“Can you put me through to Miss Glover, please?”
“Which department does she work in?”
“I don’t know,” said Townsend.
“Is it an emergency?”
“No, it’s a personal call.”
“Are you a relative?”
“No, I’m not,” he said, puzzled by the question.
“Then I’m sorry, but I can’t help. It’s against company policy for staff to take private calls during office hours.” The line went dead.
Townsend replaced the phone, rose from his chair and walked into Bunty’s office. “I’ll be away for about an hour, maybe a little longer, Bunty. I’ve got to pick up a birthday present for my mother.”
Miss Bunting was surprised, as she knew his mother’s birthday was four months away. But at least he was an improvement on his father, she thought. She’d always had to remind Sir Graham the day before.
When Townsend stepped out of the building it was such a warm day that he told his driver, Sam, he would walk the dozen or so blocks to Moore’s, which would give him a chance to check all the paper stands on the way. He was not pleased to find that the first one he came across, on the corner of King William Street, had already sold out of the Gazette, and it was only a few minutes past ten. He made a note to speak to the distribution manager as soon as he returned to the office.
As he approached the massive department store on Rundle Street, he wondered just how long it would take him to find Susan. He pushed his way through the revolving door and walked up and down between the counters on the ground floor: jewelry, gloves, perfume. But he could see no sign of her. He took the escalator to the second floor, where he repeated the process: crockery, bedding, kitchenware. Still no success. The third floor turned out to be menswear, which reminded him that he needed a new suit. If she worked there he could order one immediately, but there wasn’t a woman in sight.
As he stepped onto the escalator to take him up to the fourth floor, Townsend thought he recognized the smartly dressed man standing on the step above him.
When he turned round and saw Townsend, he said, “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” replied Townsend, trying desperately to place him.
“Ed Scott,” the man said, solving the problem. “I was a couple of years below you at St. Andrew’s, and still remember your editorials in the school magazine.”
“I’m flattered,” said Townsend. “So, what are you up to now?”
“I’m the assistant manager.”
“You’ve done well then,” said Townsend, looking round at the huge store.
“Hardly,” said Ed. “My father’s the managing director. But then, that’s something I don’t have to explain to you.”
Townsend scowled.
“Were you looking for anything in particular?” asked Ed as they stepped off the escalator.
“Yes,” replied Townsend. “A present for my mother. She’s already chosen something, and I’ve just come to pick it up. I can’t remember which floor it’s on, but I do have the name of the assistant who served her.”
“Tell me the name, and I’ll find out the department.”
“Susan Glover,” said Townsend, trying not to blush.
Ed stood to one side, dialed a number on his intercom and repeated the name. A few moments later a look of surprise crossed his face. “It seems she’s in the toy department,” he said. “Are you certain you’ve been given the right name?”
“Oh yes,” said Townsend. “Puzzles.”
“Puzzles?”
“Yes, my mother can’t resist jigsaw puzzles. But none of the family is allowed to choose them for her, because whenever we do, it always turns out to be one she already has.”
“Oh, I see,” said Ed. “Well, take the escalator back down to the basement. You’ll find the toy department on your right-hand side.” Townsend thanked him, and the assistant manager disappeared off in the direction of luggage and travel.
Townsend took the escalator all the way down to “The World of Toys.” He looked round the counters, but there was no sign of Susan, and he started to wonder if it might be her day off. He wandered slowly around the department, and decided against asking a rather officious-looking woman, who wore a badge on her ample chest declaring she was the “Senior Sales Assistant,” if a Susan Glover worked there.
He thought he would have to come back the following day, and was about to leave when a door behind one of the counters opened and Susan came through it, carrying a large Meccano set. She went over to a customer who was leaning on the counter.
Townsend stood transfixed on the spot. She was even more captivating than he had remembered.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Townsend jumped, turned round and came face to face with the officious-looking woman.
“No, thank you,” he said nervously. “I’m just looking for a present for … for my … nephew.” The woman glared at him, and Townsend moved away and selected a spot where he could be hidden from her view but still keep Susan in his sights.
The customer she was serving took an inordinate amount of time making up her mind if she wanted the Meccano set. Susan was made to open up the box to prove that the contents fulfilled the promise on the lid. She picked up some of the red and yellow pieces and tried to put them together, but the customer left a few minutes later, empty-handed.
Townsend waited until the officious woman began to serve another customer before he strolled over to the counter. Susan looked up and smiled. This time it was a smile of recognition.
“How may I help you, Mr. Townsend?” she asked.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he replied. “Or is it still against company policy?”
She smiled and said, “Yes, it is Mr. Townsend, but…”
The senior sales assistant reappeared at Susan’s side, looking more suspicious than ever.
“It must be over a thousand pieces,” said Townsend. “My mother needs the sort of puzzle that will keep her going for at least a week.”
“Of course, sir,” said Susan, and led him over to a table which displayed several different jigsaw puzzles.
He began picking them up and studying them closely, without looking at her. “How about Pilligrini’s at eight o’clock?” he whispered, just as the officious woman was approaching.
