The Fourth Estate (56 page)

Keith had
finished about forty pages when Kate leapt out of bed and headed off toward the
shower. “Don’t bother with much more,” she said.

“I’ll tell you
how it ends later.”

By the time she
reappeared, Keith was halfway through the third chapter.

He dropped the
remaining pages on the floor. “What do you think?” he asked.

She walked
across to the bed, pulled back the sheets and stared down at his naked body.
“Judging from your reaction, either you still fancy me or I’d say we’ve got a
bestseller on our hands.”

When Townsend
went into breakfast about an hour later, only Kate and Mrs.

Sherwood were at
the table. They were deep in conversation, They stopped talking immediately he
sat down. “I don’t suppose. . .” Mrs. Sherwood began.

“Suppose what?”
asked Townsend innocently.

Kate had to turn
away to avoid Mrs. Sherwood seeing the look on her face.

“That you might
have dipped into my novel?”

“Dipped?” said
Townsend. “I’ve read it from cover to cover. And one thing is clear, Mrs.
Sherwood: no one at Schumann’s could possibly have looked at the manuscript, or
they would have snapped it up immediately.”

“Oh, do you
really think it’s that good?” said Mrs. Sherwood.

“I certainly
do,” said Townsend. “And I can only hope, despite our unforgivably offhand
response to your original submission, that you’ll still allow Schumann’s to
make an offer.”

“Of course I wil
I,” said Mrs. Sherwood enthusiastically.

“Good. However,
may I suggest that this is not the place to discuss terms.”

“Of course. I
quite understand, Keith,” she said. “Why don’t you join me in my cabin a little
later?” She glanced at her watch. “Shall we say around 10:30?”

Townsend nodded.
‘That would suit me perfectly.” He rose as she folded her napkin and left the
table.

“Did you learn
anything new?” he asked Kate as soon as Mrs. Sherwood was out of earshot.

“Not a lot,” she
said, nibbling on a piece of raisin toast. “But I don’t think she really
believes you read the entire manuscript.”

“What makes you
say that?” asked Townsend.

“Because she’s
just told me that you had a woman in your cabin last night.”

“Did she
indeed?” said Townsend. He paused. “And what else did she have to say?”

“She discussed
the article in the Ocean Times in great detail, and asked me if...”

“Good morning,
Townsend. Good morning, dear lady,” said the general as he took his seat. Kate
gave him a broad smile and rose from her place.

“Good luck,” she
said quietly.

“I’m glad to
have this opportunity of a quiet word with you, Townsend. You see, the truth of
the matter is that I have already written the first volume of my memoirs, and
as I happen to have it with me on board, I wondered if you’d be kind enough to
read it and give me your professional opinion.”

It took another
twenty minutes for Townsend to escape a book he didn’t want to read, let alone
publish. The general hadn’t left him much time to prepare for the meeting with
Mrs. Sherwood. He returned to his cabin and went over Kate’s notes one final
time before heading off for Mrs.

Sherwood’s
stateroom. He knocked on her doorjust after 10: 30, and it was opened
immediately.

“I like a man
who’s punctual,” she said.

The Trafalgar
Suite turned out to be on two levels, with its own balcony.

Mrs. Sherwood
ushered her guest toward a pair of comfortable chairs in the center of the
drawing room. “Would you care for some coffee, Keith?” she asked as she sat
down opposite him.

“No, thank you,
Margaret,” he replied. “I’ve just had breakfast.”

“Of course,” she
said. “Now, shall we get down to business?”

“Certainly. As I
told you earlier this morning,” said Townsend “Schumann’s would consider it a
privilege to publish your novel.”

“Oh, how
exciting,” said Mrs. Sherwood. “I do wish my dear husband were still alive. He
always believed I would be published one day.”

“We would be
willing to offer you an advance of $100,000,” continued Townsend, “and 10
percent of the cover price after the advance has been recouped. Paperback
publication would follow twelve months after the hardcover, and there would be
bonus payments for every week you’re on the New York Times best-seller list.”

“Oh! Do you
really think my little effort might appear on the best-seller list?”

“I would be
willing to bet on it,” said Townsend.

“Would you
really?” said Mrs. Sherwood.

Townsend looked
anxiously across at her, wondering if he had gone too far.

“I happily
accept your terms, Mr. Townsend,” she said. “I do believe this calls for a
celebration.” She poured him a glass of champagne from a half-empty bottle in
the ice bucket beside her. “Now that we have come to an agreement on the book,”
she said a few moments later, “perhaps you’d be kind enough to advise me on a
little problem I’m currently facing.”

“I will if I possibly
can,” said Townsend, staring up at a painting of a one-armed, one-eyed admiral
who was lying on a quarterdeck, dying.

“I have been
most distressed by an article in the Ocean Times that was brought to my
attention by... Miss Williams,” said Mrs. Sherwood. “it concerns a Mr. Richard
Armstrong.”

“I’m not sure I
understand.”

“I’ll explain,”
said Mrs. Sherwood, who proceeded to tell Townsend a story he knew rather
better than she did. She ended by saying, “Claire felt that as you were in
publishing, you might be able to recommend someone else who would want to buy
my shares.”

“How much are
you hoping to be offered for them?” asked Townsend.

‘Twenty million
dollars. That is the sum I agreed with my brother Alexander, who has already
disposed of his stock to this Richard Armstrong for that amount.”

“When is your
meeting with Mr. Armstrong?” asked Townsend-another question he knew the answer
to.

“He’s coming to
see me at my apartment in New York on Monday at I I A.M.”

Townsend
continued to gaze up at the picture on the wall, pretending to give the problem
considerable thought. “I feel sure that my company would be able to match his
offer,” he said. “Especially as the amount has already been agreed on.” He
hoped she couldn’t hear his heart pounding away.

