The Fourth Estate (48 page)

“What’s
happened?” she asked.

“My mother’s had
a heart attack. Bring your bags straight down. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“I’m so sorry,”
she said- “Would you like me to call Henry Wolstenholme and tell him what’s
happened?”

“No. We can do
that from the airport,” said Townsend, rushing off down the corridor.

A few minutes
later he emerged from the lift on the ground floor. While his luggage was being
placed in the boot, he settled the bill, walked quickly to the car, tipped the
bellboy and joined Kate in the back. He leaned forward and said to the driver,
“Heathrow.”

“Heathrow?” said
the driver. “My day sheet says I’m to take you to King’s Cross. There’s nothing
here about Heathrow.”

“I don’t give a
damn what your day sheet says,” said Townsend. “Just get me to Heathrow.”

“I’m sorry, sir,
but I’ve got my instructions. You see, King’s Cross is an inner-city booking
whereas Heathrow is an outer-city journey, and I can’t just...”

“If you don’t
move and move quickly, I’ll break your bloody neck,” said Townsend.

“I don’t have to
listen to language like that from anyone,” said the driver. He got out of the
car, unlocked the boot and began unloading their cases onto the curb.

Townsend was
about to leap out after him when Kate took his hand. “Sit still and let me deal
with this,” she said firmly Townsend was unable to bear the conversation that
was taking place behind the car, but after a few moments he could see the cases
being put back into the boot.

When Kate
rejoined him, he said, ‘Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,
thank him,” she whispered.

The driver eased
the car away from the curb, turned left at the lights, and joined the morning
traffic. He was relieved that the traffic leaving London at that time in the
morning wasn’t like the bumper- to-bumper queues that were trying to fight
their way into the capital.

“I’ll have to
call Downer as soon as we get to the airport,” said Townsend quietly.

“Why do you want
to speak to him again?” asked Kate.

“I thought I’d
try and have a word with my mother’s doctor in Melbourne before we take off,
but I don’t have the number.”

Kate nodded.
Townsend began tapping his fingers on the window. He tried to remember the last
meeting he had had with his mother. He had briefed her on the possible takeover
of the West Riding Group, and she had responded with her usual set of shrewd
questions. After dinner he had left, promising her that he would call her from
Leeds if he closed the deal.

“And who’s the
girl going with you?” she had asked. He’d been cagey, but he knew he hadn’t
fooled her. He glanced across at Kate and wanted to take her hand, but she
seemed preoccupied. Neither of them spoke until they arrived at the airport.
When the car pulled up outside the terminal, Townsend jumped out and went in
search of a trolley while the driver unloaded the cases. The moment they were
stacked up, he gave him a large tip, said “Thank you” several times, then
pushed the trolley as fast as he could through the hall to the checking-in
counter, with Kate following a pace behind him.

“Are we still in
time for the Melbourne flight?” Townsend asked as he placed his passport on the
Qantas check-in desk.

“Yes, Mr.
Townsend,” the booking clerk replied, flicking open his passport.

“The High
Commissioner called earlier.” She looked up and said, “We have reserved two
tickets for you, one in your name, the other for Miss Tulloh.”

“That’s me,”
said Kate, handing over her passport.

“You’re both in
first class, seats 3D and E. Would you please go straight to gate number seven
teen,’where boarding is about to commence.”

By the time they
arrived in the departure lounge, economy was already boarding, and Townsend
left Kate to check them in while he went off in search of a telephone. He had
to wait in a queue of three for the one available phone, and when he eventually
reached the front of the line, he dialed Henry’s home number. It was engaged.
He tried three more times, but it continued to give out the same long beeps. As
he began dialing the number at the head of the High Commissioner’s writing
paper, a booking clerk announced that all remaining passengers should take
their seats, as the gates were about to close. The High Commissioner’s number
began to ring, and Townsend glanced round to find that the departure lounge was
empty, apart from him and Kate. He waved her in the direction of the aircraft.

Townsend let the
phone ring for a few more moments, but no one answered.

He gave up and
replaced the receiver, then ran down the corridor to find Kate waiting by the
door of the plane. Once they had entered it, the doors swung closed behind
them.

“Any luck?”
asked Kate, as she began strapping herself into the seat.

“No,” said
Townsend. “Henry was constantly engaged, and the High Commission didn’t answer
the phone.”

Kate remained silent
as the plane taxied toward the runway. When it came to a halt, she said, “While
you were on the phone, I began thinking. It just doesn’t add up.”

The plane began
to accelerate down the runway as Townsend fastened his seatbelt.

“What do you
mean, it doesn’t add up?”

“The last hour,”
said Kate.

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“Well, to start
with, my ticket.”

“Your ticket?”
said Keith, puzzled.

“Yes. How did
Qantas know what name to book it in?”

“I suppose the
High Commissioner told them.”

“But how could
he?” said Kate. “When he sent you the invitation to dinner it didn’t include
me, because he had no idea that I was with you.”

“He could have
asked the hotel manager.”

“Possibly. But
something else has been nagging at the back of my mind.”

“And what’s
that?”

“The bellboy
knew exactly which table to go to.”

“So what?”

“You were facing
me in the corner of the room looking toward the window, but I just happened to
look up when he came into the Palm Court. I remember thinking it was strange
that he knew exactly where to go, despite you having your back to him.”

“He could have
asked the head waiter.”

“No,” said Kate.
“He walked straight past the head waiter. Didn’t even give him a glance.”

“What are you
getting at?”

“And Henry’s
phone-continually engaged even though it was only just after 8:30 in the
morning.” The wheels of the plane left the ground. “And why couldn’t you get
through to the High Commissioner at 8:30 when you could at 7~20?”

Keith looked
straight at her.

