Leonora - Chapter Two

EMILY'S DIARY ENTRY

1ST JANUARY 1908

So here I am armed with my new journal. Of course, first and foremost, I shall have to bless you with a name, it won't do just to refer to you as “diary”. That is far too common. They say that there's power in a name and there have been so many powerful women throughout history. The choice is hard. I quite fancy Joan, but she slaughtered the English, and considering my very English heritage that would be disrespectful to my ancestors, especially my distant Uncle Archie who fought against the French in 1429, he died in Orleans of that same year. I know it was a long time ago, but one has to remain loyal.

There's always Natasha. Ah yes, Natasha. Vlad had a sister by that name, she was ever so beautiful, I've seen the photographs, although he doesn't get them out often. Sadly she died from cholera two years ago. It would have been nice to meet her, but St. Petersburg is such a distance. Vlad came over from Russia in 1897, and not long after that he met me. His English was bloody awful then, but these days he's become quite the gentleman.

After some consideration, I have decided upon a suitable name, I do hope you like it.

Yours Truly,

Emily Banovski.

Dear Leonora,

Last night was a total scream, I went to a splendid party in Bloomsbury, 46 Gordon Square to be precise. To my utter delight, I conversed with Vanessa Bell and her husband, but naturally they had to circulate so our time together was rather limited. Nevertheless, Vanessa introduced me to Mrs Hargrove and I must say, we got on like a house on fire. She's a spiritualist and her stories of the supernatural kept me mesmerised all night long. I wrote my telephone number on an empty cigarette packet, and she slipped it into her bag. Hopefully, she'll telephone soon. Oh fiddlesticks, how I loathe waiting!

E.B.

2ND JANUARY 1908

Leonora! Why hasn't Mrs Hargrove made contact? I wouldn't be surprised if the cigarette packet is laying discarded in a wastepaper basket somewhere. Vlad says that I should be more patient, but I reacted with the “death stare” and he continued amusing himself with his own business. Henri Capelle has nearly finished another painting for me to sell, we share the profits, I get 60% while the Frenchman drinks away his 40%. My dainty little art gallery on the high street serves me well. As for Vlad, I haven't a clue what he does, except it's to do with publishing. He holds various meetings and reads a lot, a liquid lunch is often on the cards. It's not a bad way to earn a living really.

As for Mary Arkwright, she can be found vacating tea rooms, sewing circles and surprisingly enough, women's suffrage groups. Equal rights is a nice idea, but when it comes to having the vote? I'd rather clean a tram with my own toothbrush. Power hungry politicians are not my cup of tea. That Lloyd George makes me shudder, he whispered in my ear once, his suggestive remarks were nothing short of pornographic. I didn't tell Vlad about it, one punch and he would have ended up in Wormwood Scrubs prison. I suppose Mary could have knitted him a pair of fancy socks, the cells do get a little chilly at night. Not that I would know, there was an article in the “Home Companion”. That's enough of this ridiculous musing. Leonora! Make the bloody telephone ring!

E.B.