The Fourth Estate
Keith beamed at her.
“However,” she continued, “if my book isn’t published within a year of signing the contract, you will have to pay a penalty of one million dollars. And if it fails to get on the New York Times best-seller list, you will forfeit a second million.”
“But…”
“You did say when I asked you about the best-seller list that you would be willing to bet on it, didn’t you, Mr. Townsend? So I’m going to give you a chance to do just that.”
“But…” repeated Keith.
“I look forward to seeing you at my apartment at ten tomorrow morning, Mr. Townsend. My lawyer has confirmed that he will be able to attend. Should you fail to turn up, I shall simply sign the contract with Mr. Armstrong at eleven.” She paused and, looking straight at Keith, said, “I have a feeling he would also be willing to publish my novel.”
Without another word she began walking toward the passenger ramp. Kate joined him at the railing and they watched her slow descent. As she stepped onto the quay, two black Rolls-Royces swept up, and a chauffeur leapt out of the first one to open the back door for her. The second stood waiting for her luggage.
“How did she manage to speak to her lawyer?” said Keith. “Calling him about her novel could hardly be described as an emergency.”
Just before she stepped into the car, Mrs. Sherwood looked up and waved to someone. They both turned and stared in the direction of the bridge.
The captain was saluting.
26.
Daily Mail
10 June 1967
END OF SIX-DAY WAR: NASSER QUITS
Armstrong double-checked the flight times for New York. He then looked up Mrs. Sherwood’s address in the Manhattan telephone directory, and even phoned the Pierre to be sure the Presidential Suite had been booked. This was one meeting he couldn’t afford to be late for, and for which he couldn’t turn up on the wrong day or at the wrong address.
He had already deposited $20 million at the Manhattan Bank, gone over the press statement with his public relations adviser and warned Peter Wakeham to prepare the board for a special announcement.
Alexander Sherwood had phoned the previous evening to say that he had called his sister-in-law before she went on her annual cruise. She had confirmed that the agreed figure was $20 million, and was looking forward to meeting Armstrong at eleven o’clock at her apartment on the day after her return. By the time he and Sharon stepped onto the plane, Armstrong was confident that within twenty-four hours he would be the sole proprietor of a national newspaper second only in circulation to the Daily Citizen.
They touched down at Idlewild a few hours before the Queen Elizabeth was due to dock at Pier 90. After they had checked into the Pierre, Armstrong walked across to 63rd Street to be sure he knew exactly where Mrs. Sherwood lived. For $10 the doorman confirmed that she was expected back later that day.
Over dinner in the hotel that night he and Sharon hardly spoke. He was beginning to wonder why he had bothered to bring her along. She was in bed long before he headed for the bathroom, and asleep by the time he came out.
As he climbed into bed, he tried to think what could possibly go wrong between now and eleven o’clock the next morning.
* * *
“I think she knew what we were up to all along,” said Kate as she watched Mrs. Sherwood’s Rolls disappear out of sight.
“She can’t have,” said Townsend. “But even if she did, she still accepted the terms I wanted.”
“Or was it the terms she wanted?” said Kate quietly.
“What are you getting at?”
“Just that it was all a little bit too easy for my liking. Don’t forget, she’s not a Sherwood. She was just clever enough to marry one.”
“You’ve become too suspicious for your own good,” said Townsend. “Try not to forget, she isn’t Richard Armstrong.”
“I’ll only be convinced when you have her signature on both contracts.”
“Both?”
“She won’t part with her third of the Globe unless she really believes you’re going to publish her novel.”