The Fourth Estate (60 page)

He stood staring
at the front wall for another ten seconds, until Tom said sharply, “Serve!”

“is that your
advice, counselor?” he asked.

“it is,” replied
the lawyer. “Get on with it or concede. The choice is yours.” Townsend dropped
the ball, ran out of the court and chased after the messenger. He reached him
just before he put the phone down.

‘This had better
be good, Mr. Slater,” said Townsend, “because so far you’ve cost me $2,000.”

He listened in
disbelief as Slater told him that in the following day’s edition of the Globe, Sir
Walter Sherwood would be inviting the paper’s readers to vote on who they felt
should be its next proprietor.

‘There will be
balanced full-page profiles on both candidates,” Slater went on to explain,
“with a voting slip at the bottom of the page.” He then read out the last three
sentences of the proposed editorial.

The loyal
readers of the Globe need have no fear for the future of the best-loved paper
in the kingdom. Both candidates have agreed that Sir Walter Sherwood shall
remain as chairman of the board, guaranteeing the continuity that has been the
hallmark of the paper’s success for the better part of a century. So register
your vote, and the result will be announced next Saturday.

Townsend thanked
Slater, and assured him that if he became proprietor he would not be forgotten.
His first thought after he had put the phone down was to wonder where Armstrong
was.

He didn’t return
to the squash court, but immediately rang Ned Brewer, his bureau chief in
London. He briefed him on exactly what he expected him to do during the night,
and ended by telling him that he would be in touch again as soon as he landed
at Heathrow. “In the meantime, Ned,” he said, “make sure you have at least £20,000
in cash available by the time I reach the office.”

As soon as he had
put the phone down, Townsend went to the front desk and picked up his wallet
from security, walked out onto Fifth Avenue and hailed a taxi. “The airport,”
he said. “And you get $100 if we’re there in time for the next flight to
London.” He should have added “alive.”

As the cab
weaved in and out of the traffic, Townsend suddenly remembered that Tom was
still waiting for him on the court, and that he was meant to be taking Kate out
to dinner that night so she could bring him up to date on her progress with The
Senator’s Mistress. Every day that passed, Townsend thanked a God lie didn’t
believe in that Kate had flown back from Sydney. He felt he had been lucky
enough to find the one person who could tolerate his intolerable lifestyle,
partly because she had accepted the situation long before they were married.
Kate had never once made him feel guilty about the hours he kept, the turning
up late or not turning up at all. He only hoped Tom would phone to let her know
he had disappeared. “No, I have no idea where,” he could hear him saying.

When he landed
at Heathrow the following morning, the cabbie didn’t feel it was his place to
ask why his fare was dressed in a trackSUit and carrying a squash racket.
Perhaps all the courts in New York were booked.

He arrived at
his London office forty minutes later, and took over the operation from Ned
Brewer. By ten o’clock every available employee had been sent to all corners of
the capital. By lunchtime no one within a twenty-mile radius of Hyde Park
Corner could find a copy of the Globe at any price. By nine that evening
Townsend was in possession of 126,212 copies of the paper.

Armstrong
arrived back at Heathrow on the Saturday afternoon, having spent most of the
morning in Paris barking out orders to his staff all over Britain. By nine
o’clock on Sunday morning, thanks to a remarkable trawl from the West Riding
area, he was in possession of 79,107 copies of the Globe.

He spent the
Sunday ringing the editors of all his regional papers and ordering them to
write front-page stories for the following morning’s editions, urging their
readers to dig out Saturday’s G lobe and vote Armstrong. On Monday morning he
talked himself on to the Today program and as many news slots as possible. But
each of the producers decided it was only fair that Townsend should be allowed
the right of reply the following day.

By Thursday,
Townsend’s staff were exhausted from signing names; Armstrong’s sick from
licking envelopes. By Friday afternoon both men were phoning the Globe every
few minutes, trying to find out how the Count was going. But as Sir Walter had
called in the Electoral Reform Society to count the votes, and they were more
interested in accuracy than speed, even the editor wasn’t told the result until
just before midnight.

‘The Dodgy Dingo
Beats the Bouncing Czech” ran the banner headline in the first editions of
Saturday’s paper. The article that followed informed the Globe’s readers that
the voting had been 232,1112 in favor of the Colonial, to 229,847 for the
Immigrant.

Townsend’s lawyer
arrived at the Globe’s offices at nine o’clock on Monday morning, bearing a
draft for $20 million. However much Armstrong protested, and however many writs
he threatened to issue, he could not stop Sir Walter from signing his shares
over to Townsend that afternoon.

At the first
meeting of the new board, Townsend proposed that Sir Walter should remain as
chairman, on his present salary of £100,000 a year. The old man smiled and made
a flattering speech about how the readers had unquestionably made the right
choice.

Townsend didn’t
speak again until they reached Any Other Business, when he suggested that all
employees of the Globe should automatically retire at the age of sixty, in line
with the rest of his group’s policy. Sir Walter seconded the motion, as he was
keen to join his chums at the Turf Club for a celebratory lunch. The motion
went through on the nod.

It wasn’t until
Sir Walter climbed into bed that night that his wife explained to him the
significance of that final resolution.

THE CITIZEN

15 APRIL 1968

M
inister Pesigns “ONF HUNDRED THOUSAND
copies of Tbe Scnator~ Mistros have been printed and are stacked in the
warehouse in New Jersey, awaiting Mrs. Sherwood’s inspection,” said Kate,
looking up at the ceiling.

“That’s a good
start,” said Townsend. “But they’re not going to return a penny of my money
until they see them in the shops.”

