As he walked into the lobby, he told the security man on the front desk that he wanted to see the editor and the chief executive the moment they came in, and that he required a locksmith immediately. This time as he walked through the building no one asked who he was.
Townsend sat in Sir Somerset’s chair for the first time and began reading the final edition of that morning’s Chronicle. He jotted down some notes, and when he had read the paper from cover to cover he rose from his chair and began to pace around the office, occasionally stopping to look out over Sydney Harbor. When the locksmith appeared a few minutes later, he told him exactly what needed to be done.
‘When?’ asked the locksmith.
‘Now,’ said Townsend. He returned to his desk, wondering which of the two men would arrive first. He had to wait another forty minutes before there was a knock on the door. Nick Watson, the editor of the Chronicle, walked in to find Townsend, head down, reading through a bulky file.
‘I’m so sorry, Keith,’ he began. ‘I had no idea that you would be in so early on your first day.’ Townsend looked up as Watson added, ‘Can we make this quick? I’m chairing morning conference at ten.’
‘You won’t be taking morning conference today,’ said Townsend. ‘I’ve asked Bruce Kelly to.’
‘What? But I’m the editor,’ said Nick.
‘Not any longer you aren’t,’ said Townsend. ‘I’m promoting you.’
‘Promoting me?’ said Nick.
‘Yes. You’ll be able to read the announcement in tomorrow’s paper. You’re to be the Chronicle’s first Editor Emeritus.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘“E” means ex, and “meritus” means you deserve it.’ Townsend paused as he watched the realization sink in. ‘Don’t worry, Nick. You’ve got a grand title and a year’s fully paid leave.’
‘But you told Sir Somerset, in my presence, that you were looking forward to working with me.’
‘I know I did, Nick,’ he said, and reddened slightly. ‘I’m sorry, I...’ He would have completed the sentence if there hadn’t been another knock at the door.
Duncan Alexander walked in and said, ‘I apologize for bothering you, Keith, but someone’s changed the lock on my office door.’
15
Evening Chronicle
20 November 1947
This Happy Day
Radiant Princess Elizabeth Weds Her Sailor Duke
Charlotte decided that she wouldn’t attend Arno Schultz’s sixtieth birthday party because she didn’t feel confident enough yet to leave David with their German nanny. Since she had returned from Lyon, Dick had become more attentive, and sometimes he even got home in time to see their firstborn before he was put to bed.
That evening Armstrong left the flat for Arno’s house just after seven. He assured Charlotte that he only intended to drop in and drink Arno’s health, and then return home. She smiled and promised his dinner would be ready by the time he came back.
He hurried across the city in the hope that if he arrived before they sat down for dinner, he would be able to get away after just a quick drink. Then he might even have time to join Max Sackville for a couple of games of poker before going home.
It was a few minutes before eight when Armstrong knocked on Arno’s front door. As soon as his host had escorted him into the packed drawing room, it became clear that they had all been waiting for him before sitting down to dinner. He was introduced to Arno’s friends, who greeted him as if he was the guest of honor.
Once Arno had placed a glass of white wine in his hand — from a bottle that Armstrong realized the moment he sipped it had not come from the French sector — he was led into the small dining room and placed next to a man who introduced himself as Julius Hahn, and who Arno described as ‘my oldest friend and greatest rival.’
Armstrong had heard the name before, but couldn’t immediately place it. At first he ignored Hahn, and concentrated on the food that was set in front of him. He had started on his bowl of thin soup, uncertain which animal it had originated from, when Hahn began to question him about how things were back in London. It quickly became clear to Armstrong that this particular German had a far greater knowledge of the British capital than he did.
‘I do hope it won’t be too long before foreign travel restrictions are lifted,’ said Hahn. ‘I desperately need to visit your country again.’
‘I can’t see the Allies agreeing to that for some time yet,’ said Armstrong, as Mrs. Schultz replaced his empty soup bowl with a plate of rabbit pie.
‘That distresses me,’ said Hahn. ‘I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep track of some of my business interests in London.’ And then the name clicked, and for the first time Armstrong rested his knife and fork on the plate. Hahn was the proprietor of Der Berliner, the rival paper, published in the American sector. But what else did he own?
‘I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time,’ said Armstrong. Hahn looked surprised, because up until that moment Captain Armstrong had shown no interest in him at all. ‘How many copies of Der Berliner are you printing?’ Armstrong asked, already knowing, but wanting to keep Hahn talking before he asked the one question to which he really needed an answer.
‘Around 260,000 copies a day,’ replied Hahn. ‘And our other daily in Frankfurt is, I’m happy to say, back to selling well over two hundred thousand.’
‘And how many papers do you have in all?’ asked Armstrong casually, picking up his knife and fork again.
‘Just the two. It used to be seventeen before the war, as well as several specialist scientific magazines. But I can’t hope to return to those sorts of numbers again until all the restrictions are lifted.’
‘But I thought Jews — and I am a Jew myself—’ once again Hahn looked surprised ‘—weren’t allowed to own newspapers before the war.’
‘That’s true, Captain Armstrong. But I sold all my shares in the company to my partner, who was not Jewish, and he returned them to me at the price he had paid for them within days of the war ending.’
‘And the magazines?’ asked Armstrong, picking at his rabbit pie. ‘Could they make a profit during these hard times?’
‘Oh, yes. Indeed, in the long run they may well prove to be a more reliable source of income than the newspapers. Before the war, my company had the lion’s share of Germany’s scientific publications. But from the moment Hitler marched into Poland, we were forbidden to publish anything that might prove useful to enemies of the Third Reich. I am presently sitting on eight years of unpublished research, including most of the scientific papers produced in Germany during the war. The publishing world would pay handsomely for such material if only I could find an outlet for it.’
‘What’s stopping you from publishing it now?’ asked Armstrong.
‘The London publishing house which had an arrangement with me is no longer willing to distribute my work.’
The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was suddenly switched off, and a small cake boasting a single candle was placed in the center of the table.
‘And why is that?’ asked Armstrong, determined not to let the conversation be interrupted, as Arno Schultz blew out his candle to a round of applause.
‘Sadly, because the only son of the chairman was killed on the beaches of Dunkirk,’ said Hahn, as the largest slice of cake was placed on Armstrong’s plate. ‘I have written to him often to express my condolences, but he simply doesn’t reply.’
‘There are other publishing houses in England,’ said Armstrong, picking up the cake and stuffing it into his mouth.