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  Attendants began moving up and down the aisles, handing out voting slips. Armstrong placed his cross in the square marked “AGAINST.” Townsend placed his in the square marked “FOR,” and dropped the slip into the tin box provided.

  As the voting continued, some people in the room began to stand and stretch. Lloyd Summers remained silently slumped in his chair, occasionally mopping his forehead with his red silk handkerchief. Angela Humphries didn’t once look in his direction.

  Russell advised his client to remain cool and use the time to go over his acceptance speech. He was confident that, after the board’s clear lead, the motion would be heavily defeated.

  “But shouldn’t you have a word with Ms. Humphries, just in case it isn’t?” whispered Armstrong.

  “I think that would be most unwise in the circumstances,” said Russell, “especially in view of who she is sitting next to.”

  Armstrong glanced in their direction, and scowled. Surely Townsend couldn’t have …

  While the counting was taking place somewhere behind the stage, Lloyd Summers could be seen angrily trying to ask his deputy a question. She glanced in his direction and smiled sweetly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Cornelius Adams as he rose again from his place. “Can I now ask you to return to your seats, as the counting has been completed.” Those who had been chatting in the gangways went back to their places and waited for the result of the ballot to be declared. The chairman was passed a folded slip of paper by the company secretary. He opened it and, like a good judge, gave no clue from his expression as to the verdict.

  “Those voting for the motion, 317,” he declared in senatorial tones.

  Townsend took a deep breath. “Is it enough?” he asked Tom, trying to calculate how many people were sitting in front of the red rope.

  “We’re about to find out,” said Tom calmly.

  “Those voting against, 286. I therefore declare the motion carried by thirty-one votes.” He paused. “And Ms. Angela Humphries to be the new director of the foundation.”

  A gasp went up around the room, followed by uproar, as it seemed that everyone in the audience had a view to express.

  “Closer than I’d expected,” shouted Townsend.

  “But you won, and that’s all that matters,” Tom replied.

  “I haven’t won yet,” said Townsend, his eyes now firmly fixed on Angela.

  People were now looking round the room trying to discover where Ms. Humphries was seated, though not many of them had any idea what she looked like. One person remained standing in his place.

  On the stage, the chairman was having a further consultation with the secretary, who was once again reading directly to him from the little red book. He eventually nodded, turned back to the audience and banged his gavel.

  Looking directly down at Fraser, the chairman waited for the gathering to return to some semblance of order before asking, “Is it your intention to propose another motion, Mr. Fraser?” He did not attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “No, sir, it is not. But I do wish to know who the newly elected director will be supporting with the foundation’s 5 percent shareholding in the company, as that will affect the identity of the next chairman of the board.”

  For a second time everybody in the room began chattering or looking around the room, searching for the new director. Mr. Fraser sat down, and Angela rose from her place, as if she was on the other end of the seesaw.

  The chairman switched his attention to her. “Ms. Humphries,” he said, “as you now control 5 percent of the company’s shares, it is my duty to ask who you will be supporting as chairman.”

  Lloyd Summers continued to mop his brow, but couldn’t bring himself to look in Angela’s direction. She herself appeared remarkably calm and composed. She waited until there was total silence.

  “Mr. Chairman, it will come as no surprise to you that I wish to support the man who I believe will serve the foundation’s best interests.” She paused as Armstrong stood up and waved in her direction, but the glare of the television arc-lights made it impossible for her to see him. The chairman appeared to relax.

  “The trust casts its 5 percent in favor of—” she paused again, obviously enjoying every moment “—Mr. Keith Townsend.”

  A gasp went up around the room. For the first time, the chairman was speechless. He dropped his gavel on the floor and stared open-mouthed at Angela. A moment later he recovered it as well as his composure, and began calling for order. When he felt he could be heard, he asked, “Are you aware, Ms. Humphries, of the consequences of switching the foundation’s vote at this late stage?”

  “I mostly certainly am, Mr. Chairman,” she replied firmly.

  A bevy of Armstrong’s lawyers were already up on their feet protesting. The chairman banged his gavel on the table again and again. Once the noise had subsided, he announced that as Ms. Humphries had pledged the foundation’s 5 percent of stock in favor of Mr. Townsend, thus giving him 51 percent to Mr. Armstrong’s 46, he was therefore left with no choice under standing order 11A, subsection d, but to declare Mr. Keith Townsend the new chairman of the New York Star.

  The two hundred shareholders who had arrived in the hall late rose and cheered on cue like well-rehearsed film extras as Townsend made his way up onto the stage. Armstrong stormed out of the room, leaving his lawyers to carry on with their protests.

  Townsend began by shaking hands with Cornelius Adams, the former chairman, and each of the members of the board, though none of them looked particularly pleased to see him.

  He then took his place at the front of the stage and looked down into the noisy hall. “Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, tapping the microphone, “may I begin by thanking you, Mr. Adams, and the board of the Star, for the service and inspired leadership you have all given the company over the years, and may I wish every one of you success in whatever it is you choose to do in the future.”

  Tom was glad that Townsend couldn’t see the expressions on the faces of the men seated behind him.

  “Let me assure the shareholders of this great paper that I will do everything in my power to continue to uphold the traditions of the Star. You have my word that I will never interfere in the editorial integrity of the paper, other than to remind every journalist of the words of the great Manchester Guardian editor C.P. Scott, which have been the benchmark of my professional life: ‘Comment is free, but facts are sacred.’”

  The actors rose from their places again and began applauding on cue. When the noise finally died down, Townsend ended by saying, “I look forward to seeing you all again in a year’s time.” He banged the gavel and declared the AGM closed.

  Several people in the front row leapt up again to continue their protest, while two hundred others carried out their instructions. They rose and began to make their way toward the exit, talking loudly among themselves. Within minutes, the room was cleared of all but a handful of protesters addressing an empty stage.

  As Townsend left the room, the first thing he asked Tom was, “Have you drawn up a new lease on the foundation’s old building?”

  “Yes, it’s in my office. All it requires is your signature.”

  “And there will be no increase in rent?”

  “No, it’s fixed for the next ten years,” said Tom. “As Ms. Humphries assured me it would be.”

  “And her contract?”

  “Also for ten years, but at a third of Lloyd Summers’s salary.”

  As the two men stepped out of the hotel, Townsend turned to his lawyer and said, “So all I have to do now is decide whether to sign it or not.”

  “But I’ve already made a verbal agreement with her,” said Tom.

  Townsend grinned at his attorney as the hotel manager and several cameramen, photographers and journalists pursued them to their waiting car.

  “My turn to ask you a question,” said Tom as they slipped into the back seat of the BMW.

  “Go ahead.”

  �€