Cover-Up Story Read Online Free Page B

preferably, from some other people.
    â€˜Since there’s nothing more I can do for you, I’ll say good night now,’ I told them. If I’d been in the right mood, I might have found the looks of disappointment on their faces, as I closed the door behind me, comic.
    But I was in the wrong mood. I didn’t like any of it. The uneasiness I had felt all day was stronger than ever. Something very unpleasant was coming – and nothing could stop it.
    I was going to find out the Facts of Life, all right. But I wasn’t going to go looking for them. Not with the Cousins.
    They were the kind of nasty-minded little boys Mother had warned me never to go behind the barn with.

CHAPTER III
    I WENT BACK to the office. Perkins & Tate (Public Relations) Ltd have a small office flat near the top in one of the buildings sloping down towards the river in Villiers Street. If Maw Cooney had ever seen it, she’d have thought her old room was the Grand Ballroom at Buckingham Palace by comparison.
    Gerry Tate was brooding at the window, fouling the atmosphere with one of the tiny cigars which were trying to fool the public that they were non-carcinogenic cigarettes. We had held that account for a month before the client decided one of the big advertising agencies could do a splashier job for him. We still had a crateful of the product under the desk. When we were desperate we smoked them, but we’d never again mention them by name. No publicity once the client has withdrawn the account. I saw five stubs in the ashtray. The situation must be serious – Gerry wasn’t even making a face as he inhaled.
    â€˜Which account did we lose this time?’
    He hadn’t heard me come in. He jumped, but recovered quickly. ‘I always said we ought to stay out of the art game.’
    That was his story today. He’d been the enthusiastic one when the lady sculptor approached us a month ago and suggested that she was willing to pay a modest amount in order to get as much publicity as possible for her first one-man show in thirty years.
    We’d done all we could, but she’d hated most of our ideas. Gerry had wanted her to jazz up the show by scattering a few urinals, tastefully decorated, of course, among the general works. He’d pointed out, quite rightly, that it was the sort of thing that got critics enthusiastic these days. We’d nearly lost her then and there. She was a serious, solid lady, and her works were serious, solid figures of Earth-Mother types – the sort of thing that had had a brief vogue in the thirties. But she was sure that she had ‘something to say’ to today’s audiences. The show had opened this afternoon, while I was trying to get Black Bart and the Troupe from the boat-train to their hotels, and then on to the Press Conference.
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜She lost her temper.’ He turned away from the window. Three long jagged scratches ran down the side of his face. ‘I guess it took her by surprise, but she’d never have agreed if I asked her.’
    I waited.
    â€˜Well, you know it’s the only way to get space these days. You know that Earth-Mother in the – uh – unfortunate position?’
    Practically any of them could be described that way, but I thought I knew the one he meant. I kept waiting.
    â€˜I hired a bidet from a plumbing supply company and shoved it under the statue.’ He raised his hand and stroked the scratches gingerly. ‘The boys loved it. The show will be in most of the papers in town.’
    â€˜But we won’t get paid for it.’
    â€˜Well – uh – no. While I was trying to hold her off, I gathered that we were not only fired – we’d never been hired. But she’ll be written up on the news pages, instead of being tucked away in a couple of art reviews.’ He brightened. ‘Maybe we could sue?’
    He was a nice guy. He tried. Most damning of all – he