From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 73)

There is no other description I can use for Celeste’s recent behaviour than moping. It is most out of character for her, and rather depressing to be around. I was quite up for some genuine consoling while her husband was missing, especially as said consoling quickly transformed into a more physical form of reassurance. But now she has become less interested in keeping our affections alive.

Lord knows, I’ve moved through a fair share of relationships in my time - more than a fair share, probably, but it is rare for the lady to signal her lack of interest in my attentions by sighing repeatedly. I have never entered into sexual congress with an unwilling woman and have no intention of ever doing so. But for a woman to encourage my attentions, only to break off sighing and apologising for not being in the mood, is a first for me, and a situation I never wish to encounter again.

I must therefore conclude one of two things. Either I have lost my touch with the fairer sex or Celeste is genuinely heartbroken at the continued and unexplained absence of her ambassadorial husband. The former is obviously impossible, so however improbable it may seem, the cause must be the later.

That any woman could prefer the dull, monotonous attentions of this most serious man, whose idea of entertainment is apparently to sit and look over his collection of postal stamps, over my witty and experienced attentions is damn near impossible to fathom.

This is a man I have witnessed on more than one occasion tell an after-dinner story in such a manner that at least half of those present were near comatose with boredom. Once a chap even set his moustache on fire while lighting his cigar. He said it was an accident, but I am inclined to believe that Celeste’s husband was so monumentally boring that it was an unconscious act of self-defence (I merely stopped listening and occupied myself with far more agreeable thoughts).

Although Celeste is as immoral - possibly amoral - as every artiste I have ever met, her laughing, partying self appears to require a solid centre around which to orbit. We have been passionate in our affections, but I do not recall ever raising my voice in her presence. In fact, I am often at my most subdued in her company. I had thought this to be contentment, but I am only now coming to realise the danger I am in.

Celeste makes her lovers complacent and boring. Precisely how she achieves this goal I am not sure. Last night I met a man at my club who talked affectionately of an old friend, who had been ‘an absolute riot’ during their days up at Oxford. When he finally revealed this chap to be Celeste’s husband all my fears were confirmed. She has some witchery about her that sucks all the vitality out of a chap.

Mind you, a lady sighing while entwined with you, does rather take the spirit out of one. Anyway, I have decided to remove myself from danger. Instead, I have lit a fire under some of my foreign office contacts, using up a number of favours and blackmailing a few in the process. The upshot is that they have got together an expedition to go and hunt for the man. God willing, they will bring him back to Britain’s fair shores in the next few months.

In the meantime, I will not abandon Celeste. I do have a deep-seated regard for the lady, but I have decided our interactions henceforth will only be those appropriate between good and chaste friends.

I can endure most female peccadillos but sighing during love making is not one of them. Quite shrivels a man’s soul, and - er - other things.