The Fourth Estate

“But he pays her full maintenance.”

“Not always on time,” said the editor. “And it could be regarded as being in the public’s interest that when he was an under-secretary of state in the Social Services Department, he was responsible for piloting the single-parent allowance through its committee stage on the floor of the House.”

“That’s irrelevant, and you know it.”

“There’s another factor that might interest our readers.”

“And what’s that?”

“She’s a Moslem. Having given birth to a child out of wedlock, she can never hope to marry. They’re a little stricter on these matters than the Church of England.” The editor removed a photograph from his file and placed it on Armstrong’s desk. Armstrong glanced at the picture of an attractive Asian mother with her arms around a little boy. The child’s resemblance to his father would have been hard to deny.

Armstrong looked back up at Sharpe. “How did you know I was going to want to discuss this with you?”

“I assumed you hadn’t canceled our lunch because you wanted to chat with Ray Atkins about Bradford City’s chances of being relegated this season.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me,” snapped Armstrong. “You’ll drop this whole inquiry, and you’ll drop it immediately. If I ever see even a hint of this story in any one of my papers, you needn’t bother to report to work the next morning.”

“But…” said the editor.

“And while you’re at it, you can leave that file on my desk.”

“I can what?”

Armstrong continued to glower at him until he meekly placed the heavy file on the desk. He turned and left without another word.

Armstrong cursed. If he sacked Sharpe now, the first thing he would do would be to walk across the road and give the story to the Globe. He had made a decision that was likely to cost him a great deal of money either way. He picked up the phone. “Pamela, get me Mr. Atkins at the Department of Trade and Industry.”

Atkins came on the line a few moments later. “Is this a public line?” asked Armstrong, aware that civil servants often listened in on conversations in case their ministers made commitments that they would then have to follow up.

“No, you’ve come through on my private line,” Atkins assured him.

“I have spoken to the editor in question,” said Armstrong, “and I can assure you that Mr. Cummins won’t be bothering you again. I also warned him that if I see any reference to this incident in any one of my papers, he can start looking for another job.”

“Thank you,” said the minister.

“And it may interest you to know, Ray, that I have on my desk Cummins’s file concerning this matter, and will be shredding it as soon as we’ve finished speaking. Believe me, no one will ever hear a word of this again.”

“You’re a good friend, Dick. And you’ve probably saved my career.”

“A career worth saving,” said Armstrong. “Never forget, I’m here if you need me.” As he replaced the phone Pamela put her head round the door.

“Stephen called again while you were on the phone to the minister. Shall I get him back?”

“Yes. And after that, there’s something I want you to do for me.” Pamela nodded and disappeared into her own office. A moment later one of the phones on his desk rang. Armstrong picked it up.

“What’s the problem, Stephen?”

“There’s no problem. I’ve had a long discussion with Sharon Levitt’s solicitors, and we’ve come up with some preliminary proposals for a settlement—subject of course to both parties agreeing.”

“Fill me in,” said Armstrong.

“It seems that Sharon has a boyfriend living in Italy, and…” Armstrong listened intently as Stephen outlined the terms that had been negotiated on his behalf. He was smiling long before his lawyer had finished.

“That all seems very satisfactory,” he said.

“Yes. How did the meeting with the minister go?”

“It went well. He’s facing roughly the same problem that I am, but he has the disadvantage of not having someone like you to sort it out for him.”