The Fourth Estate

“But he did promise me one thing,” said E.B.

“What was that?”

“He’ll call the moment the committee has reached its decision.”

“That’s big of him. So what am I expected to do if it goes against me?”

“Release the press statement we agreed on,” she said.

Townsend felt sick.

Twenty minutes later he dashed out of the terminal. A limousine was waiting for him, and he climbed into the back before the driver could open the door for him. The first thing he did was to dial his apartment in Manhattan. Kate must have been waiting by the phone, because she answered immediately.

“Have you heard anything from Cleveland yet?” was her first question.

“Yes. E.B.’s seen Pierson, but he still hasn’t made up his mind,” replied Townsend, as the car joined the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Queens Boulevard.

“What do you think the odds are on him extending the loan?”

“I asked E.B. the same question yesterday, and she said fifty-fifty.”

“I just wish he’d put us out of our misery.”

“He will soon enough.”

“Well, the moment he does, be sure I’m the first person you call, whatever the outcome.”

“Of course you’ll be the first person I call,” he said, putting the phone down.

Townsend’s second call, as the limousine crossed the Queensboro Bridge, was to Tom Spencer. He hadn’t heard anything either. “But I wouldn’t expect to until after E.B. has briefed you,” he said. “That’s just not her style.”

“As soon as I know what Pierson’s decided, we’d better get together to discuss what has to be done next.”

“Sure,” said Tom. “Just give me a call the moment you hear anything and I’ll come straight over.”

The driver swung into Madison Avenue and eased the limousine into the right-hand lane before pulling up outside the headquarters of Global International. He was taken by surprise when Mr. Townsend leaned forward and thanked him for the first time in twenty years. But he was shocked when he opened the door and the boss said, “Goodbye.”

The chairman of Global International strode quickly across the sidewalk and into the building. He headed straight for the bank of elevators and entered the first one that returned to the ground floor. Although the lobby was full of Global employees, none of them attempted to join him, except a bellhop who jumped in and turned a key in a lock next to the top button. The doors slid closed and the elevator began to accelerate toward the forty-seventh floor.

When the lift doors opened again, Townsend stepped out into the thickly carpeted corridor of the executive floor and walked straight past a receptionist who looked up and smiled at him. She was about to say “Good morning, Mr. Townsend,” when she saw the grim expression on his face and thought better of it.

Townsend’s pace never faltered as the glass doors that led to his office area slid open.

“Messages?” was all he said as he passed his secretary’s desk and headed toward his office.

40.

The Globe

5 November 1991

SEARCH FOR MISSING TYCOON

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Armstrong said in a loud, cheerful voice, but he received

only the odd murmur in response. Sir Paul Maitland gave a slight nod as Armstrong took the vacant place on his right. Armstrong looked slowly round the boardroom table. Every seat was filled except for the deputy chairman’s.

“As everyone is present other than Mr. Wakeham,” said Sir Paul, checking his fob watch, “who has already tendered his apologies to the company secretary, I suggest we begin. Can I ask if you all accept the minutes which have been circulated of last month’s board meeting as a true and accurate record?”