![quantom of solace quantom of solace](https://images.launchbox-app.com/108515e9-622a-4c2b-aefb-477db95b5175.jpg)
![quantom of solace quantom of solace](https://images8.alphacoders.com/640/640431.jpg)
I repeated the exercise to make sure I wasn’t imagining it, but with the same result. Opening the second door again, I looked more carefully at the corridor, then I closed that door and opened the first one. Perhaps it was the effect of the coffee, but by the time I was halfway through the mug I had a nagging doubt. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the corridor outside looked boringly familiar, so I wandered back in and poured myself a mug of my special roast. It opened reluctantly, but, sadly, without any dramatic sound effects. The tin rattled when shaken, and popping it open revealed a large key, which I found fitted the lock of the second door. Then, jammed at the back, I found an old tobacco tin and an ancient briar pipe. I hauled out sheaves of old letterheads from decades ago, which competed for space with offprint request cards, airmail envelopes, boxes of staples and scrunched-up carbon paper. Plugging in the coffee filter was the final symbolic gesture of taking possession, and while it dripped I started emptying the top drawer of the desk into a recycling bag. Then I managed to corner a usable wi-fi signal over by the window and dragged the desk over to put my laptop on. The rest of the day was spent running up and down the stairs from the lab, shifting enough of my stuff to make good use of the office. “No, sorry – but I hope you’ll find one door enough.” “No key for this one, I suppose?” I asked, receiving in return the look I deserved, combining overwork, boredom and a longing to express his true feelings about academics. I tried the handle of the second door, but it didn’t open. “There you go: it must have been a bit like working at the bottom of a well with it chopped into two.” “They’ve carved these rooms about a bit over the years, I guess this one was divided at some point.” Squinting up at the high ceiling in a builderly manner, he pointed to a double line in the plaster. I slapped the slate microscope bench proprietorially and smiled at the man from Estates, who nodded and pointed to the key in the door lock. The dusty parquet floor was stacked with piles of defunct journals, crispy from sun and central heating, and a very dead pot plant squatted discouragingly on the windowsill – but the room was on the floor above my lab and would do for now. Thankfully, the crumbling leather-topped wooden desk, glass-fronted bookcases and slate slab benchtop attached to one wall gave some suggestion of its true function.
#Quantom of solace full
Gothically Victorian in proportions, with a high ceiling and complex leaded window, it lacked only a flight of bats to win full approval as a Hammer Horror film set. However welcome, though, my new quarters had clearly not been used for many, many years.
![quantom of solace quantom of solace](https://asset.kompas.com/crops/hBkclck2vN7iHLRaGjAKATl0b-E=/0x11:711x485/750x500/data/photo/2021/03/05/6041912f11185.jpg)
After so long in the sweaty pandemonium of a shared office, the idea of having a room to myself was exciting, even if I’d only got hold of it because of pandemic-induced social distancing. I was more worried about the crumbling plasterwork above the window, but I nodded and thanked him. “There isn’t much we can do about the decor, I’m afraid – but as soon as the lockdown ends, we’ll get the lads to do you a coat of magnolia and some carpet tiles, if you like.” He stood, formidably masked, in the doorway while I snooped around the room. The harassed-looking bloke from Estates was apologetic, which was a first in itself.