From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 7)

So, it has happened again. Euphemia has written up one of our missions. As I was more than aware of her doing it, having tried to talk her out of it on numerous occasions, she condescended to let me read it saying, ‘You don’t sound too bad in this one. At one point, I even say nice things about you.’

I could taste the bile in my mouth. ‘I have a reputation to maintain,’ I said coldly. She smiled and handed me the copy. Copy, I say, because I knew full well, she would never entrust me with the only version. It is, after all, getting a little cold at night now.

I read it twice before giving her my opinion. I caught her sitting alone in the library at White Orchards. Closing and locking the doors behind me, putting the key in my pocket and patting it to ensure it was safe, we would have an uninterrupted conversation and I would triumph.

Young Hope may have seen me play at being a bear, but she has never seen me angry. I didn’t want to scare her. Though, that said, when I gave Hope my fiercest bear growl - I think she was around three or four at the time - she promptly slapped me in the face and pulled my moustache. Euphemia laughed so hard I feared she might turn blue.

I hadn’t even opened my mouth before aforementioned lady had put a glass of my favourite malt in my hand. She was ready for me. The wretch. This wasn’t going to be easy. In my calmest voice I said, ‘It is a most interesting tale.’

‘Thank you,’ interrupted my supposed friend and ally. ‘I thought you might enjoy it.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ I responded quickly, but she cut me off again. ‘You will agree that this time others come off far worse than you. In fact, I think it is a most favourable portrayal of you.’

I don’t lie to Euphemia. I may not tell her everything, but she is the only person I never lie to. ‘Yes, I would accept that point, but…’

‘If anything, I think I, myself, come across as decidedly soppy.’

I shook my head. She was trying to distract me. ‘You know that it simply untrue. You may not write about your courage in overcoming extraordinary situations, but no right-minded person reading this, or knowing you, would ever think that.’

‘It’s sweet of you to say that.’

‘You bloody well call me sweet in this as well,’ I raised the copy in my right hand and shook it like a fearsome prosecutor. Euphemia, as ever, was unimpressed by my histrionics. Replying practically, ‘Do sit down Fitzroy. You’ll only spill your whisky.’

She had a point, so I sat. ‘If you read the story properly you would have seen I only called you sweet to Bertram to reassure him. Things were looking rather odd between us - I mean you and I.’

I heard myself grumbling and saying, ‘He’s always been a good sport. Decent chap.’

Euphemia smiled at me as if I was a good child that has just correctly recited its lesson.

‘But, overall, I come across as almost -,’ I swallowed bile once more. I really should look into getting some stomach powders. ‘- as almost…’ I stopped, unable to say the word.

‘As what?’

I mumbled something under my breath. I couldn’t bear to give the word air.

‘As what Fitzroy?’ She used the same tone as she does with Hope when the child comes home with her stockings torn to shreds and refuses to explain why, or when all the biscuits cook left on the windowsill to cool have somehow vanished.

‘Oh, damn it, Euphemia. You almost make me sound NICE!’ I shouted the last word.

She stood up and came over to me. I drew back slightly, unsure of what she might do. She did have a glass in her hand. But she stooped suddenly and gave me a brief kiss on the forehead. ‘But you are, dear man, at least to me.’

Before I could collect my wits, she had left the room. The minx had had another set of keys cut for the library! Yet again I had lost an argument with Euphemia. But then, Alice has a distinct advantage over anyone else who might be foolish enough to awaken my ire. She knows I could never harm a hair on her head.

 I swallowed the rest of my whisky and stomped out to find Bertram. The least I would content myself with tonight was giving him a damn good thrashing - at chess.