Read Online Crime Writers and Other Animals by Simon Brett - Free Book Online

started building up scrapbooks of newspaper cuttings, and after a while began the practice of soliciting scurrilous gossip about his rival whenever the opportunity arose. So extreme was Bartlett Mears’ general behaviour that such opportunities arose frequently. All this adversarial anecdotage was also punctiliously recorded.
    Gradually, over thirty years, was built up an exhaustive archive of misbehaviour.
    There was no doubt that Carlton Rutherford had got all the dirt on Bartlett Mears.
    It was early in 1991 that the idea came to him, and he was immediately impressed by its simplicity and wholeness.
    He rang Dashiel Loukes the same day. ‘There’s a project I want to put to you.’
    The agent, who thought he had permanently shaken off Carlton Rutherford some twenty years before, was instantly evasive. He was very busy, he had all the authors he could cope with, the current state of publishing was too depressing for him to offer any hope to another saga of North Country misunderstanding.
    â€˜Ah, but what I’m talking about now is non-fiction,’ Carlton Rutherford announced triumphantly.
    â€˜Well, the state of the non-fiction market is not a lot more encouraging at the—’
    â€˜Come on, we must meet and talk about the idea. It’s a sure-fire commercial proposition.’
    Dashiel Loukes tried valiantly to escape, but eventually succumbed to a meeting. He suggested the author should come to his Mayfair office the following Thursday at eleven-thirty, an appointment whose timing proclaimed ‘not only am I not offering you lunch, but also I am having lunch with someone considerably more important than you’.
    â€˜What I’m suggesting,’ Carlton Rutherford pronounced, once he was safely ensconced in the agent’s office, ‘is a biography of Bartlett Mears.’
    Dashiel Loukes looked up, his face purple from its daily marinade in the good wines of the Garrick and the Groucho. Time had treated his business kindly. Three of his espionage authors were now international bestsellers, and his principal daily task was to sit and work out his percentage of their money as, unprompted, it came rolling in.
    â€˜An official biography?’ he asked.
    â€˜No, no,’ Carlton Rutherford replied slyly. ‘An extremely
un
official biography.’
    â€˜Hm . . .’
    â€˜You can’t deny that Bartlett Mears is the kind of person the public wants to read about.’
    â€˜I’m not denying that. It’s a matter of
what
they want to read about him. A literary biography of a living author’s bound to be a minority sale.’
    â€˜I’m not talking about a
literary
biography of Bartlett Mears. I’m talking about a
scurrilous
biography. I’ve got all the dirt,’ Carlton Rutherford concluded smugly.
    Dashiel Loukes was thoughtful. ‘It’s actually not such a bad idea . . .’ he conceded.
    The author smiled.
    â€˜Trouble is . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜
You
, Carlton, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜What? At the absolute lowest, I’m a perfectly competent writer.’
    â€˜I know, but your name’s not . . .’
    â€˜Not what?’
    â€˜Not
sexy
.’
    â€˜I don’t see what sex has got to do with it,’ said Carlton Rutherford, who was always embarrassed by the subject.
    â€˜Look, for a project like this – which, as I say, is actually not a bad idea – if I’m going to sell it to a publisher, I’d be on much stronger ground if I was selling it on the name of a well-known journalist or—’
    â€˜But you don’t want a well-known journalist, you want someone who knows the facts. And I can assure you – I’ve got all the dirt,’ Carlton Rutherford reiterated.
    â€˜Hm . . .’ The agent looked at his watch. ‘Got to be off soon, I’m afraid. Tell you what – I’ll have a ring round some publishers this afternoon – see if I get