‘He always spoke of your papers with the greatest respect. Indeed, when it came to the Chronicle, I think the word “envy” would be more appropriate.’
Sir Somerset smiled. ‘It’s kind of you to say so, my boy.’ He paused. ‘Well, it seems that during the past few weeks our teams have been able to agree most of the details. So, as long as you can match Wally Hacker’s offer of £1.9 million and — just as important to me — you agree to retain Nick as editor and Duncan as chief executive, I think we might have ourselves a deal.’
‘It would be foolish of me not to rely on their vast knowledge and expertise,’ said Townsend. ‘They are two highly respected professionals, and I shall naturally be delighted to work with them. Though I feel I should let you know that it’s not my policy to interfere in the internal working of my papers, especially when it comes to the editorial content. That’s just not my style.’
‘I see that you’ve learned a great deal from your father,’ said Sir Somerset. ‘Like him, and like you, I don’t involve myself in the day-to-day running of the paper. It always ends in tears.’
Townsend nodded his agreement.
‘Well, I don’t think there’s much more for us to discuss at this stage, so I suggest we adjourn to the dining room and have some lunch.’ The old man put his arm round Townsend’s shoulder and said, ‘I only wish your father were here to join us.’
The smile never left Townsend’s face on the journey back to the airport. If she were on the return flight, that would be a bonus. His smile became even wider as he fastened his seatbelt and began to rehearse what he would say to her.
‘I hope you had a worthwhile trip to Sydney, Mr. Townsend,’ she said as she offered him an evening paper.
‘It couldn’t have turned out better,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me for dinner tonight and help me celebrate?’
‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ she said, emphasizing the word ‘sir,’ ‘but I’m afraid it’s against company policy.’
‘Is it against company policy to know your name?’
‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s Susan.’ She gave him that same smile, and moved on to the next row.
The first thing he did when he got back to his flat was to make himself a sardine sandwich. He had only taken one bite when the phone rang. It was Clive Jervis, the senior partner at Jervis, Smith & Thomas. Clive was still anxious about some of the finer details of the contract, including compensation agreements and stock write-offs.
No sooner had Townsend put the phone down than it rang again, and he took an even longer call from Trevor Meacham, his accountant, who still felt that £1.9 million was too high a price.
‘I don’t have a lot of choice,’ Townsend told him. ‘Wally Hacker has already offered the same amount.’
‘Hacker is also capable of paying too much,’ came back the reply. ‘I think we should still demand staged payments, based on this year’s circulation figures, and not aggregated over the past ten years.’
‘Why?’ asked Townsend.
‘Because the Chronicle has been losing 2 to 3 percent of its readers year on year. Everything ought to be based on the latest figures available.’
‘I agree with you on that, but I don’t want it to be the reason I lose this deal.’
‘Neither do I,’ said his accountant. ‘But I also don’t want you to end up bankrupt simply because you paid far too much for sentimental reasons. Every deal must stack up in its own right, and not be closed just to prove you’re as good as your father.’
Neither man spoke for several moments.
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ said Townsend eventually. ‘I already have plans to double the circulation of the Chronicle. In a year’s time £1.9 million will look cheap. And what’s more, my father would have backed me on this one.’ He put the phone down before Trevor could say another word.
The final call came from Bruce Kelly just after eleven, by which time Townsend was in his dressing-gown, and the half-eaten sardine sandwich was stale.
‘Sir Somerset is still nervous,’ he warned him.
‘Why?’ asked Townsend. ‘I felt today’s meeting couldn’t have gone better.’
‘The meeting wasn’t the problem. After you left, he had a call from Sir Colin Grant which lasted nearly an hour. And Duncan Alexander isn’t exactly your closest mate.’
Townsend thumped his fist on the table. ‘Damn the man,’ he said. ‘Now listen carefully, Bruce, and I’ll tell you exactly what line you should take. Whenever Sir Colin’s name comes up, remind Sir Somerset that as soon as he became chairman of the Messenger, it began losing sales every week. As for Alexander, you can leave him to me.’
Townsend was disappointed to find that on his next flight up to Sydney, Susan was nowhere to be seen. When a steward served him with coffee, he asked if she was working on another flight.
‘No, sir,’ he replied. ‘Susan left the company at the end of last month.’
‘Do you know where she’s working now?’
‘I’ve no idea, sir,’ he replied, before moving on to the next passenger.
Townsend spent the morning being shown round the Chronicle’s offices by Duncan Alexander, who kept the conversation businesslike, making no attempt to be friendly. Townsend waited until they were alone in the lift before he turned to him and said, ‘You once told me many years ago, “We Alexanders have long memories. Call on me when you need me.”’
‘Yes, I did,’ Duncan admitted.
‘Good, because the time has come for me to call in my marker.’
‘What do you expect from me?’
‘I want Sir Somerset to be told what a good man I am.’
The lift came to a halt, and the doors opened.
‘If I do that, will you guarantee I’ll keep my job?’
‘You have my word on it,’ said Townsend as he stepped out into the corridor.
After lunch, Sir Somerset — who seemed a little more restrained than when they had first met — accompanied Townsend around the editorial floor, where he was introduced to the journalists. All of them were relieved to find that the new proprietor just nodded and smiled at them, making himself agreeable to even the most junior staff. Everyone who came in contact with Townsend that day was pleasantly surprised, especially after what they had been told by reporters who had worked for him on the Gazette. Even Sir Somerset began to wonder if Sir Colin hadn’t exaggerated about Townsend’s behavior in the past.
‘Don’t forget what happened to the sales of the Messenger when Sir Colin took over as chairman,’ Bruce Kelly whispered into several ears, including his editor’s, soon after Townsend had left.
The staff on the Chronicle would not have given Townsend the benefit of the doubt if they had seen the notes he was compiling on the flight back to Adelaide. It was clear to him that if he hoped to double the paper’s profits, there was going to have to be some drastic surgery, with cuts from top to bottom.
Townsend found himself looking up from time to time and thinking about Susan. When another steward offered him a copy of the evening paper, he asked if he had any idea where she was now working.
‘Do you mean Susan Glover?’ he asked.
‘Blonde, curly hair, early twenties,’ said Townsend.
‘Yes, that’s Susan. She left us when she was offered a job at Moore’s. Said she couldn’t take the irregular hours any longer, not to mention being treated like a bus conductor. I know just how she feels.’