It was an envelope with a purple card in it addressed to Jennifer Dixon at Egon and Fuller. With it I had written a note that said, Please investigate your colleague Salvi Russo in relation to this website. I have never looked online at The Profilo Club. I don’t want to see my face there. Or Philippa’s. But I reckon as a member of the law, Jennifer can take it. If she was the colleague I saw him with outside the Old Bailey, I’m hoping she’ll be grateful for the alert. If she wasn’t, she can investigate objectively. And I might even be wrong. The Profilo Club may not be what I think it is at all, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. And I’m pretty sure Salvi is behind it. He has just the kind of casual arrogance to assume he will be untouchable.

Dad posted the envelope for me. He didn’t know it, but he was part of what I hope is some small justice for me and for Philippa, and for the other women out there. Nobody can change the things that have happened to me. My father cannot always protect me. But we are there for each other. We can do the small things, and the bigger things, that make all the difference. We can move forward.

Maria, the chef from the café, also came to the party. Dad invited her. We walked back to Kenwood House a few days before and he asked her if she’d like to come and she said ‘yes’. I think she had a nice time. She and Dad seemed to get on well. I asked him afterwards if he thought she might become his girlfriend and he said you never knew what was around the corner, even for a blind old git. Maya came, too. I invited her. I was brave. I actually think there’s a small chance the two of us might become friends. Wouldn’t that be something? My father might be right about those corners …

This little sketch I’m doing of him now is quite good, I feel. I have caught Dad’s likeness in just a few strokes of an HB pencil. His nose, his mouth, his forehead. He still has a slight contusion under his chin. The paramedics said he bashed it when he tripped and hurt his ankle.