The Fourth Estate (59 page)

“Yes,” replied
Yablon, “the exact figure that your client agreed with her brother-in-law
earlier this month.”

“But Alexander
assured me only last week that Mrs. Sherwood had agreed to sell her shares in
the Globe to me,” said Armstrong. “I’ve flown to New York specially. . .”

“it was not your
flight to New York that influenced me, Mr. Armstrong,” said the old lady
fin-nly. “Rather the one you made to Geneva.”

Armstrong stared
at her for some time, then turned and marched back to the lift he had left only
a few minutes earlier, and whose doors were still open. As he and his lawyer
traveled down he cursed several times before asking, “But how the hell did he
manage it?”

1 can only
assume he joined Mrs. Sherwood at some point on her cruise.”

“But how could
he possibly have found out that I was involved in a deal to take over the Globe
in the first place?”

“I have a
feeling that you won’t find the answer to that question on this side of the
Atlantic,” said Critchley. “But all is not lost.”

“What the hell
do you mean?”

“You are already
in possession of one third of the shares.”

“So is Townsend,”
said Armstrong.

‘True. But if
you were to pick up Sir Walter Sherwood’s holding, you would then be in
possession of two-thirds of the company, and Townsend would be left with no
choice but to sell his third to you-at a considerable loss.”

Armstrong looked
across at his lawyer, and the hint of a smile broke out across his jowly face.

“And with
Alexander Sherwood still supporting your cause, the game’s far from over yet.”

THE GLOBE

10 JUNE 1967

Y
our Decision!

“CAN YOU GFT me
on the next flight to London?” barked Armstrong when the hotel’s travel desk
came on the line.

“Certainly,
sir,” she said.

His second call
was to his office in London, where Pamela-his latest secretary-confirmed that
Sir Walter Sherwood had agreed to see him at ten o’clock the following morning.
She didn’t add, reluctantly.

“I’ll also need
to speak to Alexander Sherwood in Paris. And make sure Reg is at the airport
and Stephen Hallet is in my office when I get back. This all has to be sorted
before Townsend gets back to London.”

When Sharon
walked into the suite a few minutes later, weighed down by shopping, she was
surprised to find Dick was already packing.

“Are we going
somewhere?” she asked.

“We’re leaving immediately,”
he said without explanation. “Do your packing while I pay the bill.”

A porter took
Armstrong’s bags down to a waiting limousine, while he picked up the airline
tickets from the travel desk and then went to reception to settle his bill. He
checked his watch-he could just make the flight, and would be back in London
early the following morning. As long as Townsend didn’t know about the
two-thirds rule, he could still end up owning 100 percent of the company. And
even if Townsend did know, he was confident Alexander Sherwood would press his
claim with Sir Walter.

As soon as
Sharon stepped into the back of the limousine, Armstrong ordered the driver to
take them to the airport.

“But my bags
haven’t been brought down from the room yet,” said Sharon.

‘Then they’ll
have to be sent on later. I can’t afford to miss this flight.”

Sharon didn’t
say another word on the journey to the airport. As they drove up to the
terminal, Armstrong fingered the two tickets in his inside pocket to be sure he
hadn’t left them behind. They stepped out of the limousine, and he asked the
Skycap to check his bags straight through to London, then began running toward
passport control with Sharon in his wake.

They were
ushered quickly in the direction of the exit gate, where a stewardess was
already checking passengers on board. “Don’t worry, sir,” she said. “You’ve
still got a couple of minutes to spare. You can both catch your breath.”

Armstrong
removed the tickets from his pocket and gave one to Sharon. A steward checked
his ticket, and he hurried off down the long corridor to the waiting plane.

Sharon handed
over her ticket. The steward looked at it and said, “This ticket is not for
this flight, madam.”

“What do you
mean?” said Sharon. “I’m booked first class on this flight along with Mr.
Armstrong. I’m his personal assistant.”

“I’m sure you
are, madam, but I’m afraid this ticket is economy, for Pan Am’s evening flight.
I fear you’re going to have rather a long wait.”

“Where are you
phoning from?” he asked.

“Kingsford-Smith
airport,” she replied.

“Then you can
turn straight round and book yourself back on the same plane.”

“Why? Did the
deal fall through?”

“No, she
signed-but at a price. A problem has arisen over Mrs. Sherwood’s novel, and I
have a feeling you’re the only person who can solve it for me.”

“Can’t I grab a
night’s sleep, Keith? I’d still be back in New York the day after tomorrow.”

“No, you can’t,”
he replied. “There’s something else we need to do before you get down to work,
and I’ve only got one afternoon free.”

“What’s that?”
asked Kate.

“Get married,”
replied Keith.

There was a long
silence on the other end of the line before Kate said, “Keith Townsend, you
must be the least romantic man God ever put on earth!”

“Does that mean
yes’?” he asked. But the line had already gone dead. He put the phone down and
looked across the desk at Tom Spencer.

“Did she accept
your terms?” the lawyer asked with a grin.

“Can’t be
absolutely certain,” Townsend replied. “But I still want you to go ahead with
the arrangements as planned.”

“Right, then I’d
better get in touch with City Hall.”

“And make sure
you’re free tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why?” asked
Tom.

“Because,
counselor, we’ll need a witness to the contract ...”

Sir Walter Sherwood
had sworn several times that day, well above his average for a month.

The first string
of expletives came after he had put the phone down on his brother. Alexander
had called from Paris just before breakfast to tell him that he had sold his
shares in the Globe to Richard Armstrong, at a price of $20 million. He
recommended Walter to do the same.

