The Loo Sanction Read Free Page A

butt in suede jacket’s wineglass. “I don’t think it’s a myth at all. The misconception is that it takes a penis to achieve it.”
    â€œHow interesting,” said Mrs. Farquahar.
    â€œI say!” injected suede jacket, feeling somehow he had been left out of the conversation. “Did you read about that man found impaled in St. Martin’s-In-The-Fields?”
    â€œOh, ghastly business,” Sir Wilfred said.
    â€œOh, I don’t know. If you have to go . . .” He wriggled a shoulder and took a sip of wine.
    While he was coping with the mouthful of tobacco, Vanessa said to Mrs. Farquahar, “Come, let me introduce you to the young man who has drawn this sparkling company together.”
    â€œYes. I’d like that.”
    They pushed off through the crowd, Vanessa leading the way and prowing through the congested sea of people. Suede jacket stood on tiptoe and waved extravagantly to someone who had just entered, then struggled off after a word of apology.
    Jonathan and Sir Wilfred stood side by side against the wall. “What’s all this about climbing, Fred?” Jonathan asked without looking at him. “You get a nosebleed from standing on a thick carpet.”
    â€œJust the first thing that came to my mind, Jon.” The flappy tones of the bungling British civil servant dropped away from his speech.
    â€œI see. Are you still in the Service?”
    â€œNo, no. I’ve been on the shelf for several years now. The extent of my counterespionage activities now is trying to find out how much my chauffeur tells my wife.”
    â€œWhen I saw your name on my appointment to come over here, I assumed MI–5 had found you an elastic cover.”
    â€œI’m afraid not. I am well and truly out to pasture. The electronic age has caught up with me. One has to be a damned engineer these days to stay in the game. No, I serve my country by chairing committees devoted to the task of bringing cultural enrichment to our shores. You constitute a cultural enrichment.” He laughed. “Who would have thought in the old days when we were flogging about Europe, now on the same team, now in opposition, that we would be brought so low.”
    â€œYou
do
know that I’m out of it totally now?” Jonathan wanted to be sure.
    â€œOh, certainly. First thing I checked upon when your name came up. The chaps at the old office said you were—to use their uncomplimentary compliment—politically subpotent. By which I take it that you and CII have parted company.”
    â€œThat we have. By the way, congratulations on your knighthood.”
    â€œNot so much of an achievement as you might imagine. These days few people escape that distinction. When you leave the Service they automatically lumber you with a K.B.E. They’ve found it’s cheaper than a gold watch, I suspect. Ah, the ladies return.”
    As she approached, Vanessa said to Jonathan, “I didn’t lure you here just to punish you with my acquaintances. There’s something I want to show you.” She turned to Mrs. Farquahar. “Jon and I have to run off for a moment.”
    Mrs. Farquahar smiled and inclined her head.
    In the hall where it was relatively quiet Jonathan asked, “What’s this all about, Van?”
    â€œYou’ll see. A chance for you to pick up some pocket money. But look, don’t get uptight, and for God’s sake, don’t cause any trouble. That could be very bad for me.” She led the way down a corridor, past the table at which the maids and caterer’s assistants were flirting, to the door of a small private display room. “Come on.”
    Jonathan entered, then stopped short. A bronze
Horse and Rider
by Marino Marini stood in the center of a darkened room, its ragged modeling accented by the acute angle of a shaft of dramatically placed light. About forty inches high, a sand-colored forced patina, the modeling seemed to