Tea at Belle Lafcadio’s and afterwards a reasonably charming production of Shaw’s Pygmalion at the ‘Old Vic’. And in the meantime several phone calls from Stanislaus Oates, which I did not answer because I was out, acting as a formidable old lady’s substitute nephew ( Read more... )

If any of my clients ever were to write an epitaph for my gravestone it would surely read: “Albert Campion spent an awful lot of time wandering through the country houses of vague acquaintances, unknowing how to deliver the bad news ( Read more... )

"I swear by God, one day you'll regret this. Trust me, Campion, one day you'll pay," van Houten said ( Read more... )

I'm afraid you are missing the point, my dear ( Read more... )

It is my belief that a good excuse is an art form. Very much like an intelligent speech or a letter to a particular peevish elderly relative, it requires a certain element of tact and mental flexibility. After all you don't wish to insult the other person's intelligence or, heaven forbid, injure their personal feelings ( Read more... )

While I'm fully aware that Stanislaus Oates is and will always be my friend, I have to admit that the exact conditions of our relations sometimes escape me ( Read more... )

I'm not very keen on driving up to the Great House. Mother will undoubtedly notice my tan the second I step into the salon and greet her. She will smile, raise her brows, ask me to sit down. Depending on the time of day, she'll then offer me tea or a glass of sherry, politely inquire where I've been ( Read more... )

Dear Diary,

I think I should need an aspirin right now. No, make that two. And a Scotch. Oh, and while we are at it, please do remind me, at least once in a while, of the following fact:

In your particular line of business, Albert, it is not exactly wise to inform potential adversaries that your greatest childhood ambition was to become an ( Read more... )

The lady with whom I arranged a discreet meeting at Bollinger's Cafe this afternoon, offered me a case which sounds very much like a holiday ( Read more... )

An anecdote told to me by grandmother on a rainy Saturday afternoon over tea and sandwiches:

"You must have been about five," grandmother Emily said, "when you began to discover the secret parallel world of the great house. Of course, you did this so gradually and methodically that nobody realized at first what a spell it must have held over ( Read more... )