“That’s perfect. I’ve never been there, but I’ve always wanted to,” she said, taking the puzzle of Sydney Harbor from his hands. She walked back to the counter, rang up the bill and dropped the large box into a Moore’s bag. “That will be £2 10s. please, sir.”
Townsend paid for his purchase, and would have confirmed their date if the officious lady hadn’t stuck close to Susan and said, “I do hope your nephew enjoys the puzzle.”
Two sets of eyes followed his progress out of the store.
When he returned to the office, Bunty was a little surprised to discover the contents of the shopping bag. In the thirty-two years she had worked for Sir Graham, she couldn’t once remember him giving his wife a jigsaw puzzle.
Townsend ignored her inquiring look, and said, “Bunty, I want to see the circulation manager immediately. The news stand on the corner of King William Street had run out of the Gazette by ten o’clock.” As she turned to leave he added, “Oh, and could you book me a table for two tonight at Pilligrini’s?”
* * *
As Susan entered the restaurant, several men in the room turned to watch her walk across to the corner table. She was wearing a pink suit that emphasized her slim figure, and although her skirt fell an inch below the knee, Townsend’s eyes were still looking down when she arrived at the table. When she took the seat opposite him, some of his fellow-diners’ looks turned to envy.
One voice, which was intended to carry, said, “That bloody man gets everything he wants.”
They both laughed, and Townsend poured her a glass of champagne. He soon found how easy it was to be in her company. They began to swap stories of what they had both been doi
ng for the past twenty years as if they were old friends just catching up. Townsend explained why he had been making so many journeys to Sydney recently, and Susan told him why she wasn’t enjoying working in the toy department of Moore’s.
“Is she always that awful?” asked Townsend.
“You caught her in a good mood. After you left, she spent the rest of the morning being sarcastic about whether it was your mother or your nephew or perhaps someone else that you’d come in for. And when I was a couple of minutes late getting back from lunch, she said, ‘You’re one hundred and twenty seconds late, Miss Glover. One hundred and twenty seconds of the company’s time. If it happens again, we’ll have to think about deducting the appropriate sum from your wages.’” It was an almost perfect imitation, and caused Townsend to burst out laughing.
“What’s her problem?”
“I think she wanted to be an air hostess.”
“I fear she lacks one or two of the more obvious qualifications,” suggested Townsend.
“So, what have you been up to today?” Susan asked. “Still trying to pick up air hostesses on Austair?”
“No,” he smiled. “That was last week—and I failed. Today I satisfied myself with trying to work out if I could afford to pay £1.9 million for the Sydney Chronicle.”
“One point nine million?” she said incredulously. “Then the least I can do is pick up the tab for dinner. Last time I bought a copy of the Sydney Chronicle it was sixpence.”
“Yes, but I want all the copies,” said Townsend.
Although their coffee cups had been cleared away, they continued to talk until long after the kitchen staff had left. A couple of bored-looking waiters lounged against a pillar, occasionally glancing at them hopefully. When he caught one of them stifling a yawn, Townsend called for the bill and left a large tip. As they stepped out onto the pavement, he took Susan’s hand. “Where do you live?”
“In the northern suburbs, but I’m afraid I’ve missed the last bus. I’ll have to get a taxi.”
“It’s such a glorious evening, why don’t we walk?”
“Suits me,” she said, smiling.
They didn’t stop talking until they arrived outside her front door an hour later. Susan turned to him and said, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Keith. You’ve brought a new meaning to the words ‘walking it off’.”
“Let’s do it again soon,” he said.
“I’d like that.”
“When would suit you?”
“I would have said tomorrow, but it depends on whether I’m going to be expected to walk home every time. If I am, I might have to suggest a local restaurant, or at least wear more sensible shoes.”
“Certainly not,” said Townsend. “I promise you tomorrow I’ll drive you home. But I have to be in Sydney to sign a contract earlier in the day, so I don’t expect to be back much before eight.”
“That’s perfect. It will give me enough time to go home and change.”
“Would L’Étoile suit you?”
“Only if you have something to celebrate.”
“There will be something to celebrate, that I promise you.”
“Then I’ll see you at L’Étoile at nine.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You know, you’ll never get a taxi out here at this time of night, Keith,” she said, looking rather concerned. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a long walk back.”
“It will be worth it,” said Townsend, as Susan disappeared down the short drive to her front door.
A car drove up and came to a halt by his side. The driver jumped out and opened the door for him.
“Where to, boss?”
“Home, Sam,” he said to his driver. “But let’s go via the station, so I can pick up the early morning edition.”
* * *
Townsend took the first flight to Sydney the following morning. His lawyer, Clive Jervis, and his accountant, Trevor Meacham, were sitting on either side of him.
“I’m still not altogether happy with the rescission clause,” said Clive.
“And the payment schedule needs a little fine tuning, that’s for sure,” added Trevor.
“How long is it going to take to sort out these problems?” asked Townsend. “I have a dinner appointment in Adelaide tonight, and I must catch an afternoon flight.” Both men looked doubtful.
