From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 109)
I’ve written about Christmas many times. The older I become, the more frequent the inconvenience of this event becomes. I’m aware it’s a yearly occurrence, but I seem to be having to arrange my plans earlier and earlier. I like to think that we, as spies, are the tip of the spear, the first to detect threats to King and Country and, as such, we are vital to the defence of the realm. But the pencil-pushing civil servants at Whitehall keep banging on - ‘I say, old chap, you’re not going to need home team support over the holidays, are you? Only most of the department will be on leave. Probably best to herd you all in from the field, what? Can’t have you straying off into a bit of trouble on your own, can we?’
Even when I’m back on home turf, they keep badgering me - ‘You need to be front and centre at any Christmas party, old chap, so no one suspects you’re a spy.’ What’s with them calling me ‘old’? I am only twenty-eight, and in damn fine shape too. It might be a figure of speech, to make them sound congenial, but I don’t like it – or them for that matter.
These days, it seems that the other side, or sides (basically anyone and everyone who is not part of our glorious British Empire), is also noticeably shifting their plans earlier and earlier out of the month of December. This is not, as I first thought, some glorious deceit, but other members of my fraternity, regardless of allegiance, are seemingly succumbing to a moral affliction and shifting their plans to avoid Christmas tide.
Bah and Humbug! I’ll damn well show the rotters. I will continue to operate through the twelfth month of the year, this one and every other. Of course, I won’t work on Christmas Day itself. I’m not a barbarian. I’ve always rather liked Christmas Eve too, so maybe I’ll keep that day clear as well. A nice evening by the fire with a new book and a fine brandy sounds like heaven. I have been invited to a rather promising Boxing Day party – with no shooting for once (hurrah).
In the meantime, I will need a little time to put together suitable cadeaux for all my lady friends, and hosts. Say a couple of days shopping in London’s fair city. I suppose I ought to take a few of them out to supper too.
As for friends, family, and colleagues, I have been putting together the following suggestions…
Alice – diamonds (plus a small ‘token’ present to appease Bertram)
Hope - selection of age-appropriate toys
Bertram - decent brandy (for me to imbibe while I’m staying)
Father - unrelenting contempt
Nephews and nieces - postal orders
Siblings - the gift of my absence
Griffin - decent clothes, proper shoes, and two tomes of compulsory fiction
Jack - a turkey for Christmas and a decent steak for New Year
Morley - a traditional Christmas card
White Orchards staff - the usual tips, plus a Yuletide bonus (plus brandy for the butler, a sewing kit for the housekeeper and a catapult for the boot boy)
Various other male associates - Christmas drinks at the club
Myself - new cane, top hat and entire evening dress refresh; best brandy, selection of reading material, ancient and new, and a membership with the local swimming group (one has to treat oneself, after all).