‘But I told you that you were having lunch with the chairman of NatWest today,’ Sharon insisted. ‘He’s just rung from the Savoy asking where you were.’
‘Where you sent me,’ he barked. ‘At the House of Commons.’
‘Am I expected to do everything for you?’
‘Sally somehow managed it,’ said Armstrong, barely able to control his anger.
‘If I hear that woman’s name again, I swear I’ll leave you.’
Armstrong didn’t comment, but stormed back out of the office and ordered Benson to get him to the Savoy as quickly as possible. When he arrived at the Grill, Mario told him that his guest had just left. And when he got back to the office, he was informed that Sharon had gone home, saying she had a slight migraine.
Armstrong sat down at his desk and dialed Sally’s number but no one answered. He continued to call her at least once a day, but all he got was a recorded message. At the end of the following week he ordered Fred to pay her monthly check.
‘But I’ve already sent her a P45, as you instructed,’ the chief accountant reminded him.
‘Don’t argue with me, Fred,’ said Armstrong. ‘Just pay it.’
In the fifth week temps began coming and going on a daily basis, some lasting only a few hours. But it was Sharon who opened the letter from Sally, to find a check torn in half and a note attached that read: ‘I have already been amply paid for last month’s work.’
When Keith woke the following morning, he was surprised to find Kate already in his dressing-gown, reading Mrs. Sherwood’s manuscript. She leaned across and gave him a kiss before handing over the first seven chapters. He sat up, blinked a few times, turned to the opening page and read the first sentence: ‘As she stepped out of the swimming pool, the bulge in his trunks started to grow.’ He looked across at Kate, who said, ‘Keep reading. It gets steamier.’
Keith had finished about forty pages when Kate leapt out of bed and headed off toward the shower. ‘Don’t bother with much more,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you how it ends later.’
By the time she reappeared, Keith was halfway through the third chapter. He dropped the remaining pages on the floor. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
She walked across to the bed, pulled back the sheets and stared down at his naked body. ‘Judging from your reaction, either you still fancy me or I’d say we’ve got a bestseller on our hands.’
When Townsend went into breakfast about an hour later, only Kate and Mrs. Sherwood were at the table. They were deep in conversation. They stopped talking immediately he sat down. ‘I don’t suppose...’ Mrs. Sherwood began.
‘Suppose what?’ asked Townsend innocently.
Kate had to turn away to avoid Mrs. Sherwood seeing the look on her face.
‘That you might have dipped into my novel?’
‘Dipped?’ said Townsend. ‘I’ve read it from cover to cover. And one thing is clear, Mrs. Sherwood: no one at Schumann’s could possibly have looked at the manuscript, or they would have snapped it up immediately.’
‘Oh, do you really think it’s that good?’ said Mrs. Sherwood.
‘I certainly do,’ said Townsend. ‘And I can only hope, despite our unforgivably offhand response to your original submission, that you’ll still allow Schumann’s to make an offer.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Mrs. Sherwood enthusiastically.
‘Good. However, may I suggest that this is not the place to discuss terms.’
‘Of course. I quite understand, Keith,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you join me in my cabin a little later?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Shall we say around 10:30?’
Townsend nodded. ‘That would suit me perfectly.’ He rose as she folded her napkin and left the table.
‘Did you learn anything new?’ he asked Kate as soon as Mrs. Sherwood was out of earshot.
‘Not a lot,’ she said, nibbling on a piece of raisin toast. ‘But I don’t think she really believes you read the entire manuscript.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Townsend.
‘Because she’s just told me that you had a woman in your cabin last night.’
‘Did she indeed?’ said Townsend. He paused. ‘And what else did she have to say?’
‘She discussed the article in the Ocean Times in great detail, and asked me if...’
‘Good morning, Townsend. Good morning, dear lady,’ said the general as he took his seat. Kate gave him a broad smile and rose from her place.
‘Good luck,’ she said quietly.
‘I’m glad to have this opportunity of a quiet word with you, Townsend. You see, the truth of the matter is that I have already written the first volume of my memoirs, and as I happen to have it with me on board, I wondered if you’d be kind enough to read it and give me your professional opinion.’
It took another twenty minutes for Townsend to escape a book he didn’t want to read, let alone publish. The general hadn’t left him much time to prepare for the meeting with Mrs. Sherwood. He returned to his cabin and went over Kate’s notes one final time before heading off for Mrs. Sherwood’s stateroom. He knocked on her door just after 10:30, and it was opened immediately.
‘I like a man who’s punctual,’ she said.
The Trafalgar Suite turned out to be on two levels, with its own balcony. Mrs. Sherwood ushered her guest toward a pair of comfortable chairs in the center of the drawing room. ‘Would you care for some coffee, Keith?’ she asked as she sat down opposite him.
‘No, thank you, Margaret,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just had breakfast.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Now, shall we get down to business?’
‘Certainly. As I told you earlier this morning,’ said Townsend, ‘Schumann’s would consider it a privilege to publish your novel.’
‘Oh, how exciting,’ said Mrs. Sherwood. ‘I do wish my dear husband were still alive. He always believed I would be published one day.’
‘We would be willing to offer you an advance of $100,000,’ continued Townsend, ‘and 10 percent of the cover price after the advance has been recouped. Paperback publication would follow twelve months after the hardcover, and there would be bonus payments for every week you’re on the New York Times best-seller list.’
‘Oh! Do you really think my little effort might appear on the best-seller list?’
‘I would be willing to bet on it,’ said Townsend.
‘Would you really?’ said Mrs. Sherwood.
Townsend looked anxiously across at her, wondering if he had gone too far.
‘I happily accept your terms, Mr. Townsend,’ she said. ‘I do believe this calls for a celebration.’ She poured him a glass of champagne from a half-empty bottle in the ice bucket beside her. ‘Now that we have come to an agreement on the book,’ she said a few moments later, ‘perhaps you’d be kind enough to advise me on a little problem I’m currently facing.’
‘I will if I possibly can,’ said Townsend, staring up at a painting of a one-armed, one-eyed admiral who was lying on a quarterdeck, dying.
‘I have been most distressed by an article in the Ocean Times that was brought to my attention by... Miss Williams,’ said Mrs. Sherwood. ‘It concerns a Mr. Richard Armstrong.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Mrs. Sherwood, who proceeded to tell Townsend a story he knew rather better than she did. She ended by saying, ‘Claire felt that as you were in publishing, you might be able to recommend someone else who would want to buy my shares.’
‘How much are you hoping to be offered for them?’ asked Townsend.
‘Twenty million dollars. That is the sum I agreed with my brother Alexander, who has already disposed of his stock to this Richard Armstrong for that amount.’