Their fears were to prove justified. The two companies’ lawyers spent the morning going over the fine print, and the two accountants took even longer checking the figures. Nobody stopped for lunch, and by three o’clock Townsend was checking his watch every few minutes. Despite his pacing up and down the room, delivering monosyllabic replies to lengthy questions, the final document wasn’t ready for signing until a few minutes after five.
Townsend breathed a sigh of relief when the lawyers finally rose from the boardroom table and began to stretch themselves. He checked his watch again, and was confident he could still catch a plane that would get him back to Adelaide in time. He thanked both his advisers for their efforts, and was shaking hands with their opposite numbers when Sir Somerset walked into the room, followed by his editor and chief executive.
“I’m told we have an agreement at last,” said the old man with a broad grin.
“I think so,” said Townsend, trying not to show how anxious he was to escape. If he called Moore’s to warn her he might be late, he knew they wouldn’t put him through.
“Well, let’s have a drink to celebrate before we put our signatures to the final document,” said Sir Somerset.
After the third whiskey, Townsend suggested that perhaps the time had come to sign the contract. Nick Watson agreed, and reminded Sir Somerset that he still had a paper to bring out that night. “Quite right,” said the proprietor, removing a fountain pen from his inside pocket. “And as I will still own the Chronicle for another six weeks, we can’t allow standards to drop. By the way, Keith, I do hope you’ll be able to join me for dinner?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tonight,” replied Townsend. “I already have a dinner appointment in Adelaide.”
Sir Somerset swung round to face him. “It had better be a beautiful woman,” he said, “because I’m damned if I’ll be stood up for another business deal.”
“I promise you she’s beautiful,” said Townsend, laughing. “And it’s only our second date.”
“In that case, I won’t hold you up,” said Sir Somerset, heading toward the boardroom table where two copies of the agreement had been laid out. He stopped for a moment, staring down at the contract, and seemed to hesitate. Both sides looked a little nervous, and one of Sir Somerset’s lawyers began to fidget.
The old man turned to Townsend and winked. “I must tell you that it was Duncan who finally convinced me I should go with you, and not Hacker,” he said. He bent down and put his signature to both contracts, then passed the pen over to Townsend, who scribbled his name by the side of Sir Somerset’s.
The two men shook hands rather formally. “Just time for another drink,” said Sir Somerset, and winked at Townsend. “You run along, Keith, and we’ll see how much of the profits we can consume in your absence. I must say, my boy, I couldn’t be more delighted that the Chronicle will be passing into the hands of Sir Graham Townsend’s son.”
Nick Watson stepped forward and put his arm round Townsend’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “I must say, as editor of the Chronicle, how much I’m looking forward to working with you. I hope we’ll be seeing you back in Sydney before too long.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you as well,” said Townsend, “and I’m sure we’ll bump into each other from time to time.” He turned to shake hands with Duncan Alexander. “Thank you,” he said. “We’re all square.” Duncan thrust out his hand, but Townsend was already rushing out of the door. He saw the lift doors close seconds before he could stab the down arrow on the wall. When he finally flagged a taxi, the driver refused to break the speed limit despite coaxing, bribing and finally shouting. As he was being driven in
to the terminal, Townsend was able to watch the Douglas DC4 rise into the air above him, oblivious of its final passenger stranded in a taxi below.
“It must have left on time for a change,” said the taxi driver with a shrug of the shoulders. That was more than could be said for the next flight, which was scheduled to take off an hour later, but ended up being delayed by forty minutes.
Townsend checked his watch, walked slowly over to the phone booth, and looked up Susan’s number in the Adelaide directory. The operator told him that the number was engaged. When he rang again a few minutes later, there was no reply. Perhaps she was taking a shower. He tried to imagine the scene as the Tannoy announced, “This is a final call for all passengers traveling to Adelaide.”
He asked the operator to try once more, only to find the number was engaged again. He cursed, replaced the phone and ran all the way to the aircraft, boarding just before they closed the door. He continually thumped his armrest throughout the flight, but it didn’t make the plane go any faster.
Sam was standing by the car looking anxious when his master came charging out of the terminal. He drove into Adelaide, ignoring every known speed limit, but by the time he dropped his boss outside L’Étoile, the head waiter had already taken the last orders.
Townsend tried to explain what had happened, but Susan seemed to understand even before he had opened his mouth. “I phoned you from the airport, but it was either engaged or just went on ringing.” He looked at the untouched cutlery on the table in front of her. “Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten.”
“No, I didn’t feel that hungry,” she said, and took his hand. “But you must be famished, and I’ll bet you still want to celebrate your triumph. So, if you had a choice, what would you like to do most?”
* * *
When Townsend walked into his office the following morning, he found Bunty hovering by his desk clutching a sheet of paper. She looked as if she had been standing there for some time.
“Problem?” Townsend asked as he closed the door.
“No. It’s just that you seem to have forgotten that I’m due to retire at the end of this month.”