It was a typical autumn morning. The never-ending trickle of rain continues, turning the whole morning grey and chill. With a sigh I turned away from the cold morning, back to the cosy atmosphere of the drawing room. My grandfather looked up at me from the pages of The Times.

"Not homesick, Garrick?"

"I don’t mean to seem ungrateful," I said, because I could not deny that I missed my home. "But I do miss seeing the sun. And it’s Gary, by the way."

My grandfather sniffed. "I cannot abide this American penchant for abbreviations. Garrick is a respectable name, one that has suited generations of Oak’s for centuries."

"Then maybe it’s time it was modernised," I said. "It is the 1880’s after all."

My grandfather did not reply but the pages of his paper rustled disapprovingly. I hid a smile. I was fond of him. He had been exceedingly good to me, taking me in at the request of my parents who wanted their son to be educated in the best of the old schools. Poor misguided parents. I couldn’t help but think there was a reason everyone left England.

"What miserable weather," I sighed, looking out the window. At this rate I was going to forget what they sky looked like, at least when it wasn’t meshed in grey cloud.

"This has been the mildest autumn this district has experienced in years," my Grandfather sniffed.

"Yeah? I feel sorry for you English. Especially, him."

"Who?"

"The fellow who has just come in our driveway. He looks absolutely drenched."

"That’s because he is absolutely drenched," my grandfather observed, coming to stand behind me. "He’s not one of my acquaintance. One of your friends from school?"

"I’ve told you before I don’t have friends. But I do know him." I sighed as the doorbell sounded. "Goodwin."

Shortly later, Goodwin was sitting in front of the drawing room fire warming himself. "I’m very grateful for your hospitality."

"Our pleasure," my grandfather told him. "All of Garrick’s friends are welcome here."

He wasn’t my friend. I sighed but didn’t argue. It wouldn’t have done any good insisting all my friends were in America. I didn’t understand British people at all. And they didn’t understand me. Instead I just folded my arms and waited for Goodwin to get to the point.

"I trust the weather did not discomfort you."

"Only a light shower. I barely noticed it."

Drenched right through and barely noticed it? That is so British. I suppose that was why I always thought of him as Goodwin, rather than calling him by his first name although I knew it. While I preferred to use people’s names in the American custom, he was so typically English ‘Richard’ would never work.

"Garrick finds our English weather a harsh trial after his time in America."

"I imagine it would be hard to adjust to a new place, with entirely new people," Goodwin said politely although his heart wasn’t in it.

I sighed. Might as well do all of us a favour. "Here’s a suggestion. Why don’t we dispense with the small talk and let Goodwin get right to the point? I know it’s ‘not done’ but it would save all of us time."

"You must excuse my grandson . . ."

My grandfather frowned disapprovingly but Goodwin seized the invitation eagerly. "I don’t mind. In fact I believe it would be a relief to get to the matter that brings me here. I feel I’m supposing an awful lot on my acquaintance with Garrick, and yet you may be our only hope."

"Of course we’ll help if we can," my grandfather rang the bell for a servant and asked him to bring us tea. "Now, he said, motioning for Goodwin and myself to take seats. "Let’s hear what has brought you to our humble home."

"I’m not sure where to begin," Goodwin said miserably. "I suppose I should start with by fiancé, Misty," he blushed. "She’s a lovely girl. I’m truly lucky to have her. I have never been so happy as when she accepted my suit, poor as it was. We decided to wait before asking for her families’ approval. We’re both young and we feared they would not take us seriously. She is an orphan, she lives in the care of her three older sisters. A few months ago, however a distant relative of theirs got in touch. Daisy, her sister, wanted to marry and without the income from her dowry the sisters would not be able to keep themselves and Misty in comfort. Their relative had heard of the situation and had a proposal to make, that they allow him to adopt my dear Misty, and she would live at his house at his expense to be a companion for his wife, who I understand is childless. The relative is a highly respected scholar, and I believe was once a student of yours," he nodded to my grandfather. "A Mr Giovanni."

"Giovanni," my grandfather murmured. "One of my better students. He was a good friend too. However I must confess that in the last few years we have become sadly out of touch."

"What I have to say becomes even more difficult," Goodwin continued hesitantly. "Misty went to live with Mr Giovanni, I returned to college. We wrote often as can be expected. She told me of her delight at finding her new home to be a pleasant place, furnished on a scale well beyond her sister’s means, and found Giovanni’s wife, although a mute, to be an agreeable companion."

My grandfather started. "What—Delia mute?"

Goodwin looked surprised. "If you know the family, surely you must know of that!"

"I’ve known Delia for many years, and I can assure you that three years ago she spoke as finely as you or I do," my grandfather said.

"Americans don’t count then?" I said, emphasising my natural drawl. He hates that.

My grandfather shuddered. "Please, Shigeru, don’t butcher the Queen’s English like that in my presence."

Goodwin took up his story again nervously. "I do not know the reason but it is certain Mrs Giovanni does not talk now. In her letters Misty began to write more and more however of Mr Giovanni, of her awe of his knowledge and her high regard for him. Then she stopped writing altogether. I was puzzled as to why this was but surmised that her new life must be keeping her busy. When our term holidays started last week I took the opportunity to stay with a friend of mine who resides in that area of London home to Mr Giovanni, and paid my sweet Misty a visit. Imagine my shock then when I was informed by the manservant she did not wish to see me. I returned the next day to receive the same answer. This time however I announced my intention to wait until Misty was free to see me. Which I did . . . she came down to see me a full hour later. Our interview was curt and brief, Misty so cold. And yet, she seemed almost afraid. I know what it looks like, that she’s fallen out of love with me and I’m just a fool to pursue her but I’ll swear to you on oath that she loves me still. I could see it. There’s something else going on. She was frightened, almost ashamed to be with me . . ." Goodwin shook his head. "Mr

Giovanni turned up and ushered me out. He asked me not to visit Misty any more as my calling seemed to have upset her. I deliberated with my friend, Brock, and then I came straight here. Please Professor," he begged my grandfather.

"You know Giovanni. He will let you into his house. Please find out what is going on!"

I looked at my grandfather. He was sunk deep in his armchair in thought.

"Well?" I asked when the waiting got on my nerves.

"It would not do you amiss to acquire some patience," my grandfather observed.

"However I have come to the conclusion that it is high time My acquaintance with Giovanni and his family was renewned."

"Oh, thank-you, sir!" Goodwin’s face was lit with a sunny smile. I had never seen beyond his British reserve before and was surprised at it. "Thank-you!"

My grandfather waved aside his thanks. "I suggest you return to your friend.

We’ll let you know what we discover. Now Shigeru, I suggest you call Sketchit. I have a telegram to compose."