Dear Diary

Aunt P came to me with a telegram from my mother, asking for a loan. I couldn't understand it, I gave father money to wire to her and he was on his way back to England – or so I thought.

Jack called me to a crime scene, a murder at the Grand Hotel. There was a bag next to the victim, my bag, it had my name in it – I had a sinking feeling when Jack asked me why my bag was the one robbed.

Dear god, father! He was there, at the Grand, not on the boat to England, yet I saw him walk up the gangplank! I didn't want to help, frankly I wanted to throw him into the bay – father not Jack - and what had happened to my money?

Jack had to drag me away from father in his room, as he swigged champagne, no doubt bought with my money ...

We went onto the roof as it seemed the victim, Mc Nabb, had been pushed, or fallen from there, but the problem was why did he have my empty bag – well that was soon sorted the money was thrown down the laundry chute by McNabb, it's rather thrilling sliding down a laundry chute, but that was where I found some of the money, well a couple of fivers anyway, the rest was found later.

We interviewed the owner, the maid, Enid, who also seemed to be taken in with his story of being alone, having nobody ...

Father had been gambling at cards the previous night – he lost – which is no surprise. To me.

This case led me to think all kind of unpleasant things about my father.

In order to 'discreetly search' the hotel we, me, Aunt P and Dot, went to the 'Twilight Waltz' the very same waltz that saw my mother lose all reason and accept father's proposal, Dot occupied the owner, Mrs Cobb, and Aunt P ... well she was just there, to keep an eye of father if he should put in an appearance.

I found the room the card game was held in, father insisted his opponent cheated and I found out for once he was telling the truth. I brought Jack in to see what I had found. I decided to ask the man he played against for one last game – he was reluctant, Karol Valenski doesn't play cards with women – apparently.

I won, Valenski was angry, called my father a coward – he wasn't wrong there, father runs from trouble and brings more in his wake – but I got my money back and the IOU father had signed.

The maid, Enid, was killed, murdered as she did a flit. She had found the money McNabb threw down the laundry chute and even though she knew it was father's/mine she still took it and when we looked in her suitcase we found it, wrapped in a pillowcase.

Father thought Valenski killed Enid and we only just stopped him putting a hole in him in a duel – of all things –but he looked very, very guilty when I told him what I saw – but he wouldn't tell us anything – he was afraid, thoroughly terrified.

Whle Jack and I discussed the case, the phone rang, interrupting our thoughts and Constable Martin's ramblings about wanting to go back to Wangaratta, Aunt P wondering if I was going home for lunch and was clever enough to give me a clue that all was not well at Wardlow.

There was a man, holding my household hostage but before I could get out of him what he meant about my father being dishonourable (I do not argue I just want to know why he says it is so) Jack laid him out cold on the parlour floor!

I know this stems from the war, but father is still being his usual obtuse self, he claims he owed him money from a card game but I know he is lying, this runs deeper and he was glad the man was unconscious and at the time we didn't know if he would come to, or even live. I cannot trust him, a girl should be able to trust her father, shouldn't she? Shouldn't he be the man I look up to, the man I measure all others against, and maybe I do, except I measure the opposite way, I look for a man who is nothing like my father, someone I can trust, between him and Rene the male of the species has given me nothing to hope for.

I arranged for father to take another boat back to England, until then he was to stay in a guest house in Lilydale – I hoped even he wouldn't be able to get into trouble there.

Jack waited in the ballroom at the Grand while I sent father to the cab and asked me for a waltz.

I teased him, I have danced with French presidents, English princes, Hollywood stars, a waltz is a serious dance – so is he. He said that if my father hadn't waltzed all reason out of my mother there would be a world without me in it. What kind of a world would that be? His words.

He is serious, he is careful, he is the man who will not try to change me, who seems to want me as I am ... Jack Robinson is the man I can look up to.