'You heard of a book called Harold and Maude?' he asked.
'No,' said Piper.
'Why?' said Sonia.
Hutchmeyer looked at her balefully. 'Why? I'll tell you why,' he said. 'Because Harold and Maude just happens to be about an eighteen-year-old who falls in love with an eighty and they've already made the movie. That's why. And I want to know how come no one told me I was buying a novel that had already been written by someone else and '
'Are you suggesting that Piper's guilty of plagiarism?' said Sonia. 'Because if you are let me '
'Plagiarism?' yelled Hutchmeyer. 'What plagiarism? I'm saying he stole the goddam story and I've been had for a sucker by some two-bit '
Hutchmeyer had turned purple and Baby intervened. 'If you're going to stand there and insult Mr Piper,' she said, 'I am not going to sit here and listen to you. Come along, Mr Piper. You and I will leave these two '
'Stop,' bawled Hutchmeyer, 'I've paid two million dollars and I want to know what Mr Piper has to say about it. Like...'
'I assure you I have never read Harold and Maude,' said Piper, 'I've never even heard of it.'
'I can vouch for that,' said Sonia. 'Besides, it's quite different. It's not the same at all...'
'Come, Mr Piper,' said Baby and shepherded him out of the room. Behind them Hutchmeyer and Sonia could be heard shouting. Piper staggered across the piazza lounge and sank ashen-faced into a chair.
'I knew it would go wrong,' he muttered.
Baby looked at him curiously. 'What would go wrong, honey?' she asked. Piper shook his head despondently. 'You didn't copy that book, did you?'
'No,' said Piper, 'I've never even heard of it.'
'Then you've got nothing to worry about. Miss Futtle will sort it out with him. They're two of a kind. Now why don't you go and have a rest?'
Piper went dolefully upstairs with her and into his room. Baby went into her bedroom thoughtfully and shut the door. Her intuition was working overtime. She sat on the bed and thought about his words, 'I knew it would go wrong.' Peculiar. What would go wrong? One thing at least was clear in her mind. He had never heard of Harold and Maude. That was sincerity speaking. And Baby Hutchmeyer had lived with insincerity long enough to recognize the truth when she heard it. She waited a while and then went along the passage and quietly opened the door of Piper's room. He was sitting with his back to her at the table by the window. At his elbow was a bottle of ink and in front of him a large leatherbound book. He was writing. Baby watched for a minute and then very gently shut the door and went back to the great waterbed inspired. She had just seen true genius at work. Like Balzac. Downstairs there was the rumble of Hutchmeyer and Sonia Futtle in battle. Baby lay back and stared into space, filled with a terrible sense of her own inutility. In the next room a solitary writer strove to convey to her and millions like her the significance of everything he thought and felt, to create a world enhanced by his imagination which would move into the future a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Downstairs those two word-merchants haggled and fought and ultimately marketed his work. And she did nothing. She was a barren creature without use or purpose, self-indulgent and insignificant. She turned her face to a Tretchikoff and presently fell asleep.
She woke an hour later to the sound of voices from the next room. They were faint and indistinct. Sonia and Piper talking. She lay and listened but could distinguish nothing. Then she heard Piper's door shut and their voices in the passage. She got off the bed and crossed to the
