CHAPTER 18

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The house was a small converted stable in a light industrial alleyway behind the derelict Royal Agricultural Hall of Islington. As well as its large stable doors it also had a normal-looking front door of smartly glazed panelled wood with a black dolphin door knocker. The one odd thing about this door was its doorstep, which was nine feet high, since the door was set into the upper of the two floors and presumably had been originally used to haul in hay for hungry horses.

An old pulley jutted out of the brickwork above the doorway and it was over this that the rope Arthur was holding was slung. The other end of the rope held a suspended ‘cello.

The door opened above his head.

“OK,” said Fenchurch, “pull on the rope, steady the ‘cello. Pass it up to me.”

He pulled on the rope, he steadied the ‘cello.

“I can’t pull on the rope again,” he said, “without letting go of the

‘cello.”

Fenchurch leant down.

“I’m steadying the ‘cello,” she said. “You pull on the rope.”

The ‘cello eased up level with the doorway, swinging slightly, and Fenchurch manoeuvred it inside.

“Come on up yourself,” she called down.

Arthur picked up his bag of goodies and went in through the stable doors, tingling.

The bottom room, which he had seen briefly before, was pretty rough and full of junk. A large old cast-iron mangle stood there, a surprising number of kitchen sinks were piled in a corner. There was also, Arthur was momentarily alarmed to see, a pram, but it was very old and uncomplicatedly full of books.

The floor was old stained concrete, excitingly cracked. And this was the measure of Arthur’s mood as he stared up the rickety wooden steps in the far corner. Even a cracked concrete floor seemed to him an almost unbearably sensual thing.

“An architect friend of mine keeps on telling me how he can do wonderful things with this place,” said Fenchurch chattily as Arthur emerged through the floor.

“He keeps on coming round, standing in stunned amazement muttering about space and objects and events and marvellous qualities of light, then says he needs a pencil and disappears for weeks. Wonderful things have, therefore, so far failed to happen to it.”

In fact, thought Arthur as he looked about, the upper room was at least reasonably wonderful anyway. It was simply decorated, furnished with things made out of cushions and also a stereo set with speakers which would have impressed the guys who put up Stonehenge. There were flowers which were pale and pictures which were interesting. 60