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‘They say there’s no time for a proper fitting. Well, normally I prefer atleast two fittings to get the job right. But luckily you’re an average shape, sir, so we should be able to cut you something you won’t be ashamed to wear. Mr Khan’s chosen the cloth: a charcoal bird’s-eye for the coat and trousers, and a dove-grey waistcoat. Do you have any preference as to the lining, sir? Only Mr Khan didn’t specify.’
    ‘Whatever you think best,’ I replied. I realised I was being fitted for a morning coat.
    ‘We have a nice blue silk that would look very good against the charcoal,’ suggested the tailor. I nodded my agreement. The fitting over, the man disappeared. David escorted me back to my room.
    As I sat there I tried to work out where this house was. I had seen no clues so far as to its name or location: no desk with writing paper on it, no prints of the house, no visitors’ book. I could have been anywhere. I tried to recall how long the drive had been after I had been knocked down. I thought it might have lasted for an hour at most. Therefore I was either in Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, Berkshire, Hampshire, Northamptonshire, Bedfordshire or Hertfordshire. That narrowed it down.
    Supper was a more solitary affair than lunch. I dined in the conservatory once more, among the sweet exhalations of the plants and flowers, but there was no Mr Khan to keep me company. I was beginning to feel rather bored. That worried me, because when I get bored my behaviour tends to degenerate. There was nothing to do: no one to talk to, and nothing to read. I’m not much of a book-reader anyway, I don’t seem to be able to concentrate these days, so I lingered for a while in the hope that someone would appear: Mr Khan, perhaps, or my future wife. Even Kevin would have been welcome entertainment by this stage. After sitting alonefor over an hour, I trudged back upstairs. There was nothing to do except go to bed. I undressed and fell asleep.
    I did not wake the next morning until I heard a knock at the door. I sat up, still drowsy, trying to remember where I was. David came into the room carrying a tray on which there was a teapot, a cup and saucer, a small silver milk jug and a newspaper.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Gaunt,’ he said. ‘I trust you slept well?’ He crossed the room and set the tray on the writing table, then opened the curtains.
    ‘Mr Khan told me to say that there is no hurry, but breakfast is ready in the conservatory.’
    When I went down Mr Khan was already seated at the marble table. On the hotplate stood a cafetière, a silver teapot and a silver jug full of boiling water. There was a wicker basket full of fresh rolls and croissants, and in another basket, underneath little woolly hats shaped like the heads of chickens, nestled some boiled eggs.
    ‘Mr Gaunt, good morning,’ said Mr Khan, rising to greet me. ‘I hope you passed a comfortable night? It is a wonderful morning, a real English autumn day. The colours of the trees are changing and the sun is out. In Dubai it is now forty degrees, still very hot. Here it is so cool, so fresh. Autumn is a beautiful time in the English countryside, do you not agree?’
    ‘Season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness,’ I replied.
    ‘Ah yes. I do not recognise the reference. Perhaps it is one of your English poets? Here is a glass of fresh orange juice.’
    I took the glass and drained it, then tucked into breakfast.
    ‘Do try some of our marmalade,’ Mr Khan urged me. ‘It is made by Mr Frank Cooper. From Oxford, I believe. We will soon be visiting Oxford. That is where the register office is.’
    ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten,’ I said. ‘I’m getting married tomorrow, aren’t I?’
    ‘Oh, Mr Gaunt, Mr Gaunt,’ Mr Khan chuckled. ‘How could you forget such an important occasion? But perhaps it is because you have not yet met your bride? Once you have met her, you will not forget her again, I assure you.’
    ‘And when am I meeting