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alone. I am certain, Dollie, that you and I will become the best of friends. My
grandmother’s wish is that I replace her as your guardian. On a temporary basis, at least, until you and circumstances choose us another direction. What do you say to that? I realize that we
are as yet barely acquainted, but I would like you to think of me as a sister, or if you feel that I am too old for such a role then how about a kindly aunt?”
    “Sisters!” I exclaimed. “Oh, yes, please.”
    “And how would you like to come and stay with me for a few days at my house in London? We could organize it for May.”
    I was overwhelmed. Such a generous offer was unexpected.
    “What do you say, Dollie?”
    “I would love it,” I answered shyly.
    “Then it’s settled. I shall speak to Mrs Partridge and arrange everything.”
    “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
    We said our goodbyes and I hurried back to the library, where I had left my books. I was horribly late for maths, but I didn’t care. I could hardly believe my good fortune. It was as
though all that I had been longing for was suddenly being offered to me.

17th May 1909
    Flora’s home is in Bloomsbury, a district of London slightly north-west of the city centre. A horse-drawn cab awaited me as I came out of the station at Paddington the day
before yesterday. It delivered me right to her door. She was waiting there with open arms to greet me, and since then I have not found a single minute to write my diary until now.
    I have never visited such a place before. It is a tall, narrow house in a terraced row. There are five storeys, and my room is on the fourth. The place is spilling over with visitors and guests.
I feel SO SHY. But what a splendidly lively environment! Each room is chock-a-block with fine furniture and furnishings, including Art Nouveau lamps and chairs and goodness knows what else. (I had
never heard of Art Nouveau until Flora showed me some examples.) The dining table is carved mahogany and has twelve matching chairs. The curtains are of a printed fabric from a famous department
store in Regent Street, Liberty’s.
    Writers, designers and film-makers are endlessly around. Almost all of them are from Europe or America. One or two of them are staying here, while the rest drop by to discuss their ideas or to
be introduced to like-minded artists. Flora says that she sees her home as a focal point for creative thinkers. It is all dazzlingly bohemian.
    Every room I enter, I discover gaggles of artistic folk bawling good-naturedly in an assortment of languages. French seems to be their common ground, not English, while Flora skips easily from
one to the other. Yesterday, she introduced me to two French film-makers: Alice Guy, a highly regarded director who taught Flora in Paris, and Max Linder, a dapper, internationally famous actor and
director. Cecil Hepworth, a British producer, was also present.
    “Has anyone seen his new picture,
The Lonely Villa
? You must! You simply must!” Hepworth was shouting, while waving his arms to emphasize his point. “It’s a
magnificent example of intercutting, Alice! And what drama his techniques create!”
    His comrades were deep in debate. It transpired that their passionate exchange was about an American director called DW Griffith who, Alice explained to me, is revolutionizing the technical
language of motion pictures. “Intercutting”, “close-up figures”. I did not understand these terms because I have never seen a motion picture, but I didn’t own up to
it.
    France, someone claimed, continues to be the most important film-producing country in the world, and its film business is rapidly expanding. Another woman, an American with a necklace of large
amber beads and smoking a cigarette, disagreed loudly. She claimed American Biograph was the most innovative film company in the world.
    Flora spoke of her high hopes for England. “And what of London? It is the financial centre of the world, but I dream of