MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 24
the authors they’d ever rejected in the pages of The Times Literary Supplement. The
Bookie placed bets. Whodunnit? Hilary Mantel was the frontrunner, obviously. Well,
you can’t tell me you’ve never had suspicions about Hilary. Whotheygonnadonext? Will
it be Araminta in the library, stabbed in the neck with a pencil, or Peregrine in the
coffee shop, suffocated by his own tweed jacket? Everyone had a theory; everyone was
reading away, hunting for clues in the acknowledgements of cookery books and dog
grooming guides. The remaining agents sat at their desks frantically typing: yes I said
yes I will Yes!
The murders remain unsolved. Shame to end my career on a downer, but I was
coming up to retirement anyway. Decided to go early, on account of my health, and
concentrate on writing my memoirs. I sent the manuscript to a small press –
unagented – and it sold faster than you can say “you’re nicked, mate.”
I pull up my Bentley, outside the offices of Pilemhigh and Sellemcheap, recline the
cream leather seat and put my decaf, sugar-free vanilla soy latte back down in the cup
holder. Seems like I’m some kind of literary agent myself now. I know bestseller
material when I see it.
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