Armstrong promised Lieutenant Wakeham, Private Benson and Sally that they could be sure of a job when they left the army, and all of them said they would be in touch just as soon as their discharge papers came through.
‘You’ve done one hell of a job for us here in Berlin, Dick,’ Colonel Oakshott told him. ‘In fact, I don’t know how we’re going to replace you. Mind you, after your brilliant suggestion of merging Der Telegraf and Der Berliner, we may not even have to.’
‘It seemed the obvious solution,’ said Armstrong. ‘May I add how much I’ve enjoyed being part of your team, sir.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so, Dick,’ the colonel said. He lowered his voice. ‘I’m due to be discharged myself fairly shortly. Once you’re back in civvy street, do let me know if you hear of anything that might suit an old soldier.’
Armstrong didn’t bother to visit Arno Schultz, but Sally told him that Hahn had offered him the job of editor of the new paper.
Armstrong’s final call before he handed in his uniform to the quartermaster was to Major Tulpanov’s office in the Russian sector, and on this occasion the KGB man did invite him to stay for lunch.
‘Your coup with Hahn was a pleasure to observe, Lubji,’ said Tulpanov, waving him to a chair, ‘even if only from a distance.’ An orderly poured them each a vodka, and the Russian raised his glass high in the air.
‘Thank you,’ said Armstrong, returning the compliment. ‘And not least for the part you played.’
‘Insignificant,’ said Tulpanov, placing his drink back on the table. ‘But that may not always be the case, Lubji.’ Armstrong raised an eyebrow. ‘You may well have secured the foreign distribution rights to the bulk of German scientific research, but it won’t be too long before it’s out of date, and then you’ll need all the latest Russian material. That is, if you wish to remain ahead of the game.’
‘And what would you expect in return?’ asked Armstrong, scooping up another spoonful of caviar.
‘Let us just leave it, Lubji, that I will be in touch from time to time.’
18
Daily Mail
13 April 1961
The Voice from Space: ‘How I Did It.’ Gagarin Tells Khrushchev of the Blue Earth
Heather placed a cup of black coffee in front of him. Townsend was already regretting that he had agreed to give the interview, especially to a trainee reporter. His golden rule was never to allow a journalist to talk to him on the record. Some proprietors enjoyed reading about themselves in their own papers. Townsend was not among them, but when Bruce Kelly had pressed him in an unguarded moment, saying it would be good for the paper and good for his image, he’d reluctantly agreed.
He had nearly canceled two or three times that morning, but a series of telephone calls and meetings meant that he’d never got round to doing it. And then Heather walked in to tell him that the young reporter was waiting in the outer hall. ‘Shall I send her in?’ Heather asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘But I don’t want to be too long. There are several things I need to go over with you before tomorrow’s board meeting.’
‘I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes and tell you there’s an overseas call on the line.’
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘But say it’s from New York. For some reason that always makes them leave a little quicker. And if you get desperate, use the Andrew Blacker routine.’
Heather nodded and left the room as Townsend ran his finger down the agenda for the board meeting. He stopped at item seven. He needed to be better briefed on the West Riding Group if he was going to convince the board that they should back him on that one. Even if they gave him the go-ahead, he still had to close the deal on his trip to England. In fact he would have to travel straight up to Leeds if he felt the deal was worth pursuing.
‘Good morning, Mr. Townsend.’
Keith looked up, but didn’t speak.
‘Your secretary warned me that you’re extremely busy, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time,’ she said rather quickly.
He still didn’t say a word.
‘I’m Kate Tulloh. I’m a reporter with the Chronicle.’
Keith came from behind his desk, shook hands with the young journalist, and ushered her toward a comfortable chair usually reserved for board members, editors or people with whom he expected to close important deals. Once she was seated, he took the chair opposite her.
‘How long have you been with the company?’ he asked as she extracted a shorthand pad and a pencil from her bag.
She crossed her legs and said, ‘Only for a few months, Mr. Townsend. I joined the Chronicle as a trainee after leaving college. You’re my first big assignment.’
Keith felt old for the first time in his life, although he had only recently celebrated his thirty-third birthday.
‘What’s the accent?’ he asked. ‘I can’t quite place it.’
‘I was born in Budapest, but my parents fled from Hungary at the time of the revolution. The only ship we could get on was going to Australia.’
‘My grandfather also fled to Australia,’ Keith said.
‘Because of a revolution?’ she asked.
‘No. He was Scottish, and just wanted to get as far away from the English as possible.’ Kate laughed. ‘You recently won a young writers’ award, didn’t you?’ he asked, trying to recall the briefing note Heather had prepared for him.
‘Yes. Bruce presented the awards last year, which is how I ended up on the Chronicle.’
‘So what does your father do?’
‘Back in Hungary he was an architect, but over here he’s only been able to pick up odd laboring jobs. The government refuses to recognize his qualifications, and the unions haven’t been all that sympathetic.’
‘They don’t like me either,’ said Keith. ‘And what about your mother?’
‘I’m sorry to appear rude, Mr. Townsend, but I think I’m meant to be interviewing you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Keith, ‘do go ahead.’ He stared at the girl, unaware of how nervous he was making her. He had never seen anyone more captivating. She had long, dark hair which fell onto her shoulders, and a perfectly oval face that hadn’t yet been savaged by the Australian sun. He suspected that the simple, well-tailored navy-blue suit she wore was more formal than she might normally have chosen. But that was probably because she was interviewing her boss. She crossed her legs again and her skirt rose slightly. He tried not to lower his eyes.
‘Shall I repeat the question, Mr. Townsend?’
‘Err... I’m so sorry.’
Heather walked in, and was surprised to find them seated in the directors’ corner of the room.
‘There’s a call for you on line one from New York,’ she said. ‘Mr. Lazar. He needs to have a word about a counterbid he’s just received from Channel 7 for one of next season’s sitcoms.’
‘Tell him I’ll call back later,’ said Keith, without looking up. ‘By the way, Kate,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘would you like a coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you Mr. Townsend.’
‘Black or white?’
‘White, but no sugar. Thank you,’ she repeated, looking toward Heather.
Heather turned and left the room without asking Keith if he wanted another coffee.
‘Sorry, what was the question?’ Keith asked.
‘Did you write or publish anything when you were at school?’
‘Yes, I was editor of the school magazine in my last year,’ he said. Kate began writing furiously. ‘As my father was before me.’ By the time Heather reappeared with the coffee, he was still telling Kate about his triumph with the pavilion appeal.