The answer appears on the forty-sixth page of the book.

Perhaps Ian had alerted Trevor to her outlandish splurging, and he'd downsized her allowance. Since she had a little something-something to work with, she'd sneak in a few outings while in L.A. ...

Our intervals of repose were now very short; for at 12ʰ 50ᵐ a.m., March 16th, another rush drove irresistibly on the larboard quarter and stern, and forcing the ship ahead raised her up on the ice. A chaotic ruin followed; our poor and cherished court yard, its wall and arched doors, gallery, and well-trodden paths, were rent, and in some parts ploughed up like dust.

Anyone want to play a few hands of bullshit?