Moved into the flat. It is uncomfortable but I shall get it right. We
are three people and two beds, Dick has to sleep on the sofa in my
room. The telephone is cut off, and the heat does not seem to work,
but for these two latter items one is thankful!
Griffin Barry, who used to be the Russian correspondent of the
LONDON DAILY HERALD, came to fetch me, and took me I don’t
know where, to a studio belonging to Miss Bessie Beatty who has
written a book on the Russian Revolution. There were a lot of people
but I only knew Mr. and Mrs. Bullitt; he has been to Russia and she
is very beautiful. I met Mr. Kenneth Durant, who is left in charge
of the Soviet office in the absence of Martens. He has an extremely
interesting, rather faun-like head. We all sat around the room with
plates on our laps and were fed. It was primitive but an extremely good
idea, and one I shall adopt if ever I want to give a bigger party in my
studio than I have table space for.
A certain amount of politics was talked afterwards, in which I dared
not join. In conservative circles I dare not talk politics for fear of
being called Bolshevik. In Bolshevik circles I keep silent for fear
they discover how ignorant I am! Durant left early, and I had no chance
of talking with him. He has rather an enigmatic smile, and says very
little.