'Braxton,' I said, giving him a spontaneous hug, 'you're a darling!'
'Nonsense!' he said gruffly, and a tad embarrassed. 'But I do expect a little something in return.'
'And that is?'
'Well,' he said slowly, his eyes dropping to the ground, 'I wonder if you and I might—'
'Might what?'
'Might . . . play golf on Sunday. A few holes.' His eyes gleamed. 'Just for you to get the taste. Believe me, as soon as you grasp the handle of a golf club you'll be hooked for ever! Mrs Hicks need never know. How about it?'
'I'll be there at nine,' I told him, laughing.
'You'll be a long time waiting – I get there at eleven.'
'Eleven it is.'
I shook his hand and walked out of the door a free woman. Sometimes help arrives from the last place you expect it.
7
The Literary Detectives
GOLIATH CORPORATION PUBLISH BROAD DENIAL
The Goliath Corporation yesterday attempted to head off annoying and time-wasting speculation by issuing the broadest denial to date. 'Quite simply, we deny everything,' said Mr Toedee, the Goliath head PR operative, 'including any story that you might have heard now or in the future.' Goliath's shock tactics reflected the growing unease with Goliath's unaccountability, especially over its advanced weapons division. 'It's very simple,' continued Mr Toedee, 'until we have been elevated to a faith when everything can be denied using the "Goliath work in mysterious ways" excuse, we expressly deny possessing, or any involvement with, the Ovinator, anti-smote technology, "Speed-grow" tomatoes or Diatrymas running wild in the New Forest. In fact, we don't know what any of these things are.' To cries of 'What is an Ovinator?' and 'Tomatoes?', Mr Toedee declared the press conference over, blessed everyone and departed.
Article in The Toad on Sunday. 3 July 1988
I found Bowden fretting in the LiteraTec office and related what had happened.
'Well, well,' he said at last, 'I think old Braxton's got a crush.'
'Oh, stop it!'
The office we were sitting in resembled a large library in a country house somewhere. It was two storeys high, with shelves crammed full of books covering every square inch of wall space. A spiral staircase led to a catwalk which ran around the wall, enabling access to the upper galleries. It was neat and methodical – but somehow less busy than I remembered.
'Where is everyone?'
'When you were here last we had a staff of eight. Now it's only Victor, me and Malm. All the rest were reassigned or laid off.'
'All SpecOps departments?'
Bowden laughed.
'Of course not! The bully boys at SO-I4 are alive and well and answer to Yorrick Kaine's every order. SO-1 haven't seen many cuts, either—'
'Thursday, 'what a delightful surprise!'
It was Victor Analogy, my old boss here at the Swindon LiteraTecs. He was an elderly gentleman with large mutton-chop sideburns, dressed in a neat tweed suit and bow tie. He had taken off his jacket owing to the summer heat but still managed to cut a very dashing figure, despite his advanced age.
'Victor, you're looking very well!'
'And you, dear girl. What devilry have you been up to since
last we met?'
'It's a long story.'