A summer’s day in Islington, full of the mournful wail of antique-restoring machinery.
Fenchurch was unavoidably busy for the afternoon, so Arthur wandered in a blissed-out haze and looked at all the shops which, in Islington, are quite an useful bunch, as anyone who regularly needs old woodworking tools, Boer War helmets, drag, office furniture or fish will readily confirm.
The sun beat down over the roof gardens. It beat on architects and plumbers. It beat on barristers and burglars. It beat on pizzas. It beat on estate agent’s particulars.
It beat on Arthur as he went into a restored furniture shop.
It’s an interesting building, said the proprietor, cheerfully. There’s a cellar with a secret passage which connects with a nearby pub. It was built for the Prince Regent apparently, so he could make his escape when he needed to.
You mean, in case anybody might catch him buying stripped pine furniture, said Arthur
No, said the proprietor, not for that reason.
You’ll have to excuse me, said Arthur. I’m terribly happy.
I see.
He wandered hazily on and found himself outside the offices of Greenpeace. he remembered the contents of his file marked “Things to do urgent!”, which he hadn’t opened again in the meantime. He marched in with a cheery smile and said he’d come to give them some money to help free the dolphins.
Very funny, they told him, go away.
This wasn’t quite the response he had expected, so he tried again. This time they got quite angry with him, so he just left some money anyway and went back out into the sunshine.
Just after six he returned to Fenchurch’s house in the alleyway, clutching a bottle of champagne.
Hold this, she said, shoved a stout rope in his hand and disappeared inside through the large white wooden doors from which dangled a fat padlock off a black iron bar.
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.
伊斯林顿的夏日，充斥着文物修复机器的哀鸣。
芬琪诗下午很无奈地有事儿要忙，因此阿瑟在一片迷醉的薄雾中游荡，看着那些伊斯林顿的商店，那些商店很有用，任何一个经常需要旧木工刀具，布尔战争时期的头盔，农具，办公室家具和鱼类的人都会很乐意去逛的。
阳光洒在屋顶花园上，洒在建筑师和水管工上，洒在法律顾问和夜贼上，洒在比萨饼上，洒在地产经纪人的摘要上。
阳光洒在正要走进一间重建的家具店的阿瑟上。
“这是个有趣的建筑，”店主愉快地说，“那儿的一个地窖里有条密道通往附近的酒馆。这很明显是为了摄政王修建的，这样他可以在需要的时候逃跑。”
“您的意思是，为了防止某人抓见他在买松木家具。”阿瑟说。
“不，”店主说，“不是那个原因。”
“您可得原谅我，”阿瑟说，“我今天开心惨了。”
“我明白了。”
他漫无目的地瞎逛，发现自己来到了绿色和平组织办公室的门外。他想起了自己标着“待办事项——紧急！”却再也没打开过的一份文件的内容。他带着愉快的微笑阔步走进办公室说他是来为解放海豚捐钱的。
“很有趣，”他们告诉他，“滚吧。”
这可不是他预料中的回应，因此他又试了一次。这一次他们对他真的怒了，于是他干脆撂下一点钱然后跑回阳光下。
刚过了六点，他回到了小巷里芬琪诗的房子，手里攥着一瓶香槟。
“拿着，”她一边说一边把一根结实绳子塞到他手里随后消失在黑铁条上挂着大锁的巨大白色木门后面。
这幢房子是由废弃的伊斯林顿皇家农业厅后面的轻工业小巷里的一间小马厩改建而来的。它既有巨大的马厩门，也有样貌普通的镶着漂亮光滑的木条和黑色海豚形门环的前门。那扇门的诡异之处在于它的门阶，那门阶有九英尺高，因为那扇门是开向两块地板的上部，想来原先是用来为饥饿的马匹拉进干草的。
一个旧滑轮从门上方的砌砖里伸出来，上面吊着阿瑟手里拿着的那根绳子，那根绳子的另一端悬着一把大提琴。
门在他头顶上打开了。