Mrs. Sherwood
lowered her eyes and glanced down at a Sotheby’s catalog that a friend had sent
her from Geneva the previous week. “How fortunate that we met,” she said. “One
couldn’t get away with this sort of coincidence in a novel.” She laughed,
raised her glass and said, “Kismet.”

Townsend didn’t
comment.

After she had
put her glass down, she said, “I need to give the problem a little more thought
overnight. I’ll let you know my final decision before we disembark.”

“Of course,”
said Townsend, trying to hide his disappointment. He rose from his chair and
the old lady accompanied him to the door.

1 must thank
you, Keith, for all the trouble you’ve gone to.”

“My pleasure,”
he said as she closed the door.

Townsend
immediately returned to his cabin to find Kate waiting for him.

“How did it go?”
were her first words.

“She hasn’t
finally made up her mind, but I think she’s nearly hooked, thanks to your
bringing the article to her attention.”

“And the
shares~”

“As the price
has already been settled, she doesn’t seem to care who buys them, as long as
her book gets published.”

“But she wanted
more time to think about it,” said Kate, who remained silent for a few moments
before adding, “Why didn’t she question You more closely on why you would want
to buy the shares?”

Townsend
shrugged.

“I’m beginning
to wonder if Mrs. Sherwood wasn’t sitting on board waiting for us, rather than
the other way round.”

“Don’t be
silly,” said Townsend. “After all, she’s going to have to decide if it’s more
important to get her book published, or to fall out with Alexander, who’s been
advising her to sell to Armstrong. And if that’s the choice she has to make,
there’s one thing in our favor.”

“And what’s
that?” asked Kate.

“Fhanks to
Sally, we know exactly how many rejection slips she’s had from publishers over
the past ten years. And having read the book, I can’t imagine any of them gave
her much cause for hope.”

“Surely
Armstrong is also aware of that, and would be just as willing to publish her
book?”

“But she can’t
be sure of that,” said Townsend.

“Perhaps she
can, and is far brighter than we gave her credit for. Is there a phone on
board?”

“Yes, there’s
one on the bridge. I tried to place a call to Tom Spencer in New York so that
he could start amending the contract, but I was told the phone can’t be used
unless it’s an emergency.”

“And who decides
what’s an emergency?” asked Kate.

‘The purser says
the captain is the sole arbiter.”

“Then neither of
us can do anything until we reach New York.”

Mrs. Sherwood
arrived late for lunch, and took the seat next to the general. She seemed
content to listen to a lengthy summary of chapter three of his memoirs, and
never once raised the subject of her own book. After lunch she disappeared back
into her cabin.

When they took
their places at dinner, they found that Mrs. Sherwood had been invited to sit
at the captain , s table.

After a
sleepless night Keith and Kate arrived early at breakfast, hoping to learn her decision.
But as the minutes passed and Mrs. Sherwood failed to appear, it became clear
that she must be taking breakfast in her suite.

“Probably fallen
behind with her packing,” suggested the ever helpful Dr.

Percival ...

Kate didn’t look
convinced.

Keith returned
to his cabin, packed his suitcase and then joined Kate on deck as the liner
steamed toward the Hudson.

“I have a
feeling we’ve lost this one,” said Kate, as they sailed past the Statue of
Liberty.

“I think you
might be right. I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t at the hands of Armstrong
again.”

“Has beating him
become that important?”

“Yes, it has.
What you have to understand is . .

“Good morning,
Mr. Townsend,” said a voice behind them. Keith swung round to see Mrs. Sherwood
approaching. He hoped she hadn’t spotted Kate before she melted into the crowd.

“Good morning,
Mrs. Sherwood,” he replied.

“After some
considerable thought,” she said, “I have come to a decision.”

Keith held his
breath.

“If you have
both contracts ready for me to sign by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, then you
have, to use that vulgar American expression, ‘got yourself a deal.’”

Keith beamed at
her.

“However,” she
continued, “if my book isn’t published within a year of signing the contract,
you will have to pay a penalty of one million dollars. And if it fails to get
on the Netv York Times best-seller list, you will forfeit a second million.”

“But . .

“You did say
when I asked you about the best-seller list that you would be willing to bet on
it, didn’t you, Mr. Townsend? So I’m going to give you a chance to do just
that.”

“But...”
repeated Keith.

“I look forward
to seeing you at my apartment at ten tomorrow morning, Mr. Townsend. My lawyer
has confinned that he will be able to attend. Should you fail to turn up, I
shall simply sign the contract with Mr. Armstrong at eleven.” She paused and,
looking straight at Keith, said, I have a feeling he would also be willing to
publish my novel ...”

Without another
word she began walking toward the passenger ramp. Kate joined him at the
railing and they watched her slow descent. As she stepped onto the quay, two
black Rolls-Royces swept up, and a chauffeur leapt out of the first one to open
the back door for her. The second stood waiting for her luggage.

“How did she
manage to speak to her lawyer?” said Keith. “Calling him about her novel could
hardly be described as an emergency.”

Just before she
stepped into the car, Mrs. Sherwood looked up and waved to someone. They both
turned and stared in the direction of the bridge.

T’he captain was
saluting.

DAILY MAIL

10 JUNE 1967

E
nd of Six-Day
War: Nasser Quits Ap,mSTRONG DOUBLE-CHECKED the flight times for New York. He
then looked up Mrs. Sherwood’s address in the Manhattan telephone directory,
and even phoned the Pierre to be sure the Presidential Suite had been booked.
This was one meeting he couldn’t afford to be late for, and for which he
couldn’t turn up on the wrong day or at the wrong address.