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  “Why?” asked Tom.

  “Because, counselor, we’ll need a witness to the contract.”

  * * *

  Sir Walter Sherwood had sworn several times that day, well above his average for a month.

  The first string of expletives came after he had put the phone down on his brother. Alexander had called from Paris just before breakfast to tell him that he had sold his shares in the Globe to Richard Armstrong, at a price of $20 million. He recommended Walter to do the same.

  But everything Sir Walter had heard about Armstrong only convinced him that he was the last man alive who should control a newspaper that was as British as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

  He had calmed down a little after a good lunch at the Turf Club, but then nearly had a heart attack when his sister-in-law called from New York to say that she had also sold her shares, not to Armstrong, but to Keith Townsend, a man Sir Walter considered gave colonials a bad name. He would never forget being stuck in Sydney for a week and having to endure the daily views of the Sydney Chronicle on the subject of “the so-called Queen of Australia.” He had switched to the Continent, only to discover that it was in favor of Australia becoming a republic.

  The final call of the day came from his accountant just before he sat down to dinner with his wife. Sir Walter didn’t need to be reminded that sales of the Globe had been falling every week for the past year, and that he would therefore be wise to accept an offer of $20 million from whatever quarter. Not least because, as the bloody man so crudely put it, “The two of them have stitched you up, and the sooner you get your hands on the money the better.”

  “But which one of the bounders should I close a deal with?” he asked pathetically. “Each seems to be just as bad as the other.”

  “That is not a matter on which I’m qualified to advise,” replied the accountant. “Perhaps you should settle on the one you dislike least.”

  Sir Walter arrived in his office unusually early the following morning, and his secretary presented him with a thick file on each of the interested parties. She told him they had both been delivered by hand, within an hour of each other. He began to dip into them, and quickly realized that each must have been sent by the other. He procrastinated. But as the days passed, his accountant, his lawyer and his wife regularly reminded him about the continued drop in sales figures, and that the easy way out had been presented to him.

  He finally accepted the inevitable, and decided that so long as he could remain as chairman of the board for another four years—which would take him up to his seventieth birthday—he could learn to live with either Armstrong or Townsend. He felt it was important for his friends at the Turf Club to know that he had been kept on as chairman.

  The following morning, he asked his secretary to invite the rival suitors to lunch at the Turf Club on successive days. He promised he would let them know his decision within a week.

  But after having had lunch with them both, he still couldn’t decide which he disliked most—or, for that matter, least. He admired the fact that Armstrong had won the MC fighting for his adopted country, but couldn’t abide the thought of the proprietor of the Globe not knowing how to hold a knife and fork. Against that, he rather enjoyed the idea of the proprietor of the Globe being an Oxford man, but felt ill whenever he recalled Townsend’s views on the monarchy. At least both of them had assured him that he would remain as chairman. But when the week was up, he was still no nearer to reaching a decision.

  He began to take advice from everyone at the Turf Club, including the barman, but he still couldn’t make up his mind. It was only when his banker told him that the pound was strengthening against the dollar because of President Johnson’s continuing troubles in Vietnam that he finally came to a decision.

  Funny how a single word can trigger a stream of unrelated thoughts and turn them into action, mused Sir Walter. As he put the phone down on his banker, he knew exactly who should be entrusted to make the final decision. But he also realized that it would have to be kept secret, even from the editor of the Globe, until the last moment.

  On the Friday afternoon, Armstrong flew to Paris with a girl called Julie from the advertising department, instructing Pamela that he was not to be contacted except in an emergency. He repeated the word “emergency” several times.

  Townsend had flown back to New York the previous day, having been given a tip that a major shareholder in the New York Star might at last be willing to sell their stock in the paper. He told Heather he didn’t expect to return to England for at least a fortnight.

  Sir Walter’s secret broke on the Friday evening. The first person in Armstrong’s camp to hear the news rang his office immediately, and was given his secretary’s home number. When it was explained to Pamela what Sir Walter was planning, she was in no doubt that this was an emergency by any standards and immediately phoned the George V. The manager informed her that Mr. Armstrong and his “companion” had moved hotels after he had come across a group of Labor ministers, who were in Paris to attend a NATO conference, sitting in the bar. Pamela spent the rest of the evening systematically ringing every first class hotel in Paris, but it wasn’t until a few minutes after midnight that she finally ran Armstrong to ground.

  The night porter told her emphatically that Mr. Armstrong had said he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Remembering the age of the girl who was with him, he felt that he wouldn’t get much of a tip if he disobeyed that order. Pamela lay awake all night and phoned again at seven the following morning. But as the manager didn’t come on duty until nine on a Saturday, she received the same frosty reply.

  The first person to tell Townsend what was going on was Chris Slater, the deputy features editor of the Globe, who decided that for the trouble it took to make an overseas call, he might well secure his future on the paper. In fact it took several overseas calls to track Mr. Townsend down at the Racquets Club in New York, where he was eventually found playing squash with Tom Spencer for $1,000 a game.

  Townsend was serving with a four-point lead in the final set when there was a knock on the glass door and a club servant asked if Mr. Townsend could take an urgent telephone call. Trying not to lose his concentration, Townsend simply asked, “Who?” As the name Chris Slater meant nothing to him, he said, “Tell him I’ll call back later.” Just before he served, he added, “Did he say where he was calling from?”

  “No, sir,” replied the messenger. “He only said he was with the Globe.”

  Townsend squeezed the ball as he considered the alternatives.

  He was currently $2,000 up against a man he hadn’t beaten in months, and he knew that if he left the court, even for a few moments, Tom would claim the match.

  He stood staring at the front wall for another ten seconds, until Tom said sharply, “Serve!”

  “Is that your advice, counselor?” he asked.

  “It is,” replied the lawyer. “Get on with it or concede. The choice is yours.” Townsend dropped the ball, ran out of the court and chased after the messenger. He reached him just before he put the phone down.

  “This had better be good, Mr. Slater,” said Townsend, “because so far you’ve cost me $2,000.”

  He listened in disbelief as Slater told him that in the following day’s edition of the Globe, Sir Walter Sherwood would be inviting the paper’s readers to vote on who they felt should be its next proprietor.

  “There will be balanced full-page profiles on both candidates,” Slater went on to explain, “with a voting slip at the bottom of the page.” He then read out the last three sentences of the proposed editorial.

  The loyal readers of the Globe need have no fear for the future of the best-loved paper in the kingdom. Both candidates have agreed that Sir Walter Sherwood shall remain as chairman of the board, guaranteeing the continuity that has been the hallmark of the paper’s success for the better part of a century. So register your vote, and the result will be announced next Saturday.

  Townsend thanked Sla