The Fourth Estate

They had just finished shaking hands when the doctor said, “Good evening, Mrs. Sherwood. May I introduce Keith Townsend?”

Keith knew from Kate’s profile that Mrs. Sherwood was sixty-seven, but it was clear that she must have spent a considerable amount of time and money trying to deny the fact. He doubted if she had ever been beautiful, but the description “well preserved” certainly came to mind. Her evening dress was fashionable, even if the hem was perhaps an inch too short. Townsend smiled at her as if she was twenty-five years younger.

When Mrs. Sherwood first heard Townsend’s accent, she was barely able to hide her disapproval, but then two other passengers arrived within moments of each other and distracted her. Townsend didn’t catch the name of the general, but the woman introduced herself as Claire Williams, and took the seat next to Dr. Percival on the far side of the table. Townsend smiled at her but she didn’t respond.

Even before Townsend had taken his seat, Mrs. Sherwood demanded to know why the archdeacon had been moved.

“I think I see him on the captain’s table,” said Claire.

“I do hope he’ll return tomorrow,” said Mrs. Sherwood, and immediately began a conversation with Mr. Osborne, who was seated on her right. As she resolutely refused to speak to Townsend during the first course, he began chatting to Mrs. Percival while trying to listen to Mrs. Sherwood’s conversation at the same time. He found it quite difficult.

Townsend had hardly spoken a dozen words to Mrs. Sherwood by the time the main course was being cleared away. It was over coffee that Claire inquired from the other side of the table if he had ever visited England.

“Yes, I was up at Oxford just after the war,” Townsend admitted for the first time in fifteen years.

“Which college?” demanded Mrs. Sherwood, swinging round to face him.

“Worcester,” he replied sweetly. But that turned out to be the first and last question she addressed to him that evening. Townsend stood as she left the table, and wondered if three days was going to be enough. When he had finished his coffee, he said good night to Claire and the general before returning to his cabin to go over the file again. There was no mention of prejudice or snobbery in the profile, but then, to be fair to Sally, she had never met Margaret Sherwood.

When Townsend took his seat for breakfast the following morning the only vacant place was on his right, and although he was the last to leave, Mrs. Sherwood never appeared. He glanced at Claire as she left the table and just wondered whether to follow her, but then decided against it, as it wasn’t part of the plan. For the next hour he strolled around the ship, hoping to bump into her. But he didn’t see her again that morning.

When he appeared a few minutes late for lunch, he

was disconcerted to find that Mrs. Sherwood had moved to the other side of the table, and was now sitting between the general and Dr. Percival. She didn’t even look up when he took his seat. When Claire arrived a few moments later, she had no choice but to take the place next to Townsend, although she immediately began a conversation with Mr. Osborne.

Townsend tried to listen to what Mrs. Sherwood was saying to the general, in the hope that he could find some excuse to join in their conversation, but all she was saying was that this was her nineteenth world cruise, and that she knew the ship almost as well as the captain.

Townsend was beginning to fear that his plan wasn’t going at all well. Should he approach the subject directly? Kate had strongly advised against it. “We mustn’t assume she’s a fool,” she had warned him when they parted at the airport. “Be patient, and an opportunity will present itself.”

He turned casually to his right when he heard Dr. Percival ask Claire if she had read Requiem for a Nun.

“No,” she replied, “I haven’t. Is it any good?”

“Oh, I have,” said Mrs. Sherwood from the other side of the table, “and I can tell you it’s far from his best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Sherwood,” said Townsend, a little too quickly.

“And why is that, Mr. Townsend?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise that he even knew who the author was.

“Because I have the privilege of publishing Mr. Faulkner.”

“I had no idea you were a publisher,” said Dr. Percival. “How exciting. I’ll bet there are a lot of people on this ship who could tell you a good story.”

“Possibly even one or two at this table,” said Townsend, avoiding Mrs. Sherwood’s stare.

“Hospitals are an endless source for stories,” continued Dr. Percival. “I should know.”

“That’s true,” said Townsend, now enjoying himself. “But having a good story isn’t enough. You must then be able to commit it to paper. That’s what takes real talent.”

“Which company do you work for?” asked Mrs. Sherwood, trying to sound casual.

Townsend had cast the fly and she had leapt right out of the water. “Schumann & Co., in New York,” he replied, equally casually.

At this point the general began to tell Townsend how many people had urged him to write his memoirs. He then proceeded to give everyone at the table a flavor of how the first chapter might turn out.

Townsend wasn’t surprised to find that Mrs. Sherwood had replaced Claire at his side when he appeared for dinner. Over the smoked salmon he spent a considerable time explaining to Mrs. Percival how a book got onto the bestseller list.

“Can I interrupt you, Mr. Townsend?” asked Mrs. Sherwood quietly, as the lamb was being served.