He watched as the minister was whisked away in a chauffeur-driven car, and hoped the poor man hadn’t got too used to it. When he climbed into the back of his own car, his thoughts returned to the Globe.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Benson, glancing into the rear-view mirror.
‘What is it?’ snapped Armstrong.
‘You asked me to find out about that girl.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Armstrong, softening.
‘She’s a temp — Sharon Levitt, covering for Mr. Wakeham’s secretary while she’s on holiday. She’s only going to be around for a couple of weeks.’
Armstrong nodded. When he stepped out of the lift and walked to his office, he was disappointed to find that she was no longer sitting at the desk in the corner.
Sally followed him into his room, clutching his diary and a bundle of papers. ‘If you cancel your speech to SOGAT on Saturday night,’ she said on the move, ‘and lunch on Sunday with your wife—’ Armstrong waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s her birthday,’ Sally reminded him.
‘Send her a bunch of flowers, go to Harrods and choose a gift, and remind me to call her on the day.’
‘In which case the diary’s clear for the whole weekend.’
‘What about Alexander Sherwood?’
‘I called his secretary in Paris just before lunch. To my surprise, Sherwood himself called back a few minutes ago.’
‘And?’ said Armstrong.
‘He didn’t even ask why you wanted to see him, but wondered if you’d care to join him for lunch at one o’clock on Saturday, at his apartment in Montmartre.’
‘Well done, Sally. I’ll also need to see his cook before I meet him.’
‘Lisa Milton,’ said Sally. ‘She’ll join you at the George V for breakfast that morning.’
‘Then all that’s left for you to do this afternoon is to finish off the post.’
‘You’ve forgotten that I have a dental appointment at four. I’ve already put it off twice, and my toothache is starting to...’
Armstrong was about to tell her to put it off a third time, but checked himself. ‘Of course you mustn’t cancel your appointment, Sally. Ask Mr. Wakeham’s secretary to cover for you.’
Sally couldn’t hide her surprise, as Dick had never allowed anyone to cover for her since the first day she’d worked for him.
‘I think he’s using a temp for the next couple of weeks,’ she said uneasily.
‘That’s fine. It’s only routine stuff.’
‘I’ll go and get her,’ said Sally, as the private phone on Armstrong’s desk began to ring. It was Stephen Hallet, confirming that he had issued a writ for libel against the editor of the Daily Mail, and suggesting it might be wise for Dick to keep a low profile for the next few days.
‘Have you discovered who leaked the story in the first place?’ asked Armstrong.
‘No, but I suspect it came out of Germany,’ said Hallet.
‘But all that was years ago,’ said Armstrong. ‘In any case, I attended Julius Hahn’s funeral, so it can’t be him. My bet is still Townsend.’
‘I don’t know who it is, but someone out there wants to discredit you, and I think we might have to issue a series of gagging writs over the next few weeks. At least that way they’ll think twice about what they print in the future.’
‘Send me copies of anything and everything that mentions my name,’ he said. ‘If you need me urgently, I’ll be in Paris over the weekend.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Hallet. ‘And do give my love to Charlotte.’
Sally walked back into the room, followed by a tall, slim blonde in a miniskirt that could only have been worn by someone with the most slender legs.
‘I’m just about to embark on a very important deal,’ said Armstrong in a slightly louder voice.
‘I understand,’ said Stephen. ‘Be assured I’ll stay on top of it.’
Armstrong slammed the phone down and smiled sweetly up at the temp.
‘This is Sharon. I’ve told her it will only be run-of-the-mill stuff, and you’ll let her go by five,’ said Sally. ‘I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’
Armstrong’s eyes settled on Sharon’s ankles and then moved slowly up. He didn’t even look at Sally as she said, ‘See you tomorrow.’
Townsend finished reading the article in the Daily Mail, swung round on his chair and stared out over Sydney Harbor. It had been an unflattering portrayal of the rise and rise of Lubji Hoch, and his desire to be accepted in Britain as a press baron. They had used several unattributed quotes from Armstrong’s fellow-officers in the King’s Own Regiment, from Germans who had come across him in Berlin, and from past employees.
There was little in the article that hadn’t been lifted from the profile Kate had written for the Sunday Continent some weeks before. Townsend knew that few people in Australia would have any interest in the life of Richard Armstrong. But the article would have landed on the desk of every editor in Fleet Street within days, and then it would be only a matter of time before it was being reproduced in part or in full for dissemination to the British public. He had only wondered which newspaper would publish first.
He knew it wouldn’t take long for Armstrong to discover the source of the original article, which gave him even more pleasure. Ned Brewer, his bureau chief in London, had recently told him that stories about Armstrong’s private life had stopped appearing quite so frequently since the writs had begun falling like confetti on editors’ desks.
Townsend had watched with increasing anger as Armstrong built up WRG into a strong power-base in the north of England. But he was in no doubt where the man’s true ambitions lay. Townsend had already infiltrated two people into Armstrong’s Fleet Street headquarters, and they reported back on anyone and everyone who made an appointment to see him. The latest visitor, Derek Kirby, the former editor of the Express, had left with Armstrong’s arm around his shoulder. Townsend’s advisers thought Kirby was probably taking over as editor of one of WRG’s regional papers. Townsend wasn’t quite so sure, and left instructions that he should be told immediately if Armstrong was discovered bidding for anything. He repeated, ‘Anything.’
‘Is WRG really that important to you?’ Kate had asked him.
‘No, but a man who would stoop so low as to use my mother as a bargaining chip will get what’s coming to him.’
So far Townsend had been briefed on Armstrong’s purchases from Stoke-on-Trent to Durham. He now controlled nineteen local and regional papers and five county magazines, and he had certainly pulled off a coup when he captured 25 percent of Lancashire Television and 49 percent of the regional radio station, in exchange for preference shares in his own company. His latest venture had been to launch the London Evening Post. But Townsend knew that, like himself, what Armstrong most craved was to be the proprietor of a national daily.
Over the past four years Townsend had purchased three more Australian dailies, a Sunday and a weekly news magazine. He now controlled newspapers in every state of Australia, and there wasn’t a politician or businessman in the country who wasn’t available whenever Townsend picked up a phone. He had also visited America a dozen times in the past year, selecting cities where the main employers were in steel, coal, or automobiles, because he nearly always found that companies involved in those ailing industries also controlled the local newspapers. Whenever he discovered such a company having cash-flow problems he moved in, and was often able to close a deal for the newspaper quickly. In almost every case he then found his new acquisition overstaffed and badly managed, because it was rare for anyone on the main board to have any first-hand experience of running a newspaper. By sacking half the staff and replacing most of the senior management with his own people, he could turn the balance sheet round in a matter of months.