‘That doesn’t mean we ever received them.’
‘Each of them was signed for by your secretary or Colonel Oakshott. Our final demand was hand-delivered to your solicitor, Stephen Hallet, who I understand drew up the original agreement.’
Once again Armstrong was silenced.
Hahn opened his battered briefcase, that Armstrong remembered so well, and removed copies of three documents which he placed on the desk in front of his former partner. He then took out a fourth document.
‘I am now serving you with a month’s notice, requesting that you return any publications, plates or documents in your possession which have been supplied by us during the past two years, along with a check for £170,000 to cover the royalties due to us. Our accountants consider this a conservative estimate.’
‘Surely you’ll give me one more chance, after all I’ve done for you?’ pleaded Armstrong.
‘We have given you far too many chances already,’ said Hahn, ‘and neither of us,’ he nodded toward his colleague, ‘is at an age when we can waste any more time hoping you will honor your agreements.’
‘But how can you hope to survive without me?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘Quite simply,’ said Hahn. ‘We have already signed an agreement this morning to be represented by the distinguished publishing house of Macmillan, with whom I’m sure you are familiar. We will be making an announcement to that effect in next Friday’s Bookseller, so that our clients in Britain, the United States and the rest of the world are aware that you no longer represent us.’
Hahn rose from his chair, and Armstrong watched as he and Schultz turned to leave without another word. Before they reached the door, he shouted after them, ‘You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!’
Once the door had been closed, he walked slowly over to the window behind his desk. He stared down at the pavement, and didn’t move until he’d seen them climb into a taxi. As they drove away he returned to his chair, picked up the nearest phone and dialed a number. A familiar voice answered. ‘For the next seven days, buy every Macmillan share you can lay your hands on.’ He slammed the phone down, then made a second call.
Stephen Hallet listened carefully as his client gave him a full report of his meeting with Hahn and Schultz. Hallet wasn’t surprised by their attitude, because he’d recently informed Armstrong about the termination order he’d received from Hahn’s London solicitors. When Armstrong had finished his version of the meeting, he only had one question: ‘How long do you think I can string it out for? I’m due to collect several large payments in the next few weeks.’
‘A year, eighteen months perhaps, if you’re willing to issue a writ and take them all the way to court.’
Two years later, after Armstrong had exhausted everyone, including Stephen Hallet, he settled with Hahn on the courtroom steps.
Hallet drew up a lengthy document in which Armstrong agreed to return all of Hahn’s property, including publishing material, plates, rights agreements, contracts and over a quarter of a million books from his warehouse in Watford. He also had to pay out £75,000 as a full and final settlement for profits made during the previous five years.
‘Thank God we’re finally rid of the man,’ was all Hahn said as he walked away from the High Court in the Strand.
The day after the settlement had been signed, Colonel Oakshott resigned from the board of Armstrong Communications without explanation. He died of a heart attack three weeks later. Armstrong couldn’t find the time to attend the funeral, so he sent Peter Wakeham, the new deputy chairman, to represent him.
Armstrong was in Oxford on the day of Oakshott’s funeral, signing a long lease on a large building on the outskirts of the city.
During the next two years Armstrong almost spent more time in the air than he did on the ground, as he traveled around the world visiting author after author contracted to Hahn, and trying to persuade them that they should break their agreements and join Armstrong Communications. He realized he might not be able to convince some of the German scientists to come across to him, but that had been more than compensated for by the exclusive entrée into Russia which Colonel Tulpanov had made possible, and the many contacts Armstrong had made in America during the years when Hahn had been unable to travel abroad.
Many of the scientists, who rarely ventured outside their laboratories, were flattered by Armstrong’s personal approach and the promise of exposure to a vast new readership around the world. They often had no idea of the true commercial value of their research, and happily signed the proffered contract. Later they would dispatch their life’s works to Headley Hall, Oxford, often assuming that it was in some way connected to the university.
Once they had signed an agreement, usually committing all their future works to Armstrong in exchange for a derisory advance, they never heard from him again. These tactics made it possible for Armstrong Communications to declare a profit of £90,000 the year after he and Hahn had parted, and a year later the Manchester Guardian named Richard Armstrong Young Entrepreneur of the Year. Charlotte reminded him that he was nearer forty than thirty.
‘True,’ he replied, ‘but never forget that all my rivals had a twenty-year start on me.’
Once they had settled into Headley Hall, their Oxford home, Dick found that he received many invitations to attend university events. He turned most of them down, because he knew all they wanted was his money. But then Allan Walker wrote. Walker was the president of the Oxford University Labor Club, and he wanted to know if Captain Armstrong would sponsor a dinner to be given by the committee in honor of Hugh Gaitskell, the leader of the opposition. ‘Accept it,’ said Dick. ‘On one condition: that I can sit next to him.’ After that he sponsored every visit to the university by a front-bench Labor spokesman, and within a couple of years he had met every member of the shadow cabinet and several foreign dignitaries, including the prime minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, who invited him to Tel Aviv, and suggested he take an interest in the plight of Jews who had not been quite as fortunate as him.
After Allan Walker had taken his degree, his first job application was to Armstrong Communications. The chairman immediately took him onto his personal staff so he could advise him on how he should go about extending his political influence. Walker’s first suggestion was for him to take over the ailing university magazine Isis, which was, as usual, in financial trouble. For a small investment Armstrong became a hero of the university left, and shamelessly used the magazine to promote his own cause. His face appeared on the cover at least once a term, but as the magazine’s editors only ever lasted for a year, and doubted if they would find another source of income, none of them objected.
When Harold Wilson became leader of the Labor Party, Armstrong began to make public statements in his support; cynics suggested it was only because the Tories would have nothing to do with him. He never failed to let visiting front-bench Labor spokesmen know that he was happy to bear any losses on Isis, as long as it could in some way encourage the next generation of Oxford students to support the Labor Party. Some politicians found this approach fairly crude. But Armstrong began to believe that if the Labor Party were to form the next government, he would be able to use his influence and wealth to fulfill his new dream — to be the proprietor of a national newspaper.
In fact, he began to wonder just who would be able to stop him.
20
The Times
16 October 1964
Khrushchev Gives Up — ‘Old and Ill.’ Brezhnev and Kosygin to Rule Russia