The Fourth Estate (54 page)

Sally made no
comment.

“I t may come as
a surprise to you that I’d like to offer you a job.”

“So you can find
out what Dick Armstrong has been up to, and which paper he’s trying to buy?”

There was a long
silence, and only the crackling convinced her that the line hadn’t gone dead.
“Yes,” said Townsend eventually. ‘That’s exactly what I had in mind. But then
at least you could take that holiday in Italy you’ve made the down payment on.”
Sally was speechless.

Townsend
continued, “I would also make good any compensation you should have been
entitled to after twenty-one years of service.”

Sally said
nothing for a few moments, suddenly aware why Dick considered this man such a
formidable opponent. ‘Thank you for your offer, Mr. Townsend, but I’m not
interested,” she said firmly, and put the phone down.

Sally’s
immediate reaction was to contact the accounts department at Armstrong House to
try and find out why she hadn’t received her final paycheck. She was kept
waiting for some time before the senior accountant came on the line.

“When can I
expect last month’s paycheck, Fred?” she asked. “It’s more than two weeks
overdue.”

“I know, but I’m
afraid I’ve been given instructions not to issue it, Sally.”

“Why not?” she
asked. “It’s no more than I’m entitled to.”

“I realize
that,” said Fred, “but .

“But what?”

“it seems there
was a breakage during your final week which you’ve been billed for. A fine bone
china Staffordshire coffee set, I was told.”

‘The bastard,”
said Sally. “I wasn’t even in the room when he smashed it.”

“And he’s also
deducted two days’wages for taking time off during office hours.”

“But he knows
very well that he told me to keep out of the way himself, so that he could. .
.”

“We all know
that, Sally. But he’s no longer prepared to listen.”

“I know, Fred,”
she said. “It’s not your fault. I appreciate the risk you’re taking by even
speaking to me, so thank you.” She hung up, andjust sat at the kitchen table
staring into space. When she picked up the telephone again an hour later she
asked to be put through to the international operator.

In Sydney,
Heather put her head round the door. ‘There’s a reverse-charge call for you
from London,” she said. “A Mrs. Sally Carr. Will you take it?”

Sally flew into
Sydney two days later. Sam picked her up from the airport.

After a night’s
rest the debriefing began. At a cost of $5,000, Townsend had employed a former
head of the Australian Security Intelligence Organization to conduct the
interview. By the end of the week Sally was drained, and Townsend wondered if
there was anything else he could possibly know about Richard Armstrong.

On the day she
was due to fly back to England, he offered her a full-time job in his London
office.’Thank you, Mr. Townsend,” she replied as he handed her a check for
$25,000, but added, with the sweetest of smiles, “I’ve spent almost half my
life working for one monster, and after a week with you, I don’t think I want
to spend the rest of it working for another one.”

After Sam had
taken Sally to the airport, Townsend and Kate spent hours listening to the
tapes. They agreed on one thing: if he was to have any chance of purchasing the
remaining shares in the Globe, he had to get to Margaret Sherwood before
Armstrong did. She was the key to gaining control of 100 percent of the
company.

Once Sally had
explained why Armstrong had bid a million francs for an egg at an auction in
Geneva, all Townsend needed to discover was the equivalent of Peter Carl
Faberg6 for Mrs. Margaret Sherwood.

Kate jumped out
of bed in the middle of the night, and started playing tape number three. A
drowsy Keith raised his head from the pillow when he heard the words “the
senator’s mistress.”

OCIBANTwEs 6
JUNE 1967

W
elcome Aboard!

Ki-rr-ii LANDED
AT Kingston airport four hours before the liner was due to dock. He checked
through customs and took a taxi to the Cunard booking office on the dockside. A
man in a smart white uniform, with a little too much gold braid for a booking
clerk, asked if he could be of assistance.

“I’d like to
reserve a first class cabin on the Queen Elizabetb’s voyage to New York,” said
Townsend. “My aunt is already on board taking her annual cruise, and I was
wondering if there might be a cabin available somewhere near her.”

“And what is
your aunt’s name?” asked the booking clerk.

“Mrs. Margaret
Sherwood,” Townsend replied.

A finger ran
down the passenger list. “Ah, yes. Mrs. Sherwood has the Trafalgar Suite as
usual. It’s on level 467 three. We only have one first class cabin still
available on that level, but it’s not far from her.” The booking clerk unrolled
a large-scale layout of the ship and pointed to two boxes, the second of which
was considerably larger than the first.

“Couldn’t be
better,” said Townsend, and passed over one of his credit cards.

“Shall we let
your aunt know that you’ll be joining the ship?” the booking clerk asked
helpfully.

“No,” said
Townsend, without missing a beat. “That would spoil the surprise.”

“if you would
like to leave your bags with me, sir, I’ll see they are taken to your cabin as
soon as the ship docks.”

‘Thank you,”
said Townsend. “Can you tell me how to get to the center of town?”

As he strolled
away from the dockside he began to think about Kate, and wondered if she had
managed to place the article in the ship’s paper.

He dropped into
three newsagents on the long walk into Kingston, and purchased Time, Newsweek
and all the local newspapers. He then stopped at the first restaurant he came
across with an American Express sign on its door, took a quiet table in the
corner and settled down for a lengthy lunch.

Other people’s
newspapers always fascinated him, but he knew he would leave the island without
the slightest desire to be the owner of the Jamaica Times, which, even with
nothing else to do, was only a fifteen-minute read.

In between
articles about how the agriculture minister’s wife spent her day and why the
island’s cricket team had been losing so consistently, his mind kept returning
to the information Sally Carr had recorded in Sydney. He found it hard to
believe that Sharon could be quite as incompetent as she claimed, but if she
was, he also had to accept her judgment that she must be remarkable in bed.

