I had finished afternoon tea at a lovely establishment in the Highlands and was sitting on a bench outside, waiting for Mr Gunn. It had been a very satisfactory afternoon tea. The sandwiches had been small enough to suggest refinement, the cakes had been large enough to restore confidence, and the bill had been folded discreetly inside a little leather wallet so that one could discover the consequences in private. Mr Gunn had gone to fetch the car. This sounds like a simple undertaking, but Mr Gunn does not merely fetch a car. He checks it. He walks around it.
