Dear Diary,

I have tracked down the Rutledge bitch and her lover at their hotel in Monaco. It is a place filled with rich, decadent swine who spend their days lavishly spending their ill-gotten gains, wrung from the sweat of the working classes, on idleness, gambling, and frivolity. They are pigs, all of them! The Espinoza pig is one of the biggest pigs of all, though I must admit he is a rather handsome man. He reeks of the Spanish nobility. I would wager that he has a villa the size of Rouen with at least a hundred Arabian horses. No wonder the Rutledge bitch likes him...she is mad about horses. (One wonders if Espinoza is endowed like a horse himself? Hmmm? But I digress.)

My clever disguise has allowed me to get quite close to Rutledge without her detecting my presence.

Imagine my surprise last night when who should appear but that British pig of an officer, Captain Nigel West! In he comes, ramrod straight as always, as if with a poker stuck up in a private place, and walks up to the table where the Rutledge bitch is sitting with her paramour, Espinosa.

"Arturo Espinoza, I presume?" he says, looking severely at the Spanish grandee. "I think we have business. Good evening, Penelope," he says in an aside to Rutledge. She gasps. She is momentarily at a loss, it seems.

Espinoza is all smiles and courtesy. He extends his hand to West, but West refuses to take it. Espinoza seems not to notice. Eventually he persuades West to sit down for a glass of Sherry, and they get down to discussing business.

Apparently West is under the impression that the Rutledge has been taken advantage of by Espinoza, because of her youth and inexperience. Ha! I laugh. That would be like a black widow spider being taken advantage of by some passing butterfly. Rutledge knows exactly what she is doing. She is traveling to big resorts, dining in the best restaurants, and living high off the hog like a queen. She is out of the incredible boredom and tedium of that tweedy English hell called "Twillingsgate"! Ha!

Espinoza is a smooth one. It seems that West is seeking a duel to the death with him. I would be in favour of this, because West might get killed, and I would like that. However, West is clearly very good with weapons, so Espinoza would probably be the one to get killed instead. That would be fine, I suppose, but I don't really care. It is West and Rutledge that I want humiliated and destroyed. They must pay for the indignities perpetrated on my beloved Malcom, the Poet of the Highlands, and myself. But first they must suffer the tortures of the damned.

Well, Espinoza and West discuss it for some time, with Rutledge looking quite cross. Eventually Espinoza suggests that Rutledge and West have a little time to discuss it between themselves out on the balcony. West agrees. Espinoza calmly has a smoke while West and Rutledge go to have their talk.

I eavesdrop upon them, behind the curtain. They think they are alone.

West is very passionate. He insists that he is there only to "rescue you, my dearest", but the Rutledge will have none of it. "I don't know how to tell you this, Nigel," she says, "but I have changed. I have found my wings and I intend to continue flying. I cannot go back to the social pretenses and sober rubbish in Twillingsgate...nor in London either, for that matter. I'm fed up with it! Arturo is very nice and gallant and I am NOT in his control in any way. I am the captain of my own vessel and I am charting my own course!"

(So pretentious, this Rutledge bitch. You would think she was acting a part in the Russian Imperial family or something, back before the revolution!)

West turns pale and his jaw grows taught. "We...were engaged to be married, Penelope," he declares.

Rutledge is a bit abashed. She must feel guilty about it. "Yes, Nigel," she says, eyes downcast. "We were. I can't deny it. But then you went away to that stupid war of Tony Blair's, and...things changed. I met Arturo, and...it's different now. I don't want the same things anymore. I don't want a nice, tidy, disciplined life attending tea parties and gatherings of your military friends in London. I...oh, Nigel, I AM sorry...but...what can I do?"

(Pfui! My heart bleeds for her. Shameless hussy. Give these bloodless English women a taste of Europe and all their pretty perfect pretenses fall in ruins. Ha!)

West is shaken, but he pulls himself together, as does Rutledge. They agree to reserve judgement on the matter and not make any rash decisions tonight, but it is clear to me that Rutledge has somewhat gently given West what is called "the bum's rush", I believe, in America. Eventually they go back out to talk with Arturo Espinoza.

He is all smiles. West looks green around the gills. I almost feel sorry for him, but he's a swine who deserves to die, so to hell with him.

They spend some time drinking and talking in a somewhat amicable manner. I note that West does not drink very much. He intends to remain sober. Interesting. Most men in his position would get very drunk indeed. After all, my Malcom gets drunk quite willingly even when things are going extremely well. More so then, in fact. He is a creature of enormous physical appetites, with a lust for the many pleasures of fleshly existence. My thighs grow hot thinking of him!

But enough of that. I continue to observe them from a distance, until eventually the "happy couple" excuse themselves, leaving West alone with his thoughts. He is in a grim mood. He goes out for a smoke. Soon he is joined by another man, military in bearing. I know this man. He is some pig of a British commando or something like that. He assisted in embarrassing Malcolm. He too must be made to pay. I must be very careful, though. This one is a professional killer. I know the type. A natural fascist.

I go now to phone Malcolm and make plans for my campaign of action to utterly destroy Rutledge and West.

- Angelique