‘It must have been around nine that we found ourselves crawling down a narrow lane. The SatNav got us this far but they can’t have had the precision of today – so we were following instinct. We passed one or two single barns and sheds but they didn’t feel big or cared-for enough for someone like Kareem. I remember Denis saying it must also be secured; we should look for locked gates. We travelled up and down a couple of times – one wonders now whether he had spotters watching us – and then off a track and just beyond a stone pillar, we saw a possibility. Denis turned down it and there it was. A solid double gate with two CCTV cameras at each corner and an entry phone. He got out of the car and pushed the buzzer. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer. He pushed a third time; when there was still no answer he yelled into the speaker phone that if no one came to the gate he would ram it with the car and force entry himself.’

‘Would he have?’

‘He might have, his blood was up. I kept quiet. Any interference from me would have made it worse. The gate began to swing open. And there was Kareem, dressed in a sweater and jeans. It was hard to say if he was smiling or smirking.’

‘Not wearing anything more ceremonial?’ asked Sara. ‘Like a robe or tunic.’

‘I don’t remember anything like that. Denis said, “I want my daughter back.” Didn’t even bother with a hello. Kareem – he was as cool and urbane as ever – replied, “Your daughter chooses to stay here with me.” “That’s not what she told me four hours ago,” said Denis. Kareem claimed she’d just had a scare in the night and was fine now. Denis marched towards what looked like the front door. “I would rather you did not go there, Mr Green,” warned Kareem. “You would be trespassing.” “If you don’t allow me to see my daughter within the next thirty seconds,” Denis said, “I’ll summon the police and report you for kidnapping.” I remember Kareem gave him the strangest smile. “That will be difficult as your mobile phone will receive no signal here.” He seemed remarkably confident – as if he was untouchable. Then, unaccountably, he changed tack. “Of course you may see your daughter, Mr Green. But may I remind you that we are here for calm retreat, which you are interrupting.”’

‘What sort of place was it?’ asked Sara.