reveal to me. You spoke of a proviso. Now if your friend from the Mafia had been prepared to pay two million pounds for this verbal hogwash I would have known the time had come to pack up and leave town. What does the swine want?'
'One, he wants to see the Corkadales contract.'
'That's all right. There's nothing wrong with it.'
'Just that it doesn't mention the sum of fifty thousand pounds Corkadales have paid for Pause,' said Sonia. 'Otherwise it's just dandy.'
Frensic gaped at her. 'Fifty thousand pounds? They didn't pay '
'Hutchmeyer needed impressing so I said...'
'He needs his head read. Corkadales haven't fifty thousand pennies to rub together, let alone pounds.'
'Right. Which he knew. So I told him Geoffrey had staked his personal fortune. Now you know why he wants to see the contract?'
Frensic rubbed his forehead and thought. 'I suppose we could always draw up a new contract and get Geoffrey to sign it pro tem and tear it up when Hutchmeyer's seen it,' he said at last. 'Geoffrey won't like it but with his cut of two million...What's the next problem?'
Sonia hesitated. 'This one you won't like. He insists, but insists, that the author goes to the States for a promotional tour. Senior citizens I have loved sort of stuff on TV and signings.'
Frensic took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. 'Insists?' he spluttered. 'He can't insist. We've got an author who won't even sign his name to a contract, let alone appear in public, some madman with agoraphobia or its equivalent and Hutchmeyer wants him to parade round America appearing on TV?'
'Insists, Frenzy, insists. Not wants. Either the author goes or the deal is off.'
'Then it's off,' said Frensic. 'The man won't go. You heard what Cadwalladine said. Total anonymity.'
'Not even for two million.'
Frensic shook his head. 'I told Cadwalladine we were going to ask for a large sum and he said money didn't count.'
'But two million isn't money. It's a fortune.'
'I know it is, but...'
'Try Cadwalladine again,' said Sonia and handed him the phone. Frensic tried again. At length. Mr Cadwalladine was emphatic. Two million dollars was a fortune but his instructions were that his client's anonymity meant more to him than mere...
It was a dispiriting conversation for Frensic.
'What did I tell you,' he said when he had finished. 'We're dealing with some sort of lunatic. Two lunatics. Hutchmeyer being the other.'
'So we're just going to sit back and watch twenty per cent of two million dollars disappear down the plughole and do nothing about it?' said Sonia. Frensic stared miserably across the roofs of Covent Garden and sighed. Twenty per cent of two million came to four hundred thousand dollars, over two hundred thousand pounds. That would have been their commission on the sale. And thanks to James Jamesforth's libel action they had just lost two more valuable authors.
'There must be some way of fixing this,' he muttered. 'Hutchmeyer doesn't know who the author is any more than we do.'
'He does too,' said Sonia. 'It's Peter Piper. His name's on the title page.'
Frensic looked at her with new appreciation. 'Peter Piper,' he murmured, 'now there's a thought.'
They closed the office for the night and went down to the pub across the road for a drink.
'Now if there were some way we could persuade Piper to act as understudy...' said Frensic after a large whisky.
