From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 61)

Fortunately, I have never been asked what I would like for my last meal. But then, in my line of work, one is more likely to simply be shot in the head. The so-called civilities of a priest and a last supper are not commonly administered in the espionage world when one is caught by the enemy.

Like everyone else, I have read in the papers of what criminals have asked to be given before they take the last drop. Having given this some thought of late, I have to say, I think they have it all wrong. It is not so much about what is given, but rather by whom it is cooked, and where the produce has been sourced. I am confident that any prison cook could, without turning a hair, transform a fillet mignon into a piece of shoe leather.

It is one of the hazards of my profession that one’s final exit is liable to be without farewells and to be somewhat sudden. Before my involvement with Alice and her family, my affairs were neatly trussed up. My father, I am convinced, will take little interest in my demise. However, as a point of pride, I had specified that any posthumous awards should be sent to him, so he knows that I wasn’t the wastrel he feared. I am older now, and I am debating whether such merits should be sent to Alice. They would mean more to her, and she could give them to Hope who, by the time she is grown, may barely even remember me.

I hate the idea that those I care about, and in turn care about me, may never know what has happened to me. There are four people in this world, plus Jack, of course, who are currently dear to me. They either know my line of work or suspect it.  This makes no difference to the fact that I will be leaving England on the first tide tomorrow, and with less than my usual certainty that I shall return to these shores.

I have come to the conclusion that to be involved with a spy means you must face the possibility you will never know if they abandoned you or if they are dead. I have some people in my life who I fear would hope for far too long that I might miraculously reappear. It’s true, I have pulled off more than one remarkable return from what appeared to be certain death. But not this time. Failure this time will be fatal.

I have always hated saying goodbye, but this is the one time I wish I could.