Free The Great Pursuit by Tom Sharpe Page B

said Frensic thinking of the Guardian article about Graham Greene.
    'This bloody letter,' shouted Geoffrey.
    'What letter?'
    'This letter from Piper. I suppose you think it's funny to get him to write abusive filth

about his own beastly book.'
    It was Frensic's turn to shout. 'What about his book?' he yelled.
    'What do you mean "What about it?" You know damned well what I mean.'
    'I've no idea,' said Frensic.
    'He says here he considers it one of the most repulsive pieces of writing it's ever been his

misfortune to have to read '
    'Shit,' said Frensic frantically wondering how Piper had got hold of a copy of Pause.
    'Yes, that too,' said Geoffrey. 'Now where does he say that? Here we are. "If you imagine even

momentarily that for motives of commercial cupidity I am prepared to prostitute my albeit so far

unknown but not I think inconsiderable talent by assuming even remotely and as it were by proxy

responsibility for what in my view and that of any right-minded person can only be described as

the pornographic outpourings of verbal excreta..." There! I knew it was embedded somewhere. Now

what do you say to that?'
    Frensic stared venomously at Sonia and tried to think of something to say. 'I don't know,' he

muttered, 'it sounds odd. How did he get the blasted book?'
    'What do you mean "How did he get the book"?' yelled Geoffrey. 'He wrote the thing, didn't

he?'
    'Yes, I suppose so,' said Frensic edging towards the safety of admitting he didn't know who

had written it and that he had been hoodwinked by Piper. It didn't seem a very safe position to

adopt.
    'What do you mean "You suppose so"? I send him proofs of his own book to correct and I get

this abusive letter back. Anyone would think he'd never read the damned thing before. Is the man

mad or something?'
    'Yes,' said Frensic for whom the suggestion came as a God-send, 'the strain of the past few

weeks...nervous breakdown. Very highly strung you know. He gets into these states.'
    Geoffrey Corkadale's fury abated a little. 'I can't say I'm at all surprised,' he admitted.

'Anyone who can go to bed with an eighty-year-old woman must have something mentally wrong with

him. What do you want me to do with these proofs?'
    'Send them round to me and I'll see he corrects them,' said Frensic. 'And in future I suggest

you deal with Piper through me here. I think I understand him.'
    'I'm glad someone does,' said Geoffrey. 'I don't want any more letters like this one.'
    Frensic put the phone down and turned on Sonia. 'Right,' he yelled, 'I knew it. I just knew it

would happen. You heard what he said?'
    Sonia nodded sadly. 'It was our mistake,' she said. 'We should have told them to send the

proofs here.'
    'Never mind the bloody proofs,' snarled Frensic, 'our mistake was coming up with Piper in the

first place. Why Piper? The world is full of normal, sane, financially motivated, healthily

commercial authors who would be glad to stick their name to any old trash, and you had to come up

with Piper.'
    'There's no need to go on about it,' said Sonia, 'look what he's said in this telegram.'
    Frensic looked and slumped into a chair. '"Yours ineluctably Piper"? In a telegram? I wouldn't

have believed it...Well at least he's put us out of our misery though how the hell we're going to

explain to Geoffrey that the Hutchmeyer deal is off...'
    'It isn't off,' said Sonia.
    'But Piper says '
    'Screw what he says. He's going to the States if I have to carry him. We've paid him good

money, we've sold his lousy book and he's under obligation to go. He's not going to back out on

that contract now. I'm going down to Exforth to talk with him.'
    'Leave well alone,' said Frensic, 'that's my advice. That young man can ' but the phone rang

and by the time he had spent ten minutes discussing the new ending of Final Fling with Miss Gold,

Sonia had left.
    'Hell hath no fury...' he muttered, and returned to his own office.
    Piper took his afternoon walk along the