The Immaculate Read Online Free PDF

and nodded vaguely, then turned to Barry, who was hovering at Pete’s shoulder like a minder, and said, “Hi.”
    Barry murmured something inaudible, his gaze veering shyly away from Jack’s. They were a strange pair, these two, lovers by all accounts, though they were so different that the thought of them living together, sharing their lives on a day-to-day basis, made Jack’s mind boggle. He always thought of Pete as a fox—tall, lean, with quick movements and sharp features. Barry, on the other hand, was a tortoise—short, dumpy, awkward and introverted.
    â€œYou’ll be sitting here, if that’s okay,” Pete said, gesturing grandly at a spotlit table heaped with copies of Jack’s new book. Cormorant, Jack’s publisher, were really going to town on
Splinter Kiss,
his fourth novel.
    â€œFine,” Jack said, hoping the combination of spotlights and nerves were not going to make him pour with sweat. Behind the table, on the wall, was a large poster depicting the cover of
Splinter Kiss
—a striking surrealistic portrait of a woman with moths hatching from her eye sockets—and beneath his name, in large white letters, a quote from
Starburst
magazine: “Jack Stone is fast gaining a reputation as the most stunningly original dark fantasist working in Britain today.”
    â€œI’ll be sitting beside you, nearest the door,” Pete was saying, “flogging the product, so to speak. We’ve also got plenty of paperbacks of the first three on the shelves if the cheapskates would rather buy those and have those signed instead.”
    â€œGreat,” said Jack, and glanced at his watch.
    â€œStill five minutes to go,” Pete said, as if apologising. “Well, six to be precise.”
    â€œI don’t mind starting now,” Jack said, “if that’s okay with you.”
    Pete spread his hands. “Fine, fine. It’ll reduce a bit of the two-thirty backlog, anyway.”
    Barry, who had been hovering on the periphery of the conversation, now edged forward and placed a copy of
Splinter Kiss
on the desk. “Would you . . . er . . . sign this for us first?” he mumbled.
    â€œSure,” said Jack, producing his pen. “Might as well get a bit of practice in. To Pete and Barry?” Barry nodded. Jack did the honours and handed the book back with a smile. Barry muttered his thanks.
    Pete said, “Would you be a dear, Barry, and make us all some coffee?”
    Barry shuffled away. Pete flapped a hand at the muscleman standing impassively by the door. “All right, Brian, up with the portcullis.” Brian reached for the door handle but glanced back at Pete with a bewildered expression. “Well, open it then,” Pete said, rolling his eyes.
    As with all the signings he had done, Jack felt nervous and self-conscious at first, as if he had no right to be here, but after fifteen minutes or so he began to enjoy himself. The public—or “punters” as Pete referred to them—were chatty and friendly and often refreshingly weird, though from them all Jack detected a kind of reverence that he did not feel worthy of and that he did his best to break down. At ten minutes before two, Tamsin, the publicity manager from Cormorant who had set this up, arrived and asked Jack how it was going. Jack spread his hands and said, “Pretty well, as you can see.”
    â€œHave we sold many
Splinters
or is it mainly old stuff?” she asked.
    Jack shrugged as he signed. “About half and half, I should think.”
    Pete did a brief calculation and said, “We’ve sold sixteen
Splinter Kiss
’s in”—he glanced at the clock—“twenty minutes. That’s not bad. Almost one a minute. We’ll get through fifty at this rate.”
    Tamsin nodded. She was petite with spiky ginger hair and an almost constantly smiling face. “Great,” she said. “Well, I’ll just hang