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  “Yes, Dick. I assume she is to receive the bonuses that are due, as well as the appropriate long-term severance pay?”

  “No. She is to receive nothing other than what she is entitled to under the terms of her contract and by law.”

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, Dick, Sally’s never had a contract. In fact she’s the longest-serving member of the company. Don’t you feel in the circumstances…”

  “Say another word, Fred, and you’ll be collecting your P45 as well.” Armstrong slammed the phone down again and picked it up a third time. This time he dialed a number he knew off by heart. Although it was answered immediately, nobody spoke.

  “It’s Dick,” he began. “Before you put the phone down, I’ve just sacked Sally. She’s already left the building.”

  “That’s wonderful news, darling,” said Sharon. “When do I begin?”

  “Monday morning.” He hesitated. “As my secretary.”

  “As your personal assistant,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, of course. As my PA. Why don’t we discuss the details over the weekend? We could fly down to the yacht…”

  “But what about your wife?”

  “I rang her first thing this morning and told her not to expect me home this weekend.”

  There was a long pause before Sharon said, “Yes, I’d love to spend the weekend on the yacht with you, Dick, but if anyone should bump into us in Monte Carlo, you will remember to introduce me as your PA, won’t you?”

  * * *

  Sally waited in vain for her final paycheck, and Dick made no attempt to contact her. Friends at the office told her that Miss Levitt—as she insisted on being called—had moved in, and that the place was already in complete chaos. Armstrong never knew where he was meant to be, his letters remained unanswered, and his temper was no longer mercurial, simply perpetual. No one was willing to tell him that he had it in his power to resolve the problem with one phone call—if he wanted to.

  Over a drink at her local pub, a barrister friend pointed out to Sally that under new legislation she was, after twenty-one years of unbroken service, in a strong position to sue Armstrong for unfair dismissal. She reminded him that she didn’t have a contract of employment, and no one knew better than she what tactics Armstrong would employ were she to serve him with a writ. Within a month she would find she couldn’t afford her legal fees, and would be left with no choice but to abandon the case. She had seen these tactics used to good effect on so many others who’d dared to retaliate in the past.

  Sally had just arrived home one afternoon from a temping job when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and was asked, over a crackling line, to hold on for a call from Sydney. She wondered why she didn’t simply put the phone down, but after a few moments another voice came on the line. “Good evening, Mrs. Carr, my name is Keith Townsend and I’m…”

  “Yes, Mr. Townsend, I am well aware who you are.”

  “I was calling to say how appalled I was to hear how you’ve been treated by your former boss.”

  Sally made no comment.

  “It may come as a surprise to you that I’d like to offer you a job.”

  “So you can find out what Dick Armstrong has been up to, and which paper he’s trying to buy?”

  There was a long silence, and only the crackling convinced her that the line hadn’t gone dead. “Yes,” said Townsend eventually. “That’s exactly what I had in mind. But then at least you could take that holiday in Italy you’ve made the down payment on.” Sally was speechless.

  Townsend continued, “I would also make good any compensation you should have been entitled to after twenty-one years of service.”

  Sally said nothing for a few moments, suddenly aware why Dick considered this man such a formidable opponent. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Townsend, but I’m not interested,” she said firmly, and put the phone down.

  Sally’s immediate reaction was to contact the accounts department at Armstrong House to try and find out why she hadn’t received her final paycheck. She was kept waiting for some time before the senior accountant came on the line.

  “When can I expect last month’s paycheck, Fred?” she asked. “It’s more than two weeks overdue.”

  “I know, but I’m afraid I’ve been given instructions not to issue it, Sally.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “It’s no more than I’m entitled to.”

  “I realize that,” said Fred, “but…”

  “But what?”

  “It seems there was a breakage during your final week which you’ve been billed for. A fine bone china Staffordshire coffee set, I was told.”

  “The bastard,” said Sally. “I wasn’t even in the room when he smashed it.”

  “And he’s also deducted two days’ wages for taking time off during office hours.”

  “But he knows very well that he told me to keep out of the way himself, so that he could…”

  “We all know that, Sally. But he’s no longer prepared to listen.”

  “I know, Fred,” she said. “It’s not your fault. I appreciate the risk you’re taking by even speaking to me, so thank you.” She hung up, and just sat at the kitchen table staring into space. When she picked up the telephone again an hour later she asked to be put through to the international operator.

  In Sydney, Heather put her head round the door. “There’s a reverse-charge call for you from London,” she said. “A Mrs. Sally Carr. Will you take it?”

  * * *

  Sally flew into Sydney two days later. Sam picked her up from the airport. After a night’s rest the debriefing began. At a cost of $5,000, Townsend had employed a former head of the Australian Security Intelligence Organization to conduct the interview. By the end of the week Sally was drained, and Townsend wondered if there was anything else he could possibly know about Richard Armstrong.

  On the day she was due to fly back to England, he offered her a full-time job in his London office. “Thank you, Mr. Townsend,” she replied as he handed her a check for $25,000, but added, with the sweetest of smiles, “I’ve spent almost half my life working for one monster, and after a week with you, I don’t think I want to spend the rest of it working for another one.”

  After Sam had taken Sally to the airport, Townsend and Kate spent hours listening to the tapes. They agreed on one thing: if he was to have any chance of purchasing the remaining shares in the Globe, he had to get to Margaret Sherwood before Armstrong did. She was the key to gaining control of 100 percent of the company.

  Once Sally had explained why Armstrong had bid a million francs for an egg at an auction in Geneva, all Townsend needed to discover was the equivalent of Peter Carl Fabergé for Mrs. Margaret Sherwood.

  Kate jumped out of bed in the middle of the night, and started playing tape number three. A drowsy Keith raised his head from the pillow when he heard the words “the senator’s mistress.”

  25.

  Ocean Times

  6 June 1967

  WELCOME ABOARD!

  Keith landed at Kingston airport four hours before the liner was due to dock. He checked through customs and took a taxi to the Cunard booking office on the dockside. A man in a smart white uniform, with a little too much gold braid for a booking clerk, asked if he could be of assistance.

  “I’d like to reserve a first class cabin on the Queen Elizabeth’s voyage to New York,” said Townsend. “My aunt is already on board taking her annual cruise, and I was wondering if there might be a cabin available somewhere near her.”

  “And what is your aunt’s name?” asked the booking clerk.

  “Mrs. Margaret Sherwood,” Townsend replied.

  A finger ran down the passenger list. “Ah, yes. Mrs. Sherwood has the Trafalgar Suite as usual. It’s on level three. We only have one first class cabin still available on that level, but it’s not far from her.” The booking clerk unrolled a large-scale layout of the ship and pointed to two boxes, the second of which was considerably larger than the first.