One voice, which was intended to carry, said, ‘That bloody man gets everything he wants.’
They both laughed, and Townsend poured her a glass of champagne. He soon found how easy it was to be in her company. They began to swap stories of what they had both been doing for the past twenty years as if they were old friends just catching up. Townsend explained why he had been making so many journeys to Sydney recently, and Susan told him why she wasn’t enjoying working in the toy department of Moore’s.
‘Is she always that awful?’ asked Townsend.
‘You caught her in a good mood. After you left, she spent the rest of the morning being sarcastic about whether it was your mother or your nephew or perhaps someone else that you’d come in for. And when I was a couple of minutes late getting back from lunch, she said, “You’re one hundred and twenty seconds late, Miss Glover. One hundred and twenty seconds of the company’s time. If it happens again, we’ll have to think about deducting the appropriate sum from your wages.”’ It was an almost perfect imitation, and caused Townsend to burst out laughing.
‘What’s her problem?’
‘I think she wanted to be an air hostess.’
‘I fear she lacks one or two of the more obvious qualifications,’ suggested Townsend.
‘So, what have you been up to today?’ Susan asked. ‘Still trying to pick up air hostesses on Austair?’
‘No,’ he smiled. ‘That was last week — and I failed. Today I satisfied myself with trying to work out if I could afford to pay £1.9 million for the Sydney Chronicle.’
‘One point nine million?’ she said incredulously. ‘Then the least I can do is pick up the tab for dinner. Last time I bought a copy of the Sydney Chronicle it was sixpence.’
‘Yes, but I want all the copies,’ said Townsend.
Although their coffee cups had been cleared away, they continued to talk until long after the kitchen staff had left. A couple of bored-looking waiters lounged against a pillar, occasionally glancing at them hopefully. When he caught one of them stifling a yawn, Townsend called for the bill and left a large tip. As they stepped out onto the pavement, he took Susan’s hand. ‘Where do you live?’
‘In the northern suburbs, but I’m afraid I’ve missed the last bus. I’ll have to get a taxi.’
‘It’s such a glorious evening, why don’t we walk?’
‘Suits me,’ she said, smiling.
They didn’t stop talking until they arrived outside her front door an hour later. Susan turned to him and said, ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Keith. You’ve brought a new meaning to the words “walking it off”.’
‘Let’s do it again soon,’ he said.
‘I’d like that.’
‘When would suit you?’
‘I would have said tomorrow, but it depends on whether I’m going to be expected to walk home every time. If I am, I might have to suggest a local restaurant, or at least wear more sensible shoes.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Townsend. ‘I promise you tomorrow I’ll drive you home. But I have to be in Sydney to sign a contract earlier in the day, so I don’t expect to be back much before eight.’
‘That’s perfect. It will give me enough time to go home and change.’
‘Would L’Étoile suit you?’
‘Only if you have something to celebrate.’
‘There will be something to celebrate, that I promise you.’
‘Then I’ll see you at L’Étoile at nine.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You know, you’ll never get a taxi out here at this time of night, Keith,’ she said, looking rather concerned. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have a long walk back.’
‘It will be worth it,’ said Townsend, as Susan disappeared down the short drive to her front door.
A car drove up and came to a halt by his side. The driver jumped out and opened the door for him.
‘Where to, boss?’
‘Home, Sam,’ he said to his driver. ‘But let’s go via the station, so I can pick up the early morning edition.’
Townsend took the first flight to Sydney the following morning. His lawyer, Clive Jervis, and his accountant, Trevor Meacham, were sitting on either side of him.
‘I’m still not altogether happy with the rescission clause,’ said Clive.
‘And the payment schedule needs a little fine tuning, that’s for sure,’ added Trevor.
‘How long is it going to take to sort out these problems?’ asked Townsend. ‘I have a dinner appointment in Adelaide tonight, and I must catch an afternoon flight.’ Both men looked doubtful.
Their fears were to prove justified. The two companies’ lawyers spent the morning going over the fine print, and the two accountants took even longer checking the figures. Nobody stopped for lunch, and by three o’clock Townsend was checking his watch every few minutes. Despite his pacing up and down the room, delivering monosyllabic replies to lengthy questions, the final document wasn’t ready for signing until a few minutes after five.
Townsend breathed a sigh of relief when the lawyers finally rose from the boardroom table and began to stretch themselves. He checked his watch again, and was confident he could still catch a plane that would get him back to Adelaide in time. He thanked both his advisers for their efforts, and was shaking hands with their opposite numbers when Sir Somerset walked into the room, followed by his editor and chief executive.
‘I’m told we have an agreement at last,’ said the old man with a broad grin.
‘I think so,’ said Townsend, trying not to show how anxious he was to escape. If he called Moore’s to warn her he might be late, he knew they wouldn’t put him through.
‘Well, let’s have a drink to celebrate before we put our signatures to the final document,’ said Sir Somerset.
After the third whiskey, Townsend suggested that perhaps the time had come to sign the contract. Nick Watson agreed, and reminded Sir Somerset that he still had a paper to bring out that night. ‘Quite right,’ said the proprietor, removing a fountain pen from his inside pocket. ‘And as I will still own the Chronicle for another six weeks, we can’t allow standards to drop. By the way, Keith, I do hope you’ll be able to join me for dinner?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tonight,’ replied Townsend. ‘I already have a dinner appointment in Adelaide.’
Sir Somerset swung round to face him. ‘It had better be a beautiful woman,’ he said, ‘because I’m damned if I’ll be stood up for another business deal.’
‘I promise you she’s beautiful,’ said Townsend, laughing. ‘And it’s only our second date.’
‘In that case, I won’t hold you up,’ said Sir Somerset, heading toward the boardroom table where two copies of the agreement had been laid out. He stopped for a moment, staring down at the contract, and seemed to hesitate. Both sides looked a little nervous, and one of Sir Somerset’s lawyers began to fidget.
The old man turned to Townsend and winked. ‘I must tell you that it was Duncan who finally convinced me I should go with you, and not Hacker,’ he said. He bent down and put his signature to both contracts, then passed the pen over to Townsend, who scribbled his name by the side of Sir Somerset’s.
The two men shook hands rather formally. ‘Just time for another drink,’ said Sir Somerset, and winked at Townsend. ‘You run along, Keith, and we’ll see how much of the profits we can consume in your absence. I must say, my boy, I couldn’t be more delighted that the Chronicle will be passing into the hands of Sir Graham Townsend’s son.’