“We’ve been
taken, Keith. And by someone who wanted to be certain that you wouldn’t be in
Leeds at twelve o’clock to sign that contract.”

Keith flicked
off his seatbelt, ran up the aisle and barged into the cockpit before the
steward could stop him. The captain listened to his story sympathetically, but
pointed out that there was nothing he could do now that the plane was on its
way to Bombay.

“Flight oog has
taken off for Melbourne with both pieces of cargo on board,” said Benson from a
telephone in the observation tower. He watched as the Comet disappeared through
a bank of clouds. “They will be in the air for at least the next fourteen
hours.”

“Well done,
Reg,” said Armstrong. “Now get back to the Ritz. Sally’s already booked the
room Townsend was in, so wait there for Wolstenholme to call. My guess is that
it will be soon after twelve. By then I’ll have arrived at the Queen’s Hotel,
and I’ll let you know my room number.”

Keith sat in his
seat on the plane, banging the armrests with the palms of his hands. “Who are
they, and how did they manage it?”

Kate was fairly
certain she knew who, and a great deal of how.

Three hours
later, a call came through to the Ritz for Mr. Keith Townsend.

The switchboard
operator followed the instructions she’d been given by the extremely generous gentleman
who’d had a word with her earlier that morning, and put the call through to
room 319, where Benson was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“is Keith
there?” asked an anxious voice.

“Who’s calling,
please?”

“Henry
Wolstenholme,” he boomed.

“Good morning,
Mr. Wolstenholme. Mr. Townsend tried to call you this morning, but Your line
was continually engaged.”

“I know. Someone
called me at home around seven, but it turned out to be a wrong number. When I
tried to dial out later, the line had gone dead.

But where is
Keith?”

“He’s on a plane
to Melbourne. His mother’s had a heart attack and the High Commissioner
arranged to hold up the flight for him.”

“I’m sorry to
hear about Keith’s mother, but I fear Mr. Shuttleworth may not be willing to
hold up the contract. It’s been hard enough to get him to agree to see us at
all.”

Benson read out
the exact words Armstrong had written down for him: “Mr. Townsend instructed me
to say that he has sent a representative up to Leeds with the authority to sign
any contract, as long as you have no objection.”

“I have no
objection,” said Wolstenholme. “When is he expected to arrive?”

“He should be at
the Queen’s Hotel by now. He left for Leeds soon after Mr. Townsend departed
for Heathrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already in the hotel looking
for you.”

“I’d better go
down to the foyer and see if I can find him,” said Wolstenholme.

“By the way,”
said Benson, “our accountant just wanted to check the final figure-E 120,000.”

“Plus all the
legal expenses,” said Wolstenholme.

“Plus all the
legal expenses,” repeated Benson. “I won’t keep you any longer, Mr.
Wolstenholme.” He put the phone down.

Wolstenholme
left the White Rose Room and headed down in the lift, confident that if Keith’s
lawyer had a money draft for the full amount, he could still have everything
settled before Mr. Shuttleworth arrived.

There was only
one problem: he had no idea who he was looking for.

Benson asked the
switchboard operator to connect him to a number in Leeds. When the call was
answered, he asked to be put through to room 217.

“Well done,
Benson,” said Armstrong after he had confirmed the figure of E 120,000. “Now
book out of the hotel, pay the bill in cash and take the rest of the day off.”

Armstrong left
room 217 and took the lift down to the ground floor. As he stepped out into the
foyer he saw Hallet talking to the man he had seen at the Savoy. He went
straight over to them. “Good morning,” he said. “My name is Richard Armstrong,
and this is the company lawyer. I think you’re expecting us.”

Wolstenholme
stared at Armstrong. He,could have sworn he’d seen him somewhere before. “Yes.
I’ve booked us into the White Rose Room so we won’t be disturbed.”

The two men
nodded and followed him. “Sad news about Keith’s mother,” said Wolstenholme as
they stepped into the lift.

“Yes, wasn’t
it?” said Armstrong, careful not to add anything that might later incriminate
him.

Once they had
taken their places round the boardroom table in the White Rose Room, Armstrong
and Hallet checked over the details of the contract line by line, while
Wolstenholme sat in the corner drinking coffee. He was surprised that they were
going over the final draft so thoroughly when Keith had already given it his
blessing, but he accepted that he would have done the same in their position.
From time to time Hallet came up with a question which was invariably followed
by a whispered exchange with Armstrong. An hour later they passed the contract
back to Wolstenholme and confirmed that everything was in order.

Wolstenholme was
about to ask sorne questions of his own, when a middle-aged man shuffled in,
dressed in a prewar suit that hadn’t yet come back into fashion. Wolstenholme
introduced John Shuttleworth, who smiled shyly. After they had shaken hands
Armstrong said, “Nothing left for us to do except sign the contract.”

John
Shuttleworth nodded his agreement, and Arrnstrong removed a pen from inside his
jacket and bent down to sign where Stephen’s trembling finger was poised. He
passed the pen over to Shuttleworth, who signed between the penciled crosses
without uttering a word. Stephen then handed over a, draftfor E 120,000 to
Wolstenholme. The lawyer nodded when Armstrong reminded him that as it was a
draft for cash it would perhaps be wise to bank it immediately.

“I’ll just pop
across to the nearest Midland while they’re setting up for lunch,” said
Wolstenholme. “I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

When
Wolstenholme returned, he found Shuttleworth seated at the lunch table on his
own. “Where are the other two?” he asked.

‘They were most
apologetic, but said they couldn’t wait for lunch – had to get back to London.”
Wolstenholme looked perplexed. There were still several questions he wanted to
ask-and he didn’t know where to send his bill. Shuttleworth poured him a glass of
champagne and said, “Congratulations, Henry. You couldn’t have done a more
professional job.