politics, buying books and instructing his excellent factor. There are similar domestic tasks for Alice to pursue, but having been a housekeeper, and having been trained by her mother to run a Great House, she found these took up far too little of her time. Hence her decision to have the parties. These parties, over Christmas and New Year, include a Duck Hunt (to please Bertram) and, oh, how I hate a duck hunt. But the rest of the time is taken up by feasting and talking. As she managed from the start to get some of the most forward and interesting thinkers of our time (and for once I do not mean myself), an invite to one of her parties became quite a thing among the intelligentsia. Which meant the department decided they were also an excellent way for discreet discussions to take place and that, therefore, my presence was required, I still being more experienced in the way of these things than Alice.

Naturally, she had always invited me, I always made a point of visiting for a couple of days. Always good to ply Bertram with a bloody decent brandy and not the pig swill that he claims is all that he can afford. Jack liked running around the countryside and being overindulged by the cook. For some reason Bertram has continually refused to have a dog. Happily, he has realised Jack and I are a team, and that where one goes the other follows (I’ve kept to myself the fact that I often have to leave him with Griffin, depending on where work takes me).

So, what started off as a mere couple of days soon escalated, thanks to the department, and I’m now expected to be there for the whole two weeks of the bally show. After France I dare not flirt with the prettiest women without fear of arising Alice’s wrath. Of course, I enjoy spending time with her, but as hostess, I rarely see her. In fact, I only began to really enjoy the parties when dear Hope came along.

But I do so miss the Christmases with just my dog and me.