Felix in the Underworld by John Mortimer Page A

is.’
    â€˜Make up your mind.’
    â€˜I had no idea who she was when this unfortunate child was conceived.’
    â€˜Unfortunate? Why do you say he’s unfortunate? I should think he’s quite lucky if he’s got you for a father. A person in the public eye.’
    â€˜Listen, Brenda’ – Felix tried to sound firm, clear-headed and determined– ‘I have no children. Nothing ever happened. We’ve got to kill it.’
    â€˜The child?’
    â€˜Of course not! The story.’
    â€˜Too late. Lucasta’s getting all the details.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Someone’s rung her who knows you quite well and, incidentally, he’s a tremendous admirer of your work.’
    â€˜Oh, my God! Gavin!’ Felix shouted, causing the copyeditors at the next table to look up in alarm.
    â€˜Who the hell’s Gavin?’
    â€˜He’s been following me. Dogging my footsteps. Persecuting me! Actually you met him at Millstream’s.’
    â€˜The Gothic couple? And that woman . . . ?’
    â€˜Ian’s mother.’
    â€˜Felix, you must have shut your eyes very tightly indeed. Hadn’t you better tell me the whole story?’
    Telling it was a relief to Felix. He went through it all from the first-time caller on the Denny Densher show, the tape-recorded message, the lunch with Miriam, the meeting with Huw Hotchkiss and the letter from PROD. She listened attentively and he felt, as he didn’t always feel with Brenda, whom he loved, that he was being interesting. At the end of it she put her hand on his and said, ‘So PROD are after you?’
    â€˜Twenty thousand and growing steadily.’
    â€˜That’s a hell of a lot of money!’ Brenda gave a respectful whistle.
    â€˜So I don’t really want a story in the papers,’ he told her. ‘Not till the whole thing’s settled.’
    â€˜When’s that going to be?’
    â€˜I’m not sure. I’m going to find Gavin and have it out with him finally. He started all this. So can you hold Lucasta off?’
    â€˜I’ll see what I can do.’
    â€˜We’ll have a wonderful time, won’t we, when we go abroad?’ Felix did his best to turn the conversation to happier subjects.
    â€˜I’m afraid,’ Ms Bodkin smiled at him, ‘abroad is likely to be postponed. You’ve got too much on your plate.’
    â€˜Isn’t it the Basingstoke Literary Circle next week? I know that’s not exactly abroad but. . .’
    â€˜No, Basingstoke is not abroad.’ Ms Bodkin was quite firmly of the opinion. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure how you’ll get there. I’ve got so much on I don’t think I’ll be able to drive you to Basingstoke.’
    â€˜What about Terry, the rep?’
    â€˜Terry’s away.’ Brenda slid up the cuff of her footballing shirt and stared closely at her Mickey Mouse watch. ‘It’s half past already! I’ll be late for the meeting with Tubal-Smith. Goodbye, Felix. I’ve really got to scoot.’ So she gulped the rest of her glass of Fleurie and scooted with her game pie hardly touched. And Felix, filled with hardly bearable loneliness, went off to find a telephone directory and the address of Epsilon Books.
    â€˜Mr Morsom, sir. This is indeed an honour. If you have anything in your “bottom drawer”, sir. Anything which may have given Tubal-Smith of Llama “cold feet”. Something not for the “general reader”. Shall we say, “flagellation”, “bestiality”, “necrophilia”, “socialism”? We would issue it for you, sir. Cloth-bound. A “luxury presentation”. Copies for private circulation among a “few close friends”. On the most “reasonable terms”.’
    â€˜I just dropped in . . .’
    â€˜And I’m so glad you did, Mr Morsom. So delighted you did. We could, of course, publish you