From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 85)

Hope’s question as to whether I am lonely on my own has been bothering me. She asked this over a year ago, and I dismissed it with a laugh. Yet the question comes back and haunts me in the quiet times of my day - when I have them. I do not like this.

Of course, I am rarely ever actually alone. Jack, and often Griffin, are usually around. I enjoy Jack’s presence, for the most part, but he is not without his faults. He will have these odd fits when he dashes around, chasing something only he can see. This sudden mania seems unrelated to whether or not he has recently enjoyed some exercise. I have attributed this behaviour, in jest, to being akin to my own internal fits of rage at the many injustices in the world. People laugh when I say this. The majority never see me angry, and only those closest to me know how much I wrestle with my internal ire.

Perhaps, this is why I do not experience loneliness. The world is a constant irritant to me. On missions I am frequently in close proximity with others, and this can grate on me. Whether I be spying on them, seducing them or even extinguishing them, there seems to be a surfeit of people. Only when the mission is completed can I retire to my own world once more to lick my wounds - sometimes literally. Of late, I have been more unfortunate than usual in the acquiring of scars. Still, it allows me to conjure up interesting tales to amuse my lovers as they investigate my form.

But, even with those with whom I am intimate, the connection only exists for me because I know it will end. The thought of matrimony, even if such a thing were possible for an agent of the Crown, is one of the few things I find truly frightening in this world.

To be attached to one single human being for life seems to me to present one of two options. Either one surrenders wholly to it, opening up one’s very soul to one’s spouse, or one spends one’s life keeping a part of them hidden on a daily basis, slowly growing further and further apart. The latter seems damned inconvenient and quite hindering to relaxation. I find after missions that I need my relaxation. But the former, I confess, fills me with abject terror, more than various potentially lethal encounters I have endured. I have no desire to allow anyone to peer into the darkest corners of my soul. Places that even I rarely care to look.

I have no particular fear of dying. When one is dead, one is dead, and it really seems pointless to worry about it. If there is an afterlife for one such as I, then I will deal with that when I get there. For now, I am determined to enjoy this life. And I do. I enjoy taking risks, driving fast, pushing my talents to their limits, puzzling out the enemy and, of course, taking lovers. I also enjoy sitting by my own fireplace, reading and expanding my knowledge. I engage with the world, periodically and frantically, then I withdraw - much as some men make love rather badly - or so their wives tell me.

Sharing every moment with another would deprive me of this ability to retreat from everything, and that I do not think I could bear. I suppose someone might suggest that the only person I was ever truly close to, my mother, was taken from me when I was young and vulnerable. Certainly, at the time, the pain seemed unbearable, and the world with it. Perhaps I do not invite anyone in, because I am unwilling to risk ever suffering such loss again.

Or, perhaps, and I think this far more likely, I am a selfish man, who lives life only to please himself when not serving his country.