Tea is taken on the terrace, overlooking the water of the Broads. It is not as quiet as I had anticipated, as little pleasure boats chug up and down frequently. However, they do not spoil the peace - there are small birds singing pleasantly and hawks (marsh harriers, Watson tells me, after making one of Scotland Yard's computers run an image search for him - and, yes, I am aware that that is improper use of Scotland Yard's property), like the one that I saw upon arrival, are hunting above the reeds and water. I am glad that they have not vanished.

The sunshine is warm and fresh - a welcome change from London's fog and rain! - and I find myself becoming a little drowsy. Needless to say, I resist the temptation to doze in the afternoon sun, but I can see that my sudden desire to sleep is not lost on Watson, for the robot is keeping a close eye on me.

"Are you interested in sport?" Trevor enquires of us both, when the tea things have been cleared away and we have been silently watching the harriers for half an hour or so. "There's croquet, cricket..."

I shake my head. "Thank you, but I am only really interested in fencing and boxing."

"And horse riding," Watson adds. "And shooting."

I frown at him. "I am not going to disturb the peace. Why the deuce did you mention shooting?"

He shrugs. "I remember that you used to enjoy practising - in our sitting room, of all places, sometimes. I was not suggesting that you should set up a shooting range out here, however."

Good! I am trying to make a good impression. Is he doing his utmost to show me up?

Trevor settles down again. "Just as long as you aren't bored," says he. "I know you can become bored quite easily."

Clearly, this fellow has done his research. "I used to. Retirement put paid to that, I fear - had I not adapted to old age and infirmity, I should have gone mad."

"Yes, I suppose so. I don't know what I'll do, when I'm old and tired out."

I smile. "Oh, you shall find something to occupy yourself - if I could survive retirement, you can do it." I am not going to tell him that I did not last long after Watson passed - that is private - as is the matter of my not yet knowing just how much longer I can go on in his absence. That I have friends that care about me is undeniable, but I still painfully miss my Boswell and I cannot see that ever changing. But, for now, I feel much better than I did this morning.

"I've had a word with my neighbour, by the way; he did say he'd be happy to loan you a horse, but asked if you could put off calling round until tomorrow."

That is fine and I say as much with a smile. I shall look forward to it.

"Of course, it hadn't crossed my mind that Doctor Watson would be too heavy for a horse," Trevor admits apologetically. "What would you like to do to amuse yourself, Doctor?"

Bravo, Trevor! Excellent! Perhaps dear old Watson will be more himself, if he does not feel neglected. Now might prove to be a good moment to excuse myself and leave them talking man to man (in a manner of speaking) for five minutes.

"Trevor -"

"My favourite hobby is cooking," Watson is saying. "But I suppose I could fish - I have not enjoyed a fishing holiday in far too long!"

"Why don't I show you around?" Trevor suggests, before I can say another word. "I could get the old boat out - it's still the best way to see the Broads - and show you the best fishing spots."

Watson is enthusiastic, so I decide against voicing the excuse which had been perched on the very tip of my tongue and instead we follow our new friend in the direction of his boathouse.

The boat is a little cruise craft by the name of 'Swallows' - it looks to me as if it was built at the turn of the last century. While we are still moored in the boathouse, Watson and I are given a tour of it and assured that we are welcome to borrow it, should we ever want a holiday on the water.

"Two modest bedrooms to the rear, as you see," says Trevor. "A bit old fashioned, these days, but very comfortable."

"Quite," I nod as I sit on the little bunk that stands before the window of the room which our friend has shown us into. I am tempted to explore a bit myself, if only to find a place to freshen up, but I do not wish to seem impolite.

Trevor takes a seat beside me on the narrow bed. "Are you feeling OK? You're a bit quiet and you don't look too happy."

"A reaction to nerves, most likely," Watson suggests helpfully, causing me to address him with an icy glare. "That will sometimes make Holmes feel sick."

As it happens, he is probably right - in a way (I am not feeling sick) - but I am not going to say as much.

Trevor touches my arm. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I am perfectly well," I assure him. "I am just a bit tired, I suppose - my work keeps me as busy as it always has."

He smiles warmly. "You're welcome to rest here for a bit, if you like; I'll wake you when we've moored."

