In fact, I recognized it. For several years I have employed a technical consultant for my books, a retired police officer called Spoder, formerly a detective inspector with the Raba force. A few weeks ago I had asked him for advice on the type of gun one of my characters was likely to carry. Spoder had turned up at my house the next day with a portfolio of photographs and catalogue items. I recall the day was hotter than usual. I sat with him on the shaded patio outside my house as we went through them, eliminating the obviously unsuitable, until finally we settled on a choice of three. He left them with me, and I noted the details. As soon as I was able to do some more work on my manuscript after this trip I would select one and name and describe it in the book, cribbing all the technical detail some of my readers insist on. (I always suspect that many readers skip details like this, but if I try to omit them the publisher insists they must go in. I always snarl privately as I make the changes.)

What Frejah Harsent had stored in the trunk of her car was not one of those exactly, but it was similar. It was a semi-automatic compact rifle, with a snub-nosed barrel, self-reloading mechanism, and a multi-round magazine inserted into the grip. Assembled it would require both hands to fire it, with the weight cradled against one side of the body and braced against the arm that was firing.

I pushed in my computer tote against the top of the gun mount, and now there was sufficient clearance to close the trunk lid on top of it. As I straightened I looked towards Frejah, and she looked at me. I was thinking about the weapon. Our eyes met. She said nothing. I said nothing.

She touched her remote key and the lid silently raised itself out of the retaining recess, then swished down to close the compartment. There was a convincing sound of compressed air as it locked.

I walked around to the open passenger door. Frejah showed me the best way to enter: backside first, swivel my legs in, lean back and put weight on the back- and head-rest. ‘You’ll get used to that,’ she said. She walked around and swung herself in one smooth motion into the driver’s seat beside me, and brought down the doors.

Although I was reclining at near horizontal, the feeling of comfort, safety and control was total. I had perfect vision ahead, and could see to either side with ease. I have driven cars most of my adult life but I had never before experienced such a sensation of instinctive harmony between body and machine.