The Fourth Estate (50 page)

“Just tell me
what you want, Derek. I’m well known for honoring my pledges.”

‘This document
states that if you take control of the paper in question, I will be appointed
editor, or paid compensation of E 100,000.” He handed Armstrong the onepage
agreement.

Armstrong read
quickly through it. As soon as he realized there was no mention of any salary,
only of the appointment as editor, he signed above his name at the bottom of
the page. He had got rid of a man in Bradford by agreeing he should be editor
and then paying him a pound a year. He would have advised Kirby that cheap
lawyers always get you cheap results, but he satisfied himself with passing the
signed document back to its eager recipient.

“Thank you,”
said Kirby, looking a little more confident.

“So, which paper
do you want to edit?”

“The Globe.”

For the second
time that morning Armstrong was taken by surprise. The Globe was one of the
icons of Fleet Street. No one had ever suggested it might be up for sale.

“But all the
shares are held by one family,” said Armstrong.

‘That’s
correct,” said Kirby. ‘Two brothers and a sisterin-law. Sir Walter, Alexander,
and Margaret Sherwood. And because Sir Walter is the chairman, everyone
imagines he controls the company. But that isn’t the case: the shares are split
equally between the three of them.”

4

“I knew that
much,” said Armstrong. “It’s been reported in every profile of Sir Walter I’ve
ever read.”

“Yes. But what
hasn’t been reported is that recently there’s been a falling-out between them
...”

Armstrong raised
an eyebrow.

‘They all met
for dinner at Alexandees apartment in Paris last Friday. Sir Walter flew in
from London, and Margaret from New York, ostensibly to celebrate Alexandees
sixtysecond birthday. But it didn’t turn out to be a celebration, because
Alexander and Margaret let Walter know they were fed up with him not paying
enough attention to what was happening to the Globe, and blamed him personally
for the drop in sales. They’ve gone from over four million to under two million
since he became chairman-failing behind the Daily Gtizen, which is boasting
that it’s now the paper with the largest daily circulation in the land. They
accused him of spending far too much time flitting between the Turf Club and
the nearest racecourse. A real shouting match followed, and Alexander and
Margaret made it abundantly clear that although they had turned down several
offers for their shares in the past, that didn’t mean they would do so in the
future, as they had no intention of sacrificing their lifestyle simply because
of his incompetence.”

“How do you know
all this?” asked Armstrong.

“His cook,”
replied Kirby.

“His cook?”
repeated Armstrong.

“Her name’s Lisa
Milton. She used to work for Fleet Street Caterers before Alexander offered her
the job with him in Paris.” He paused. “Alexander hasn’t been the easiest of
employers, and Lisa would resign and return to England if. . .” if she could
afford to do so?” suggested Armstrong. Kirby nodded. “Lisa could hear every
word they were saying while she was preparing dinner in the kitchen. In fact,
she told me she wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire exchange could have
been heard on the floors above and below.”

Armstrong smiled
“You’ve done well, Derek. Is there any other information you have that might be
useful to me?”

Kirby leaned
down and removed a bulky file from his briefcase. “You’ll find all the details
on the three of them in here. Profiles, addresses, phone numbers, even the name
of Alexander’s mistress. If you need anything else, you can call me direct.” He
pushed a card across the table.

Armstrong took
the file and placed it on the blotter in front of him, slipping the card into
his wallet. ‘Thank you,” he said. “If the cook comes up with any fresh
information or you ever want to get in touch with me, I’m always available. Use
my direct line.” He passed his own card over to Kirby.

“I’ll call the
moment I hear anything,” said Kirby, rising to leave.

Armstrong
accompanied him to the door, and when they entered Sally’s room he put an arm
round his shoulder. As they shook hands he turned to his secretary and said,
“Derek must always be able to get in touch with me, night or day, whoever I’m
with.”

As soon as Kirby
had left, Sally joined Armstrong in his office. He was already studying the
first page of the Sherwood file. “Did you mean what you just said about Kirby
always being able to get in touch with you night and day?”

“For the
foreseeable future, yes. But now I need you to clear my diary to make space for
a trip to Paris to see a Mr. Alexander Sherwood. If that proves successful,
I’ll need to go on to New York to meet his sister-in-law.”

Sally began
flicking over the pages. “Your diary’s jampacked with appointments,” she said.

“Like a bloody
dentist,” snapped Armstrong. “See they’re all canceled by the time I get back
from lunch. And while you’re at it, go through every single piece of paper in
this file. Then perhaps you’ll realize why seeing Mr. Sherwood is so
important-but don’t let anyone else get their hands on it.”

He checked his
watch and marched out of the room. As he walked down the corridor, his eyes
settled on the new typist he had noticed that morning.

This time she
looked up and smiled. In the car on the way to the Savoy, he asked Reg to find
out all he could about her.

Armstrong found
it hard to concentrate during lunchdespite the fact that his guest was a cabinet
ministerbecause he was already imagining what it might be like to be the
proprietor of the Globe. In any case, he had heard that this particular
minister would be returning to the back benches as soon as the prime minister
carried out his next reshuffle. He was not at all sorry when the minister said
he would have to leave early, as his department was answering questions in the
House that afternoon. Armstrong called for the bill.

He watched as
the minister was whisked away in a chauffeur- driven car, and hoped the poor
man hadn’t got too used to it. When he climbed into the back of his own car,
his thoughts returned to the Globe.

“Excuse me,
sir,” said Benson, glancing into the rearview mirror.

“What is it?”
snapped Armstrong.

“You asked me to
find out about that girl.”

“Ah, yes,” said
Armstrong, softening.

“She’s a
temp-Sharon Levitt, covering for Mr. Wakeham’s secretary while she’s on
holiday. She’s only going to be around for a couple of weeks.”

