Hello! You must be Mister Archibald? Yes, very well, thank you. Please, do come in.

Oh, that? That's a portrait of Sir John of Engelheim. Yes, painted that one myself, first year of college. There's some flaws to it, of course, but one must keep their first painting around, if only to see how they've improved. Tea?

Ah, I see you've noticed the Dorchester. Really does draw the eye, doesnt it? One of the strangest commissions I ever had, to tell you the truth.

Oh, nothing fancy. We'll, if you want to hear it, it's a short story, I guess -- no, no, don't get up, I'll grab the sugar. Be forgetting my own head next.

So, the Dorchester. Well. About fifteen years ago, on a dark and stormy night --

What do you mean, 'that's cliche'? It's what happened. It was just past nine on a night filled with thunderstorms, can't get much truer than that. If I may continue?

Well I was sitting in my studio, working on a commission for the Queen, when someone pounded on the front door. No, this was so late, my housekeeper was gone for the night, so I had to go see who it was.

To tell the truth, I was a bit startled to see a bedraggled man, maybe tall as my shoulders, standing on the doorstep but it was a bit wet out. Fellow was young, but didn't seem too bad, 'cept for the pale skin, o'course. Happens around here a lot, people going pale 'cause of the storms all through autumn and winter.

No, this was in late spring, not unusual to see someone pale right up into summer, just depends on their job. Anyway , this poor wretch was soaked through from the rain and he looked a bit manic, to tell you the truth. Teeth chattering, eyes wide, all that. Asked if he could come in, he had a business proposition for me.

Well, at that point, I hadn't become the well-known portraiteer of the rich and famous. I didn't recognise the man, but I knew he was of good breeding -- you could see it in his eyes.

So we came in, and he sat me down and demanded I paint his portrait. Desperate he was, claimed he hadn't seen his own face in more than a century. Well, that caught me a bit off guard, o'course, but the way he was talking, I knew I'd be paid well for the service.

He was a spoiled thing, yeah, no doubt about it. But he offered me a full purse, couldn't have said no, even if I wanted to -- which I didn't. Something told me it would be a fair foolish thing to do.

So anyway, I look him over, and he says he's not crazy, he just needs to see his own face. Now, me, I don't think that's all that weird, Lord in Heaven knows we get some weird people coming in here, but I did find his aversion to Mrs Aldersleigh's famous foccaccias a little on the nose.

Oh, no, famous for her garlic and cheese foccaccias, no doubt about that. I'm sure I could find you one, Mrs Aldersleigh made some before she went off to visit her mother, poor woman, got the long illness, they don't know if she'll survive the week.

What? Oh, yes, the Donchester. Well, the man -- more a boy, to be honest -- was happy to sit still, weirdly still, for a few hours so I could get most of the blocking done. I told him he could come back next week for the first viewing, and he agreed, but after that...

Hmm? Oh, nothing. No, I don't remember much except waking up with a sore neck and a sense of managing to avoid the worse of it, but I couldn't work out what 'it' was.

The man -- boy -- sitter returned a week or so later, took one look at the canvas and burst onto tears. I don't know what he expected to see, but apparently my painting was not it. He screamed at the image, ran for the window and hurled himself out.

We never found the body, but there were a lot of animals in the forest that night, I realised through my broken window. I don't really see what haunted the man so, but then, I'm more than happy to paint people the way they want to see themselves, not as they were. I just didn't do it for that one, what with my commission jumping out a window before he could pay me.

No, I never got the man's name, nor payment. So I keep the Donchester to remind me to be wary of conmen seeking to swindle.

My memory? Well, now and then I forget something, wake up with the window open and so on, but that's just old age. I am seventy-seven, you know.

Good Lord in Heaven, is that the time? Sorry, Mr Archibald, I do have to move you along, I have an appointment to keep. No, nothing serious, just a spot of blood donation. No, it's fine, leave them there, I'll have the housekeeper deal with it.

Thank you so much for coming out to check on me, Mr Archibald. Nice to know there's still some decent kids out there.

I think I'll skip walking you out, my legs aren't what they use to be. No, thank you for coming.

Oh, and if you could let the young man outside into the house on your way out, that would be great. Thank you. Good day, sir.