Everyone around the table did their utmost to appear cheerful, although most of them had been summoned to the presence of E.B. at some time during the past few weeks. And all of them, after they had been released, immediately shelved any ideas they might have had for expansion. The most optimistic word that ever passed E.B.’s lips during those cross-examinations had been ‘consolidation.’ She had asked the company secretary and the group’s chief financial officer to prepare a contingency plan which would involve suspending the company’s shares and filing for voluntary liquidation. They were finding it particularly difficult to look as if they were enjoying themselves.
After dinner Townsend went straight to bed, and spent another sleepless night that couldn’t be blamed on jetlag. He heard the message being pushed under his door at around three in the morning. He leaped out of bed and tore it open nervously. ‘The French have agreed — reluctantly. On my way to Frankfurt. E.B.’
At seven, Bruce Kelly joined him in his suite for breakfast. Bruce had recently returned to London to become managing director of Global TV, and he began by explaining to Townsend that his biggest problem was getting the skeptical British to buy the hundred thousand satellite dishes that were presently being stored in a warehouse in Watford. His latest idea was to give them away free to every reader of the Globe. Townsend just nodded between sips of tea. Neither of them mentioned the one subject that was on both their minds.
After breakfast they went down to the coffee room together, and Townsend moved among the tables, chatting to his chief executives from around the world. By the time he had circled the room, he came to the conclusion that they were either very good actors or they had no idea how precarious the situation really was. He hoped the latter.
The opening lecture that morning was given by Henry Kissinger, on the international significance of the Pacific Rim. Townsend sat in the front row, wishing that his father could have been present to hear the words of the former secretary of state as he talked of opportunities no one would have thought possible a decade before, and in which he believed Global would be a major player. Townsend’s mind drifted back to his mother, now aged over ninety, and her words when he had first returned to Australia forty years earlier: ‘I have always had an abhorrence of debt in any form.’ He could even remember the tone of her voice.
During the day, Townsend dropped into as many of the seminars as he could manage, leaving each one with the words ‘commitment,’ ‘vision,’ and ‘expansion’ ringing in his ears. Before he climbed into bed that night, he was handed the latest missive from E.B.: ‘Frankfurt and Bonn have agreed, but extracted tough terms. On my way to Zurich. Will phone as soon as I know their decision.’ He had another sleepless night as he lay waiting for the phone to ring.
Townsend had originally suggested that, following Zurich, E.B. should fly straight to Honolulu so that she could brief him personally. But she didn’t think that was a good idea. ‘After all,’ she reminded him, ‘I’m hardly going to boost morale by chatting to the delegates about my job description.’
‘Perhaps they’d think you’re my mistress,’ said Townsend.
She didn’t laugh.
After lunch on the third day, it was Sir James Goldsmith’s turn to address the conference. But as soon as the lights were lowered, Townsend began checking his watch, anxiously wondering when E.B. might call.
Sir James walked onto the platform to enthusiastic applause from the delegates. He placed his speech on the lectern, looked out into an audience he could no longer see and began with the words: ‘It is a great pleasure for me to be addressing a group of people who work for one of the most successful companies in the world.’ Townsend became engrossed by Sir James’s views on the future of the EC, and why he had decided to stand for the European Parliament. ‘As an elected member I will have the opportunity to...’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Townsend looked up to see the hotel manager hovering beside him. ‘There’s a call from Zurich for you. She says it’s urgent.’ Townsend nodded and quickly followed him out of the darkened room and into the corridor.
‘Would you like to take it in my office?’
‘No,’ Townsend said. ‘Put it through to my room.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said the manager, as Townsend headed for the nearest lift.
In the corridor he passed one of his secretaries, who wondered why the boss was leaving Sir James’s lecture when he was down on the program to give the vote of thanks.
When Townsend let himself into his suite, the phone was already ringing. He walked across the room and picked up the receiver, glad she couldn’t see how nervous he was.
‘Keith Townsend,’ he said.
‘The Bank of Zurich have agreed to the package.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘But at a price. They’re demanding three points above base rate, for the entire ten-year period. That will cost Global a further $17.5 million.’
‘And what was your response?’
‘I accepted their terms. They were shrewd enough to work out that they were among the last to be approached, so I didn’t have many cards to bargain with.’
He took his time before he asked the next question. ‘What are my chances of survival now?’
‘Still no better than fifty-fifty,’ she said. ‘Don’t put any money on it.’
‘I don’t have any money,’ Townsend said. ‘You even took away my credit cards, remember?’
E.B. didn’t respond.
‘Is there anything I can still do?’
‘Just be sure that when you deliver your closing speech this evening, you leave them in no doubt that you’re the chairman of the most successful media company in the world, not that you’re possibly only a few hours away from filing for voluntary liquidation.’
‘And when will I know which it is?’
‘Sometime tomorrow would be my guess,’ said E.B. ‘I’ll call you the moment my meeting with Austin Pierson is over.’ The line went dead.
Armstrong was met off Concorde by Reg, who drove him through the drifting sleet from Heathrow into London. It always annoyed him that the civil aviation authorities wouldn’t allow him the use of his helicopter over the city during the hours of darkness. Back at Armstrong House, he took the lift straight up to the penthouse, woke his chef and ordered him to prepare a meal. He took a long, hot shower, and thirty minutes later he appeared at the dining room table in a dressing-gown, smoking a cigar.
A large plate of caviar had been laid out for him; he had scooped up the first mouthful with his fingers even before he sat down. After several more handfuls, he lifted his briefcase up onto the table and extracted a single sheet of paper which he placed in front of him. He began to study the agenda for the next day’s board meeting, between mouthfuls of caviar and glass after glass of champagne.
After a few minutes he pushed the agenda to one side, confident that if he could get past item one he had convincing answers to anything else Sir Paul might come up with. He lumbered into the bedroom and propped himself up in bed with a couple of pillows. He switched on the television and began flicking from channel to channel in search of something to distract him. He finally fell asleep watching an old Laurel and Hardy movie.
Townsend picked up his speech from a side table, left the suite and walked across the corridor to the lift. At the ground floor, he made his way quickly over to the conference center.
Long before he reached the ballroom he could hear the relaxed chattering of the waiting delegates. As he entered the room, a thousand executives fell silent and rose from their places. He walked down the center aisle onto the stage and placed his speech on the lectern, then looked down at his audience, a group of the most talented men and women in the media world, some of whom had served him for over thirty years.