But everything
Sir Walter had heard about Armstrong only convinced him that he was the last
man alive who should control a newspaper that was as British as roast beef and
Yorkshire pudding.

He had calmed
down a little after a good lunch at the Turf Club, but then nearly had a heart
attack when his sister-in-law called from New York to say that she had also
sold her shares, not to Armstrong, but to Keith Townsend, a man Sir Walter
considered gave colonials a bad name. He would never forget being stuck in
Sydney for a week and having to endure the daily views of the Sydney Cbronide
on the subject of “the so-called Queen of Australia.” He had switched to the Continent,
only to discover that it was in favor of Australia becoming a republic.

The final call
of the day came from his accountant just before he sat down to dinner with his
wife. Sir Walter didn’t need to be reminded that sales of the Globe had been
falling every week for the past year, and that he would therefore be wise to
accept an offer of $20 million from whatever quarter. Not least because, as the
bloody man so crudely put it, “The two of them have stitched you up, and the
sooner you get your hands on the money the better.”

“But which one
of the bounders should I close a deal with?” he asked pathetically. “Each seems
to be just as bad as the other.”

“That is not a
matter on which I’m qualified to advise,” replied the accountant. “Perhaps you
should settle on the one you dislike least.”

Sir Walter
arrived in his office unusually early the following morning, and his secretary
presented him with a thick file on each of the interested parties. She told him
they had both been delivered by hand, within an hour of each other. He began to
dip into them, and quickly realized that each must have been sent by the other.
He procrastinated. But as the days passed, his accountant, his lawyer and his
wife regularly reminded him about the continued drop in sales figures, and that
the easy way out had been presented to him.

He finally
accepted the inevitable, and decided that so long as he could remain as
chairman of the board for another four years-which would take him up to his
seventieth birthday-he could learn to live with either Armstrong or Townsend.
He felt it was important for his friends at the Turf Club to know that he had
been kept on as chairman.

The following
morning, he asked his secretary to invite the rival suitors to lunch at the
Turf Club on successive days. He promised he would let them know his decision
within a week.

But after having
had lunch with them both, he still couldn’t decide which he disliked most-or,
for that matter, least. He admired the fact that Armstrong had won the MC
fighting for his adopted country, but couldn’t abide the thought of the
proprietor of the Globe not knowing how to hold a knife and fork- Against that,
he rather enjoyed the idea of the proprietor of the Globe being an Oxford man,
but felt ill whenever he recalled Townsend’s views on the monarchy. At least
both of them had assured him that he would remain as chairman. But when the
week was up, he was still no nearer to reaching a decision.

He began to take
advice from everyone at the Turf Club, including the barman, but he still
couldn’t make up his mind. It was only when his banker told him that the pound
was strengthening against the dollar because of President Johnson’s continuing
troubles in Vietnam that he finally came to a decision.

Funny how a
single word can trigger a stream of unrelated thoughts and turn them into
action, mused Sir Walter. As he put the phone down on his banker, he knew
exactly who should be entrusted to make the final decision. But he also
realized that it would have to be kept secret, even from the editor of the
Globe, until the last moment.

On the Friday
afternoon, Armstrong flew to Paris with a girl called Julie from the
advertising department, instructing Pamela that he was not to be contacted
except in an emergency. He repeated the word “emergency” several times.

Townsend had
flown back to New York the previous day, having been given a tip that a major
shareholder in the New York Star might at last be willing to sell their stock
in the paper. He told Heather he didn’t expect to return to England for at
least a fortnight.

Sir Waltees
secret broke on the Friday evening. The first person in Armstrong’s camp to
hear the news rang his office immediately, and was given his secretary’s home
number. When it was explained to Pamela what Sir Walter was planning, she was
in no doubt that this was an emergency by any standards and immediately phoned
the George V The manager informed her that Mr. Armstrong and his “companion”
had moved hotels after he had come across a group of Labor ministers, who were
in Paris to attend a NATO conference, sitting in the bar. Pamela spent the rest
of the evening systematically ringing every first class hotel in Paris, but it
wasn’t until a few minutes after midnight that she finally ran Armstrong to
ground.

The night porter
told her emphatically that Mr. Armstrong had said he was not to be disturbed
under any circumstances. Remembering the age of the girl who was with him, he
felt that he wouldn’t get much of a tip if he disobeyed that order. Pamela lay
awake all night and phoned again at seven the following morning. But as the
manager didn’t come on duty until nine on a Saturday, she received the same
frosty reply.

The first person
to tell Townsend what was going on was Chris Slater, the deputy features editor
of the Globe, who decided that for the trouble it took to make an overseas
call, he might well secure his future on the paper. In fact it took several
overseas calls to track Mr. Townsend down at the Racquets Club in New York,
where he was eventually found playing squash with Tom Spencer for $ 1,000 a
game.

Townsend was
serving with a four-point lead in the final set when there was a knock on the
glass door and a club servant asked if Mr. Townsend could take an urgent
telephone call. Trying not to lose his concentration, Townsend simply asked,
“Who?” As the name Chris Slater meant nothing to him, he said, “Tell him I’ll
call back later.” Just before he served, he added, “Did he say where he was
calling from?”

“No, sir,”
replied the messenger. “He only said he was with the Globe.”

Townsend
squeezed the ball as he considered the alternatives.

He was currently
$2,000 up against a man he hadn’t beaten in months, and he knew that if he left
the court, even for a few moments, Tom would claim the match.