Sunday October 10, 1926.
The only thing I brought with me from home is a photograph of my Grandparents. My mother is in it too as a baby. My parents would have noticed it missing as soon as they came home from church. They would have then found my trunk and most of my clothes gone.
I wonder how long before they realised I also stole money from the safe. I wonder if they have called the police. Or would that be too embarrassing. Perhaps they have made up some lie about me. Perhaps they are telling people I am dead.
Clarence took me to dinner at the Savoy last night. He works for the Home Office in some capacity or other. He’s such an awful show off. We had Champagne and oysters which I could very much get used to. He banged on about golf and polo and sailing which he’s frightfully good at, apparently. I get very bored when he talks.
And this is my dilemma. With sailors and lower class men, you simply tell them how much you want and what you are prepared to do. But to move into the realm of the courtesan, the high class lady, how do you negotiate the terms? Presents are all very well and good, I do like the bottle of perfume and the fancy meal. But how do I get them to just hand over some cold cash?
I must find a way.