Try the door. No, it's locked. I thought it would be. It said access by arrangement only on the website, but I couldn't get hold of anyone to arrange it.

No lights inside.

One of those sequestered London courtyards. Down a narrow passage, out of the noise of traffic, out of the hustle and bustle. Out of the sunshine too. Church tower in sunshine, but the courtyard full of damp and chilly shade. Church garden with a few shrubs, wet paving-stones, a bit of lawn. And a strong smell of exotic cooking. Must be behind a restaurant. Chinese, by the smell of it. I could do with something to eat.

In a second-floor window is a dark-haired girl with a ponytail, running on a treadmill. She glances at her wristwatch, keeps running.

A man in a blue t-shirt and trainers, sweaty-looking, perhaps straight from the gym, comes into the garden with a mobile phone glued to his ear, and stands in one of the corners with his back to me.

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