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  His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. Pamela had Stephen Hallet on the line.

  “Sorry to have to call you back, Stephen, but I had young Ray Atkins on the line. Says he needs to see me urgently. I think we can both work out what that’s about.”

  “I thought the decision on the Citizen wasn’t expected until next month at the earliest.”

  “Perhaps they want to make an announcement before people start speculating. Don’t forget that Atkins was the minister who referred Townsend’s bid for the Citizen to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission. I don’t think the Labor Party will be ecstatic about Townsend controlling the Citizen as well as the Globe.”

  “It’s the MMC who’ll decide in the end, Dick, not the minister.”

  “I still can’t see them allowing Townsend to gain control of half of Fleet Street. In any case, the Citizen is the one paper that’s consistently supported the Labor Party over the years, while most of the other rags have been nothing more than Tory magazines.”

  “But the MMC will still have to appear even-handed.”

  “Like Townsend has been with Wilson and Heath? The Globe has become a daily love letter to Teddy the sailor boy. If Townsend were to get his hands on the Citizen as well, the Labor movement would be left without a voice in this country.”

  “You know it and I know it,” said Stephen. “But the MMC isn’t made up only of socialists.”

  “More’s the pity,” said Armstrong. “If I could get my hands on the Citizen, for the first time in his life Townsend would discover what real competition is all about.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, Dick. I wish you luck with the minister. But that wasn’t the reason I was calling.”

  “Whenever you phone, Stephen, it’s a problem. What is it this time?”

  “I’ve just received a long letter from Sharon Levitt’s solicitor, threatening you with a writ,” said Stephen.

  “But I signed a settlement with her months ago. She can’t expect another penny out of me.”

  “I know you did, Dick. But this time they’re going to serve a paternity order on you. It seems that Sharon has given birth to a son, and she’s claiming that you’re the father.”

  “It could be anyone’s, knowing that promiscuous little bitch…” began Armstrong.

  “Possibly,” said Stephen. “But not with that birthmark below its right shoulderblade. And don’t forget there are four women on the MMC, and Townsend’s wife is pregnant.”

  “When was the bastard born?” asked Armstrong, quickly leafing backward through his diary.

  “4 January.”

  “Hold on,” said Armstrong. He stared down at the entry in the diary for nine months before that date: Alexander Sherwood, Paris. “The bloody woman must have planned it all along,” he boomed, “while pretending that she wanted to be my personal assistant. That way she knew she’d end up with two settlements. What are you recommending?”

  “Her solicitors will be aware of the battle that’s going on for the Citizen, and therefore they know that it would only take one call to the Globe…”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” said Armstrong, his voice rising.

  “Perhaps not,” replied Stephen calmly. “But she might. I can only recommend that you let me settle on the best terms I can get.”

  “If you say so,” said Armstrong quietly. “But make sure you warn them that if one word of this leaks out, the payments will dry up the same day.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Stephen. “But I’m afraid she’s learned something from you.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Dick.

  “That it doesn’t pay to hire a cheap solicitor. I’ll phone you back as soon as we’ve agreed terms.”

  “Do that,” said Armstrong, slamming the phone down.

  “Pamela!” he bellowed through the door. “Get me Don Sharpe.” When the editor of the London Evening Post came on the line, Armstrong said, “Something’s come up. I’m going to have to postpone our lunch for the time being.” He put the phone down before giving Sharpe a chance to respond. Armstrong had long ago decided that this particular editor needed replacing, and he had even approached the man he wanted for the job, but the minister’s phone call had caused that decision to be delayed for a few more days.

  He wasn’t too worried about Sharon and whether she might blab. He had files on every editor in Fleet Street, even thicker ones on their masters, and almost an entire cabinet devoted to Keith Townsend. His mind drifted back to Ray Atkins.

  After Pamela had gone through the morning mail with him, he asked her for a copy of Dod’s Parliamentary Companion. He wanted to remind himself of the salient facts of Atkins’s career, the names of his wife and children, the ministries he’d held, even his hobbies.

  Everyone accepted that Ray Atkins was one of the brightest politicians of his generation, as was confirmed when Harold Wilson made him a shadow minister after only fifteen months. Following the 1966 general election Atkins became Minister of State at the Department of Trade and Industry. It was generally agreed that if Labor were to win the next election—a result that Armstrong didn’t consider likely—Atkins would be invited to join the Cabinet. One or two people were even talking of him as a future leader of the party.

  As Atkins was a member for a northern constituency covered by one of Armstrong’s local papers, the two men had become more than casual acquaintances over the years, often having a meal together at the party conference. When Atkins was appointed minister of industry, with special responsibilities for takeovers, Armstrong made even more of an effort to cultivate him, hoping that might tip the balance when it came to deciding who should be allowed to take over the Citizen.

  Sales of the Globe had continued their steady decline after Townsend had bought out Sir Walter Sherwood. Townsend had intended to sack the editor, but he shelved his plans when a few months later Hugh Tuncliffe, the proprietor of the Citizen, died, and his widow announced she would be putting the paper up for sale. Townsend spent several days convincing his board that he should put in an offer for the Citizen—an offer which the Financial Times described as “too high a price to pay,” even though the Citizen boasted the largest daily circulation in Britain. After all the bids had been received, his turned out to be the highest by far. There was an immediate outcry from the chattering classes, whose strongly held views were reported on the front page of the Guardian. Day after day, selected columnists trumpeted their disapproval of the prospect of Townsend owning the two most successful dailies in the land. In a rare display of broadsheet solidarity The Times thundered its views in a leader on behalf of the Establishment, condemning the idea of foreigners taking over national institutions and thus exerting a powerful influence over the British way of life. The following morning several letters landed on the editor’s desk pointing out that The Times’s own proprietor was a Canadian. None of them was published.

  When Armstrong announced that he would match Townsend’s offer, and agreed to retain Sir Paul Maitland, the former ambassador to Washington, as chairman of the board, the government was left with no choice but to recommend that the matter be referred to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission. Townsend was livid at what he described as “nothing more than a socialist plot,” but he didn’t gain much sympathy from those who had followed the decline in the journalistic standards of the Globe over the past year. Not that many people came out in favor of Armstrong either. The cliché about having to choose the lesser of two evils had appeared in several papers during the past month.

  But this time Armstrong was convinced he had Townsend on the run, and that the biggest prize in Fleet Street was about to fall into his lap. He couldn’t wait for Ray Atkins to join him for lunch and have the news officially confirmed.

  Atkins arrived at Armstrong House just before one. The proprietor was having a conversation in Russian when Pamela ushered him into the office. Armstrong immediately put the phone down in mid-sentence and rose to welcome his guest. He couldn�€