“Once her lawyer
has verified the numbers and the invoiced orders, he’ll have no choice but to
return the first million dollars. We will have fulfilled that part of the
contract within the stipulated twelve-month period.”

“And how much
has this little exercise cost me so far?”

“if you include
printing and transport, around $30,000,” replied Kate.

“Everything else
was done in-house, or can be set against tax.”

“Clever girl.
But what chance do I have of getting my second million back?

For all the time
you’ve spent rewriting the damn book, I still can’t see it making the
bestseller lists.”

“I’m not so sure,”
said Kate. “Everybody knows that only eleven hundred shops report their sales
to the New York Times each week. If I could get a sight of that list of
booksellers, I’d have a real chance of making sure you get your second million
back.”

“But knowing which
shops report doesn’t make customers buy books.”

“No, but I think
we could nudge them in the right direction.”

“And how do you
propose doing that?”

“First by
launching the book in a slow month-say, January or February-and then by only
selling in to those outlets that report to the New York Times.”

“But that won’t
make people buy them.”

“it will if we
only charge the bookshop fifty cents a copy, with a cover price of $3.50, so
the bookseller shows a 700 percent mark-up on every copy sold, instead of the
usual one hundred.”

“But that still
won’t help if the book is unreadable.”

“it won’t matter
in the first week,” said Kate. “If the bookshops stand to make that sort of
return, it will be in their interest to put the book in the window, on the
counter, by the till, even on the best-seller shelves.

My research
shows that we’ll only have to sell ten thousand copies in the first week to hit
the number fifteen slot on the best-seller list, which works out at less than
ten copies per shop.”

“I suppose that
might just give us a fifty-fifty chance,” said Townsend.

“And I can lower
those odds even further. In the week of publication we can use our network of
newspapers and magazines across America to make sure the book gets favorable
reviews and front-page advertisements, and put my article on ‘The Amazing Mrs.
Sherwood’ in as many of our journals as you think we can get away with.”

“If it’s going
to save me a million dollars, that will be every one of them,” said Townsend.
“But that still only makes the odds a shade better than fifty-fifty.”

“If you’ll let
me go one step further, I can probably make it odds-on.”

“What are you
proposing? That I buy the New York Times?”

“Nothing quite
as drastic as that,” said Kate with a smile. “I’m recommending that during the
week of publication our own employees buy back 5,000 copies of the book.”

“Five thousand
copies? That would just be throwing money down the drain.”

“Not
necessarily,” said Kate. “After we’ve sold them back to the shops at fifty
cents apiece a second time, for an outlay of $15,000 you’ll be virtually
guaranteed a week on the best-seller list. And then Mr. Yablon will have to
return your second million.”

Townsend took
her in his arms. “We just might pull it off~”

“But only if you
get hold of the names of the shops that report to the Neu, York limes
best-seller list.”

“You’re a clever
girl,” he said, pulling her closer.

Kate smiled. “At
last I’ve found out what turns you on.”

“Stephen Hallet
is on line one, and Ray Atkins, the minister for industry, on line two,” said
Pamela.

“I’ll take
Atkins first. Tell Stephen I’ll call him straight back.”

Armstrong waited
for the click on his latest toy, which would ensure that the whole conversation
was recorded. “Good morning, Minister,” he said.

“What can I do
for you?”

“It’s a personal
problem, Dick. I wondered if we could meet?”

“Of course,”
Armstrong replied. “How about lunch at the Savoy some time next week?” He
flicked through his diary to see who he could cancel.

“I’m afraid it’s
more urgent than that, Dick. And I’d prefer not to meet in such a public
place.”

Armstrong
checked his appointments for the rest of the day. “Well, why don’t you join me
for lunch today in my private dining room? I was due to see Don Sharpe, but if
it’s that urgent, I can put him off.”

‘That’s very
kind of you, Dick. Shall we say around one?”

“Fine. I’ll see
that there’s someone to meet you in reception and bring you straight up to my
office.” Armstrong put the phone down and smiled. He knew exactly what the
minister of industry wanted to see him about. After all, he had remained a
loyal supporter of the Labor Party over the years-not least by donating a
thousand pounds per annum to each of fifty key marginal seats. This small
investment ensured that he had fifty close friends in the parliamentary party,
several of them ministers, and gave him an entr6e into the highest levels of
government whenever he needed it. Had he wanted to exert the same influence in
America, it would have cost him a million dollars a year.

His thoughts
were interrupted by the phone ringing. Pamela had Stephen Hallet on the line.

“Sorry to have
to call you back, Stephen, but I had young Ray Atkins on the line. Says he
needs to see me urgently. I think we can both work out what that’s about.”

“I thought the
decision on the Citizen wasn’t expected until next month at the earliest.”

“Perhaps they
want to make an announcement before people start speculating. Don’t forget that
Atkins was the minister who referred Townsend’s bid for the Citizen to the
Monopolies and Mergers Commission.

I don’t think
the Labor Party will be ecstatic about Townsend controlling the Citizen as well
as the Globe.”

“It’s the MMC
who’ll decide in the end, Dick, not the minister.”

“I still can’t
see them allowing Townsend to gain control of half of Fleet Street. In any
case, the Citizen is the one paper that’s consistently supported the Labor
Party over the years, while most of the other rags have been nothing more than
Tory magazines.”

“But the MMC
will still have to appear even-handed.”

“Like Townsend has
been with Wilson and Heath? The Globe has become a daily love letter to Teddy
the sailor boy. If Townsend were to get his hands on the Citizen as well, the
Labor movement would be left without a voice in this country.”