From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 29)

I have come to that time in my life when I need to reconsider my living arrangements. Things are not drastic enough that I need to live with family - God forbid. I currently have a mews cottage that I am happy to use on Crown business, and an apartment to which I never take anyone else. It is my haven and the place that houses my favourite books, finest brandies and objets d’art.

On my mantle stands a bust of my mother, made by a wild and bohemian female sculptress of my acquaintance. Most definitely not a lady, but someone that I have spent many an enjoyable hour with. Despite this, I do not believe I am biased when I say she has considerable talent.

The bookcases on either side of the large fireplace house my collection of first editions, books by my favourite authors and a wide variety of material I have gathered as research for various missions. I admit, some of the latter has spilled over from my study. I try to avoid this. When I am relaxing by the fire, I do not wish to be reminded of the duller parts of my work - mission de-briefs and reports. I detest administration. I infinitely prefer to just get the job done.

Then there are my unusual clocks and pocket watches that I have inherited and a small collection of snuff boxes I rather pretentiously collected during my first year at Oxford. I also have a large collection of photographs. Some of these are personal reminders of people, mostly ladies, I have known. Others are kept in case of a need to assert some leverage, a distasteful but sometimes necessary choice, while others are merely of interest to any collector of pictorial curiosities.

Thus, my apartment reflects and reveals the inner workings of my mind, my personal history and even catalogues a lot of my life that I generally take great care to keep private. Now, I am considering opening this place to others.

Jack, of course, has been the first visitor. He sniffed around in a polite manner, established where I would place his food bowl, and retired to lie on the rug in front of the fire. Would that any other house guest could be trusted to behave in the same easy going and unobtrusive way.

I would not give up Jack for the world, but despite what he thinks, he cannot accompany me everywhere. Therefore, I must arrange for someone else to access my sanctum. There is, attached to the main apartment, a smaller service apartment, intended for staff.  I suppose that my rooms are large, and greater in number than one would expect a bachelor to keep, but then I grew up in a household that makes my home seem positively humble in comparison. I am more than able to cook and clean for myself - as befits anyone of an active military background - but I suspect most people would find it a chore. I don’t. I like my space. I like it to be exactly as I wish and hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

However, I need someone to look after Jack when I am away. Therefore, I have decided to talk to Griffin about moving into the service apartment. I have no qualms about him overstepping our bounds of familiarity or even anything as pedestrian as thievery. The man is utterly beholden to me and he knows this beyond any doubt.

But, can he refrain from invading my personal space? The essential nature of most men, excluding myself, is to be sociable. I may have got used to the dog snoring, but I don’t like the idea of hearing anyone else’s footsteps around my apartment. It puts me on edge. I can only ever relax when I know I am alone - this is a natural side effect of my job. Griffin will need to learn my ways, how I like things, and how to be damn near invisible. I do not think any of these skills are beyond him. The real questions are, will he as easy to train as Jack, and what am I going to use as a form of encouragement? I highly doubt dog biscuits will work.