It didn't look like a bar from the outside.

The quiet unassuming road made up of upmarket terrace houses looked just that. Quiet and unassuming. Only those in the know had any idea that the basement of Number 21 was not all it seemed.

He knocked on the door and like some old American speakeasy, a slot opened, an eye looked and the bolt slid. The door opened without a word spoken. The clientele here were more upmarket than most would associate with him, but today he was dressed to blend.

Soft grey trousers and matching single-breasted jacket, shirt with just the merest hint of blue, Oxford brogues (not Cambridge!) and a tie the darkest shade of sapphire with a matching pocket handkerchief. All topped off with a pale grey bowler and jet-black umbrella.

The place had that classic quiet murmur he values so much. No one talks with any kind of raised voice and the music is so quiet he'd have concentrate on it to work out which song was playing.

His usual table was free, and he sat, catching the eye of a passing server with a nod. The man nodded in return, and by the time he had removed his jacked and placed it carefully on the back of the chair next to him there was glass of Jadot Pouilly Fuisse by his hand and a bottle in a bucket beside the table.

Perfectly chilled. He took a sip and felt himself relax.

Nothing was said, but the server was always there every time his glass needed topped up. He sipped and watched and relaxed.

When the bottle was empty another took its place without any asking, along with a platter of cheese and breads. Whole small Garrotxa, Camembert and Fontina D'Aosta with a wedge of Shropshire Blue, all paired with a sliced French baguette, rye bread squares and crisp sourdough. There are a mix of olives but the customary pickles are missing, they know him well.

The second bottle goes down smoothly with the food, and he took his time. There is no hurry tonight. As he indulges he quietly hums along to the very quiet strains of soft jazz playing.

By the time the second bottle is empty he has a pleasant buzz and totally relaxed shoulders. He's been a good couple of hours, nearer to three actually once he checks his watch, and he once more catches the server's eye.

A small brandy is placed before him and he downs it in one before putting his jacket on, donning his bowler and sauntering out into the now damp London air.

The noise of London swells around him as he sets off.