Having paid for
a lunch best forgotten, Townsend left the restaurant and began to stroll around
the town. It was the first time he had spent like a tourist since his visit to
Berlin back in his student days. He kept checking his watch every few minutes,
but it didn’t help the time pass any quicker. Eventually he heard the sound of
a foghorn in the distance: the great liner was at last coming into dock. He
immediately began walking back toward the dockside. By the time he arrived, the
crew were lowering the gangplanks. After the passengers had flooded down onto
the quay, looking grateful for a few hours of escape, Townsend walked up the
gangway and asked a steward to direct him to his cabin.

As soon as he
had finished unpacking, he began to check the layout on level three, He was
delighted to discover that Mrs. Sherwood’s stateroom was less than a minute
away from his cabin, but he made no attempt to contact her, Instead he used the
next hour to find his way around the ship, ending up in the Queen’s Grill.

The chief
steward smiled at the slight, inappropriately dressed man as he entered the
large, empty dining room being set up for the evening meal. “Can I help you,
sir?” he asked, trying not to sound as if he felt that this particular
passenger must have strayed onto the wrong deck.

“I hope so,”
said Townsend. “I’ve just joined the ship, and wanted to find out where you’ve
placed me for dinner.”

“This restaurant
is for first class passengers only, sir,”

“Then I’ve come
to the right place,” said Townsend.

“Your name,
sir?” asked the steward, sounding unconvinced.

“Keith
Townsend.”

He checked the
list of first class passengers who were joining the ship at Kingston. “You’re
on table eight, Mr. Townsend.”

“Is Mrs.
Margaret Sherwood on that table, by any chance?”

The steward checked
again. “No, sir, she’s on table three.”

“Would it be
possible for you to find me a place on table three?” asked Townsend.

“I’m afraid not,
sir. No one from that table left the ship at Kingston.”

Armstrong took
out his wallet and removed a hundreddollar bill.

“But I suppose
if I were to move the archdeacon onto the captain’s table, that might solve the
problem.”

Townsend smiled
and turned to leave.

“Excuse me, sir.
Were you hoping to sit next to Mrs. Sherwood?”

“That would be
most considerate,” said Townsend.

“It’s just that
it might prove a little awkward. You see, she’s been with us for the whole
trip, and we’ve had to move her twice already because she didn’t care for the
passengers at her table.”

Townsend removed
his wallet a second time. He left the dining room a few moments later, assured
that he would be sitting next to his quarry.

By the time he
had returned to his cabin, his fellow-passengers were beginning to come back on
board. He showered, changed for dinner and once again read the profile of Mrs.
Sherwood that Kate had compiled for him. A few minutes before eight he made his
way down to the dining room.

One couple were
already seated at the table. The man immediately stood up and introduced
himself. “Dr. Arnold Percival from Ohio,” he said, shaking Townsend by the
hand. “And this is my dear wife, Jenny – also from Ohio.” He laughed raucously.

“Keith
Townsend,” he said to them. “I’m from .

“Australia, if
I’m not mistaken, Mr. Townsend,” said the doctor. “How nice that they put you
on our table. I’ve just retired, and Jenny and I have been promising ourselves
we’d go on a cruise for years. What brings you on board?” Before Townsend could
reply, another couple arrived.”This is Keith Townsend from Australia,” said Dr.
Percival. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Osborne from Chicago,
Illinois.”

They had just
finished shaking hands when the doctor said, “Good evening, Mrs. Sherwood. May
I introduce Keith Townsend?”

Keith knew from
Kate’s profile that Mrs. Sherwood was sixty-seven, but it was clear that she
must have spent a considerable amount of time and money trying to deny the
fact. He doubted if she had ever been beautiful, but the description “well
preserved” certainly came to mind. Her evening dress was fashionable, even if
the hem was perhaps an inch too short.

Townsend smiled
at her as if she was twenty-five years younger.

When Mrs.
Sherwood first heard Townsend’s accent, she was barely able to hide her
disapproval, but then two other passengers arrived within moments of each other
and distracted her. Townsend didn’t catch the name of the general, but the
woman introduced herself as Claire Williams, and took the seat next to Dr.
Percival on the far side of the table. Townsend smiled at her but she didn’t
respond.

Even before
Townsend had taken his seat, Mrs. Sherwood demanded to know why the archdeacon
had been moved.

“I think I see
him on the captain’s table,” said Claire.

“I do hope he’ll
return tomorrow,” said Mrs. Sherwood, and immediately began a conversation with
Mr. Osborne, who was seated on her right. As she resolutely refused to speak to
Townsend during the first course, he began chatting to Mrs. Percival while
trying to listen to Mrs. Sherwood’s conversation at the same time. He found it
quite difficult.

Townsend had
hardly spoken a dozen words to Mrs. Sherwood by the time the main course was
being cleared away- It was over coffee that Claire inquired from the other side
of the table if he had ever visited England.

“Yes, I was up
at Oxford just after the war,” Townsend admitted for the first time in fifteen
years.

“Which college?”
demanded Mrs. Sherwood, swinging round to face him.

“Worcester,” he
replied sweetly. But that turned out to be the first and last question she
addressed to him that evening. Townsend stood as she left the table, and
wondered if three days was going to be enough. When he had finished his coffee,
he said good night to Claire and the general before returning to his cabin to
go over the file again. There was no mention of prejudice or snobbery in the profile,
but then, to be fair to Sally, she had never met Margaret Sherwood.

When Townsend
took his seat for breakfast the following morning the only vacant place was on
his right, and although he was the last to leave, Mrs. Sherwood never appeared.
He glanced at Claire as she left the table and just wondered whether to follow
her, but then decided against it, as it wasn’t part of the plan. For the next
hour he strolled around the ship, hoping to bump into her. But he didn’t see
her again that morning.