How kind he is! "Thank you, Trevor, but I have no desire to be impolite. If I could just freshen up, I am sure that I shall be all right again."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't think of that. There's a little shower room, but nothing for you to change into and probably only a hand towel on board. But there is a little WC with a wash basin..."

He shows me into a tiny little washroom right to the rear of the boat and ensures that everything that might be required is provided. He and Watson then walk away in the direction of the front of the craft, leaving me to close and lock the door before I tend to myself. Through the closed door, I hear the compudroid inform our host that I can be 'a bit shy' about asking for the use of the lavatory. Wretched robot! He clearly is trying to cause me embarrassment!

When I join Watson and Trevor in the sitting room, to the very front of the boat, our new friend comes to my side. "You are OK, aren't you?"

I assure him that I am.

"I know we don't know each other very well, just yet, but you really don't have to worry so much," says he. "I wouldn't have minded, if you'd asked to use the loo."

I lower my gaze to the floor whilst calmly wishing that I could strangle Watson the wretched robot. "In my day, it was dreadfully impolite - even if I had desired to be so impertinent, I could never do so. It goes against everything that I am, for I am a Victorian gentleman."

He grimaces and rubs at the back of his neck. "That must be awkward for you - and uncomfortable. In that case, I'll try to remember to give you a chance, now and again, to get away and have a moment to yourself. That way, you won't have to worry about excusing yourself. I'll also see that I give you a tour of the house, when we go back, so that you can find your way about easily."

I thank him - and I am grateful, for I do realise that the attitude must seem bizarre to the men of this century - but I should still quite like to hurt Watson.

He touches my arm sympathetically. "Are you ready for the tour?"

The robot is eager to drive and Trevor is kind enough to submit to his wishes after a brief tutorial. "The most important thing is to watch the wash made by the boat," says he. "There are a lot of rare and protected birds and animals here and their nests and burrows could be destroyed, if the waves are too high. That's why there's a speed limit that never exceeds six miles per hour, on the Broads."

"Would you like to help me to cast off, seeing as Watson is going to steer?" he then asks, turning to me. "Do you know your way around boats?"

I used to, though the last boat that I had any control of was still powered by steam - and I tell him as much.

"Do you know how to cast off?"

I do indeed and I willingly jump back onto the boards of the boathouse in order to untie the ropes securing the rear of the craft, while Trevor unites the front. The moment that the back is free and the boat beginning to drift, I leap back aboard, rope in hand - much to the alarm of my friend, who is already standing on the deck of 'Swallows'.

"I thought you were going to end up in the water," he scolds. "I already said that there's no change of clothes on board and I really don't want you catching cold."

"I rarely catch colds and clumsiness is not a trait of mine," I reply with a careless shrug, as I coil and stow the ropes. "Besides, the weather is really very pleasant."

He frowns at me. "Please, Mr. Holmes, I really would be upset if anything went wrong - I want you to enjoy yourself. Please be a bit more careful."

I agree to his request - and even go so far as to grip the rail, when Watson starts the motor, even though my balance is as perfect as always.

"Thanks. Come on, we should wash our hands, after touching the ropes. We can rejoin the doctor, then."

When I last had a tour of the Norfolk Broads, it was by rowing boat. This craft is certainly much easier to steer - Watson is having no difficulty at all - and it is also very much quicker, despite the speed limit of four to six miles per hour.

Trevor enjoys pointing out the best fishing spots, while I sit upon the settee beside him and enjoy the gentle breeze coming in through the open floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the sitting room and ruffling his hair and mine as we chug along.

"Are either of you hungry?" our friend enquires suddenly. "There's a good restaurant coming up, on the left."

What with the (slightly chilly) breeze and the sweetness of the country air (and, perhaps, my improved mood), I am starving! I have scarcely ate in two days and was unable to face my breakfast. I admit to feeling 'a bit peckish'.

Watson makes a strange noise and then quietly coughs into his fist. I am beginning to think that this is a new means of voicing displeasure.

"Do you eat, Doctor Watson?" asks Trevor.

"As I am a robot and do not need food, no. I might be glad of some oil, however."

Our friend's face falls. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting. You just seem so human. I mean... I don't mean it like that. I mean... you're nothing at all like my house robots."

Watson snorts, attempts to conceal it with a sneeze and then pulls in towards the jetty, outside of the restaurant that Trevor mentioned without a word. I most definitely need to give him another talking to - this behaviour will not do.