The foyer’s interior was spare and modern, and I wondered if I would be greeted by another Mabel. At the desk was a dark-skinned man in his thirties who looked up from the computer screen as I approached. The stark white of his shirt contrasted beautifully with his skin and highlighted the manicured fingernails that slid reluctantly from the keyboard.
“Good morning,” he said in Oxford English, flashing brilliant teeth which, I noted, were captivatingly crooked. When I told him my name, he produced a key from the desk and asked me to follow him along the corridor that opened into a large octagonal atrium. As we entered, sunlight blasted from behind a cloud like a spotlight signalling our arrival. The atrium was an extension of the original Georgian building whose rear brick façade was visi
