He thought: ‘Whatever happens, this is, so far, the best time of my life. Whatever happens I’ll look back at today, for instance, and say: “Oh that was the morning when I knew what’s meant by bliss”.’

While he stood there the man from Phipps Bros came out of Phipps Passage.

‘Morning, guvnor,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Jobbins.’

‘Looks a treat, dunnit?’

‘Lovely.’

‘Ah. Different. From what it was when you took the plunge.’

‘Yes: indeed.’

‘Yes. You wouldn’t be looking for a watchman, I suppose? Now she’s near finished-like? Night or day. Any time?’

‘I expect we shall want someone. Why? Do you know of a good man?’

‘Self-praise, no recommendation’s what they say, ainnit?’

‘Do you mean you’d take it on?’

‘Not to deceive yer, guvnor, that was the idea. Dahn the Passage in our place, it’s too damp, for me chubes, see? Something chronic. I got good references, guvnor. Plenty’d speak up for me. ‘Ow’s it strike yer? Wiv a sickening thud or favourable?’

‘Why,’ said Peregrine. ‘Favourably, I believe.’

‘Will you bear me in mind, then?’

‘I’ll do that thing,’ said Peregrine.

‘Gor’ bless yer, guv,’ said Jobbins and retired down Phipps Passage.

Peregrine crossed the lane and entered the portico of his theatre. He looked at the framed notice:

DOLPHIN THEATRE
REOPENING SHORTLY
UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

It hung immediately under the tatter of a Victorian playbill that he had seen on his first remarkable visit.

THE BEGGAR GIRL’S WEDDING
In response to Overwhelming Solicitation!! –
Mr Adolphus Ruby

When the painters cleaned and resurfaced the façade, Peregrine had made them work all round that precarious fragment without touching it. ‘It shall stay here,’ he had said to Jeremy Jones, ‘as long as I do.’

He opened the front doors. They had new locks and the doors themselves had been stripped and scraped and restored to their original dignity.

The foyer was alive. It was being painted, gilded, polished and furbished. There were men on scaffolds, on long ladders, on pendant platforms. A great chandelier lay in a sparkling heap on the floor. The two fat cherubim, washed and garnished, beamed upside-down into the resuscitated box-office.

Peregrine said good morning to the workmen and mounted the gently curving stairs.

There was still a flower-engraved looking-glass behind the bar but now he advanced towards himself across shining mahogany, framed by brass. The bar was all golden syrup and molasses in colour. ‘Plain, serviceable, no tatt,’ Peregrine muttered.

The renovations had been completed up here and soon a carpet would be laid. He and Jeremy and the young decorator had settled in the end for the classic crimson, white and gilt and the panelling blossomed, Peregrine thought, with the glorious vulgarity of a damask rose. He crossed the foyer to a door inscribed ‘Management’ and went in.