'Not to mention our overdraft,' said Geoffrey. 'And to be brutally frank, we have to choose between our reputation and bankruptcy.'
'But does it have to be this awful book?' said Mr Tate. 'I mean have you read it?'
Geoffrey nodded. 'As a matter of fact I have. I know that my father didn't make a habit of reading anything later than Meredith but...'
'Your poor father,' said Mr Wilberforce with feeling, 'must be turning in his grave at the very thought '
'Where, with any luck, he will shortly be joined by the so-called heroine of this disgusting novel,' said Mr Tate.
Geoffrey rearranged a stray lock of hair. 'Considering that papa was cremated I shouldn't have thought that his turning or her joining him would be very easy,' he murmured. Mr Wilberborce and Mr Tate looked grim. Geoffrey adjusted his smile. 'Your objection then I take it is based on the fact that the romance in this novel is between a seventeen-year-old boy and an eighty-year-old woman?' he said.
'Yes,' said Mr Wilberforce more loudly than was his wont, 'it is. Though how you can bring yourself to use the word 'romance'...'
'The relationship then. The term doesn't matter.'
'It's not the term I'm worried about,' said Mr Tate. 'It's not even the relationship. If it simply stuck to that it wouldn't be so bad. It's the bits in between that get me. I had no idea...oh well never mind. The whole thing is so awful.'
'It's the bits in between,' said Geoffrey, 'that will sell the book.'
Mr Wilberforce shook his head. 'Personally I'm inclined to think we would run the risk, the gravest risk of being prosecuted for obscenity,' he said, 'and in my view quite rightly.'
'I agree,' said Mr Tate. 'I mean, take the episode where they use the rocking horse and the douche '
'For God's sake,' squawked Mr Wilberforce. 'It was bad enough having to read it. Do we have to hold a post-mortem?'
'The term is applicable,' said Mr Tate. 'Even the title...'
'All right,' said Geoffrey, 'I grant you that it's a bit tasteless but '
'Tasteless? What about the part where he '
'Don't, Tate, don't, there's a good fellow,' said Mr Wilberforce feebly.
'As I was saying,' continued Geoffrey, 'I'm prepared to admit that that sort of thing isn't everyone's cup of tea...oh for goodness sake, Wilberforce...well anyway I can think of half a dozen books like it...'
'I can't, thank God,' said Mr Tate.
'...which in their time were considered objectionable but '
'Name me one,' shouted Mr Wilberforce. 'Just name me one to equal this!' His hand shook at the manuscript.
'Lady Chatterley,' said Geoffrey.
'Pah,' said Mr Tate. 'By comparison Chatterley was pure as the driven snow.'
'Anyway Chatterley's banned,' said Mr Wilberforce.
Geoffrey Corkadale heaved a sigh. 'Oh God,' he muttered, 'someone tell him that the Georgians aren't around any longer.'
'More's the pity,' said Mr Tate. 'We did rather well with some of them. The rot set in with The Well of Loneliness.
'And there's another filthy book,' said Mr Wilberforce, 'but we didn't publish it.'
'The rot set in,' Geoffrey interrupted, 'when Uncle Cuthbert took it into his woolly head to pulp Wilkie's Ballroom Dancing Made Perfect and published Fashoda's Guide to the Edible Fungi in its place.'
'Fashoda was a bad choice,' Mr Tate agreed. 'I remember the coroner was most