Armstrong
nodded. When he stepped out of the lift and walked to his office, he was
disappointed to find that she was no longer sitting at the desk in the corner.

Sally followed
him into his room, clutching his diary and a bundle of papers. “If you cancel
your speech to SOGAT on Saturday night,” she said on the move, “and lunch on
Sunday with your wife-” Armstrong waved a dismissive hand. “It’s her birthday,”
Sally reminded him.

“Send her a
bunch of flowers, go to Harrods and choose a gift, and remind me to call her on
the day.”

“In which case
the diary’s clear for the whole weekend.”

“What about
Alexander Sherwood?”

“I called his
secretary in Paris just before lunch. To my surprise, Sherwood himself called
back a few minutes ago.”

“And?” said
Armstrong.

“He didn’t even
ask why you wanted to see him, but wondered ifyou’dcare tojoin him for lunch at
one o’clock on Saturday, at his apartment in Montmartre.”

“Well done,
Sally. I’ll also need to see his cook before I meet him.”

“Lisa Milton,”
said Sally. “She’ll join you at the George V for breakfast that morning.”

“Then all that’s
left for you to do this afternoon is to finish off the post.”

“You’ve
forgotten that I have a dental appointment at four. I’ve already put it off
twice, and my toothache is starting to...”

Armstrong was
about to tell her to put it off a third time, but checked himself. “Of course
you mustn’t cancel your appointment, Sally. Ask Mr. Wakeham’s secretary to
cover for you.”

Sally couldn’t
hide her surprise, as Dick had never allowed anyone to cover for her since the
first day she’d worked for him.

“I think he’s
using a temp for the next couple of weeks,” she said uneasily.

‘That’s fine.
It’s only routine stuff.”

“I’ll go and get
her,” said Sally, as the private phone on Armstrong’s desk began to ring. It
was Stephen Hal -let, confirming that he had issued a writ for libel against
the editor of the Daily Mail, and suggesting it might be wise for Dick to keep
a low profile for the next few days.

“Have you
discovered who leaked the story in the first place?” asked Armstrong ...

“No, but I
suspect it came out of Germany,” said Hallet.

“But all that
was years ago,” said Armstrong. “in any case, I attendedjulius Hahn’s funeral,
so it can’t be him. My bet is still Townsend.”

“I don’t know who
it is, but someone out there wants to discredit you, and I think we might have
to issue a series of gagging writs over the next few weeks. At least that way
they’ll think twice about what they print in the future.”

“Send me copies
of anything and everything that mentions my name,” he said.

“if you need me
urgently, I’ll be in Paris over the weekend.”

“Lucky you,”
said Hallet. “And do give my love to Charlotte.”

Sally walked
back into the room, followed by a tall, slim blonde in a miniskirt that could
only have been worn by someone with the most slender legs.

“I’m just about
to embark on a very important deal,” said Armstrong in a slightly louder voice.

“I understand,”
said Stephen. “Be assured I’ll stay on top of it.”

Armstrong
slammed the phone down and smiled sweetly up at the temp.

‘This is Sharon.
I’ve told her it will only be run-of-themill stuff, and you’ll let her go by
five,” said Sally. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Armstrong’s eyes
settled on Sharon’s ankles and then moved slowly up. He didn’t even look at
Sally as she said, “See you tomorrow.”

Townsend
finished reading the article in the Daily Mail, swung round on his chair and
stared out over Sydney Harbor. It had been an unflattering portrayal of the
rise and rise of Lubji Hoch, and his desire to be accepted in Britain as a
press baron. They had used several unattributed quotes from Armstrong’s
fellow-officers in the King’s Own Regiment, from Germans who had come across
him in Berlin, and from past employees.

There was little
in the article that hadn’t been lifted from the profile Kate had written for
the Sunday Continent some weeks before. Townsend knew that few people in
Australia would have any interest in the life of Richard Armstrong. But the
article would have landed on the desk of every editor in Fleet Street within
days, and then it would be only a matter of time before it was being reproduced
in part or in full for dissemination to the British public. He had only
wondered which newspaper would publish first.

He knew it wouldn’t
take long for Armstrong to discover the source of the original article, which
gave him even more pleasure. Ned Brewer, his bureau chief in London, had
recently told him that stories about Armstrong’s private life had stopped
appearing quite so frequently since the writs had begun failing like confetti
on editors’ desks.

Townsend had
watched with increasing anger as Armstrong built up WRG into a strong
power-base in the north of England. But he was in no doubt where the man’s true
ambitions lay. Townsend had already infiltrated two people into Arrnstronjs
Fleet Street headquarters, and they reported back on anyone and everyone who
made an appointment to see him. The latest visitor, Derek Kirby, the former
editor of the Express, had left with Armstrong’s arm around his shoulder.
Townsend’s advisers thought Kirby was probably taking over as editor of one of
WRGs regional papers. Townsend wasn’t quite so sure, and left instructions that
he should be told immediately if Armstrong was discovered bidding for anything.
He repeated, “Anything.”

“Is WRG really
that important to you?” Kate had asked him.

“No, but a man
who would stoop so low as to use my mother as a bargaining chip will get what’s
coming to him.”

So far Townsend
had been briefed on Armstrong’s purchases from Stoke-on-Trent to Durham. He now
controlled nineteen local and regional papers and five county magazines, and he
had certainly pulled off a coup when he captured 25 percent of Lancashire
Television and 49 percent of the regional radio station, in exchange for
preference shares in his own company. His latest venture had been to launch the
London Evming Post.

But Townsend
knew that, like himself, what Armstrong most craved was to be the proprietor of
a national daily.