FROM FITZROY’S PRIVATE DIARY (EXTRACT 167)

I seriously considered ending my arrangement with Griffin this past week. This would, in all likelihood, have condemned him to the gallows, and at the height of my ire, I would’ve considered it well deserved. He had, and I still shudder in recalling this, placed a pair of my finer handmade shoes on the floor of my wardrobe, and left the door open.

I simply cannot conceive of what he was thinking at the time.

Of course, Jack took this opportunity to chew upon and digest almost the entirety of the upper leathers of both shoes. Not only did this make him copiously sick, but it deprived me of my most expensive pair of handcrafted shoes.

Still, life must go on. I immediately contacted the lady who does both my manicures and pedicures and she confirmed that she would able to be at my flat within two days. She is most sought after, and it normally takes at least a fortnight to get an appointment with her. After my feet had been buffed, pumiced, and powdered, I took myself to the shoemaker’s. I had them make a new last in the shape of my foot as I felt the previous one had been made prior to several rather arduous missions I’d undertaken. Not that my feet are misshapen, you understand, but they may have developed extra character.

Now, in a bare month, I will have an expertly fitted pair of new leather brogues that caress my feet like a beautiful Italian mistress. The expectation is titillating in the extreme.

I could almost forgive Griffin. Almost.