Dr Patel ran his finger along the back of his collar and down the length of his tie. Smoothing out the striped navy blue and yellow silk with its embroidered Club crests, he rolled the tie half way up his shirt, then unrolling it, pressed it down on his belly. He made his way to the front of the reception hall that was filled with tables covered in white cloths, ornate flower arrangements and candelabras, till he got as close as he could to the head table. There he pulled out a chair and sat down to wait for the bride and groom, as if he were part of their family.

He was, as usual, too early. He was particular about timing. He hated being kept waiting himself, and so he made a point never to be late. But no one in Nairobi’s high society appreciated the finer aspects of his character, his sense of propriety and his polished etiquette. Dr Patel sighed, caressing the silky fabric of his tie, from the knot to the bottom. He was glad he’d decided to wear it, even though the famous crest and stripes design was never recognised and no one had ever asked him about his membership with the Club…