The Great Pursuit Read Free Page A

consented to leave with his

manuscript when Sonia threatened to call the police. By lunchtime Frensic was bordering on

hysteria.
    'I can't stand it,' he whimpered. The phone rang and Frensic shied. 'If it's for me, tell them

I'm not in. I'm having a breakdown. Tell them '
    It was for him. Sonia put her hand over the mouthpiece. 'It's Margot Joseph. She says she's

dried up and doesn't think she can finish '
    Frensic fled to the safety of his own office and took his phone off the hook.
    'For the rest of the day I'm not in,' he told Sonia when she came through a few minutes later.

'I shall sit here and think.'
    'In that case you can read this,' said Sonia and put a parcel on his desk. 'It came this

morning. I haven't had time to open it.'
    'It's probably a bomb,' said Frensic gloomily and undid the string. But the package contained

nothing more threatening than a neatly typed manuscript and an envelope addressed to Mr F. A.

Frensic. Frensic glanced at the manuscript and noted with satisfaction that its pages were

pristine and its corners unthumbed, a healthy sign which indicated that he was the first

recipient and that it hadn't gone the rounds of other agents. Then he looked at the title page.

It said simply PAUSE O MEN FOR THE VIRGIN, A Novel. There was no author's name and no return

address. Odd. Frensic opened the envelope and read the letter inside. It was brief and impersonal

and mystifying.

    Cadwalladine & Dimkins Solicitors
    596 St Andrew's Street Oxford

    Dear Sir,
    All communications concerning the possible sale, publication and copyright of the enclosed

manuscript should be addressed to this office marked for the Personal Attention of P.

Cadwalladine.
    The author, who wishes to remain strictly anonymous, leaves the matter of terms of sale and

choice of a suitable nom de plume and related matters entirely in your hands.
    Yours faithfully,
    Percy Cadwalladine.

    Frensic read the letter through several times before turning his attention to the manuscript.

It was a very odd letter. An author who wished to remain strictly anonymous? Left everything

concerning sale and choice of nom de plume and related matters entirely in his hands? Considering

that all the authors he had ever dealt with were notoriously egotistical and interfering there

was a lot to be said for one who was so self-effacing. Positively endearing, in fact. With the

silent wish that Mr Jamesforth had left everything in his hands Frensic turned the title page of

Pause O Men for the Virgin and began to read.
    He was still reading an hour later, his snuff box open on the desk and his waistcoat and the

creases of his trousers powdered with snuff. Frensic reached unthinkingly for the box and took

another large pinch and wiped his nose with his third handkerchief. In the next office the phone

rang. People climbed the stairs and knocked on Sonia's door. Traffic rumbled outside in the

street. Frensic was oblivious to these extraneous sounds. He turned another page and read on.
    It was half past six when Sonia Futtle finished for the day and prepared to leave. The door of

Frensic's office was shut and she hadn't heard him go. She opened it and peered inside. Frensic

was sitting at his desk staring fixedly through the window over the dark roofs of Covent Garden

with a slight smile on his face. It was an attitude she recognized, the posture of triumphant

discovery.
    'I don't believe it,' she said standing in the doorway.
    'Read it,' said Frensic. 'Don't believe me. Read it for yourself.' His hand flicked

dismissively towards the manuscript.
    'A good one?'
    'A bestseller.'
    'Are you sure?'
    'Positive.'
    'And of course it's a novel?'
    'One hopes so,' said Frensic, 'fervently.'
    'A dirty book,' said Sonia, who recognized the symptoms.
    'Dirty,' said Frensic, 'is hardly adequate. The mind that penned if minds can pen this odyssey

of lust is of a prurience indescribable.' He got up and handed her the