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“Hail the conquering hero,” said Aaron.
“But I thought you’d be—”
“Ecstatic,” said Harold Guinzburg, slapping him on the back. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook for the past hour, and you’re set to be on every major talk show across the country. But be warned, everyone’s going to pick a different page after your triumph this morning.”
“But what about Jacobs?”
“He’s turned you into an overnight star. You may never be invited back on to his show, but all the other networks are chasing you.”
* * *
Harry spent the next seven days flying from airport to airport: Boston, Washington, Dallas, Chicago, San Francisco and Los Angeles. He was rushed from studio to studio in an attempt to fulfil every commitment on his revised schedule.
Whenever he was in the air, in the back of a limousine or in a green room, even in bed, he read and re-read Uncle Joe, astounding audiences right across the country with his prodigious memory.
By the time he touched down in Los Angeles to be Johnny Carson’s headline guest on The Tonight Show, journalists and television crews were turning up at the airports, hoping to grab an interview with him, even on the move. Exhausted, Harry finally returned on the red-eye to New York, only to be whisked off in yet another limo to his publisher’s office on Lexington Avenue.
When Kirsty opened the door of the chairman’s office, Harold and Aaron Guinzburg were holding up a copy of the New York Times bestseller list. Harry leapt in the air when he saw that Uncle Joe had hit the top spot.
“How I wish Anatoly could share this moment.”
“You’re looking at the wrong list,” said Aaron.
Harry looked across to the other side of the page to see that William Warwick and the Smoking Gun headed the fiction list.
“This is a first even for me,” said Harold as he opened a bottle of champagne. “Number one in fiction and nonfiction on the same day.”
Harry turned, to see Aaron placing a framed photograph of Harry Clifton on the wall, between John Buchan and Graham Greene.
GILES BARRINGTON
1971
8
“I’M AFRAID THAT won’t be possible,” said Giles.
“Why not?” demanded Griff. “M
ost people won’t even remember what happened in Berlin, and, let’s face it, you wouldn’t be the only Member of Parliament who’s been divorced.”
“Twice, and both times for adultery!” said Giles. This silenced his parliamentary agent for a moment. “And I’m afraid there’s another problem I haven’t told you about.”
“Go on, surprise me,” said Griff with an exaggerated sigh.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Karin Pengelly.”
“You’ve been what?”
“In fact, I’m on my way to Cornwall to find out if her father can help.”
“Are you out of your tiny mind?”
“Quite possibly,” admitted Giles.
The Labour agent for Bristol Docklands covered his face with his hands. “It was a one-night stand, Giles. Or have you forgotten?”
“That’s the problem. I haven’t forgotten, and there’s only one way to find out if it was more than that for her.”
