Armstrong unscrewed the top of his new Parker pen and signed the contract.
“Good. Then that’s settled,” said the young agent as he waited for the ink to dry. “The rent for this property is, as you know, Captain Armstrong, £10 a week, payable quarterly in advance. Perhaps you would be kind enough to let me have a check for £130.”
“I’ll send one of my staff round with a check later this afternoon,” said Armstrong, straightening his bow tie.
The agent hesitated for a moment, and then placed the contract in his briefcase. “I’m sure that will be all right, Captain Armstrong,” he said, handing over the keys to the smallest property on their books.
Armstrong felt confident that Hahn would have no way of knowing, when he rang FLE 6093 and heard the words “Armstrong Communications,” that his publishing house consisted of one room, two desks, a filing cabinet and a recently installed telephone. And as for “one of my staff,” one was correct. Sally Carr had returned to London the week before, and had joined him as his personal assistant earlier that morning.
Armstrong had been unable to give the estate agent a check immediately because he had only recently opened an account with Barclays, and the bank was unwilling to issue a checkbook until it received the promised transfer of funds from Holt & Co in Berlin. The fact that he was Captain Armstrong MC, as he kept reminding them, didn’t seem to impress the manager.
When the money did eventually come through, the manager confessed to his accounts clerk that after their meeting he had expected a little more than £217 9s. 6d. to be deposited in Captain Armstrong’s account.
While he was waiting for the money to be transferred, Armstrong contacted Stephen Hallet at his offices in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and asked him to register Armstrong Communications as a private company. That cost him another £10.
No sooner had the company been formed than another unpayable bill landed on Sally’s desk. This time Armstrong didn’t have a dozen bottles of claret to settle the account, so he invited Hallet to become company secretary.
Once his funds had been deposited, Armstrong cleared all his debts, which left him with less than £40 in the account. He told Sally that in future she should not pay any bills over £10 until they had received at least three demands for payment.
Charlotte, already six months pregnant with their second child, joined Dick in London a few days after he had signed the lease on the Knightsbridge flat. When she was first shown round the four rooms, she didn’t comment on how small they were compared with their spacious apartment in Berlin. She was only too happy to have escaped from Germany.
As Armstrong traveled to and from the office by bus each day, he wondered how long it would be before he had a car and a driver. Once the company had been registered, he flew to Berlin and talked a reluctant Hahn into a loan of £1,000. He returned to London with a check and a dozen manuscripts, having promised that they would be translated within days, and that the money would be repaid as soon as he signed the first foreign distribution deal. But he was facing a problem that he couldn’t admit to Hahn. Although Sally spent hours on the phone trying to arrange appointments with the chairmen of all the leading scientific publishing houses in London, she quickly discovered that their doors didn’t open for Captain Armstrong MC in the way they had done in Berlin.
On those evenings when he got home before midnight, Charlotte would ask him how the business was doing. “Never better” took the place of “top secret.” But she couldn’t help noticing that thin brown envelopes were regularly dropping through their letterbox, and seemed to get stuffed into the nearest drawer, unopened. When she flew out to Lyon for the birth of their second child, Dick assured her that by the time she returned he would have signed his first big contract.
Ten days later, while Armstrong was dictating an answer to the one letter he’d received that morning, there was a knock on the door. Sally bustled across the room to open it, and came face to face with their first customer. Geoffrey Bailey, a Canadian who represented a small publisher in Montreal, had actually got out of the lift on the wrong floor. But an hour later he left clutching three German scientific manuscripts. Once he had had them translated, and had realized their commercial potential, he returned with a check, and signed a contract for the Canadian and French rights on all three books. Armstrong banked the check, but didn’t bother to inform Julius Hahn of the transaction.
Thanks to Mr. Bailey, by the time Charlotte arrived back at Heathrow six weeks later, carrying Nicole in her arms, Dick had signed two more contracts, with publishers from Spain and Belgium. She was surprised to find that he had acquired a large Dodge automobile, and that Private Benson was behind the wheel. What he didn’t tell her was that the Dodge was on the “never never,” and that he couldn’t always afford to pay Benson at the end of the week.
“It impresses the customers,” he said, and assured her that business was looking better and better. She tried to ignore the fact that some of his stories had changed since she’d been away, and that the unopened brown envelopes remained in the drawer. But even she was impressed when he told her that Colonel Oakshott was back in London, and had visited Dick and asked him if he knew of anyone who might employ an old soldier.
Armstrong had been the fifth person he had approached, and none of the others had anything to offer someone of his age or seniority. The following day Oakshott had been appointed to the board of Armstrong Communications at a salary of £1,000 a year, although his monthly check wasn’t always honored on the first presentation.
Once the first three manuscripts had been published in Canada, France, Belgium and Spain, more and more foreign publishers began to get out of the lift on the right floor, later leaving Armstrong’s office carrying long typewritten lists of all the books whose rights were available.
As Armstrong began to close an increasing number of deals, he cut down on his trips to Berlin, sending Colonel Oakshott in his place, and giving him the unenviable task of explaining to Julius Hahn why the cash flow was so slow. Oakshott continued to believe everything Armstrong told him—after all, hadn’t they served as officers in the same regiment?—and so, for some time, did Hahn.
But despite the occasional coup with foreign houses, Armstrong was still having no luck in convincing a leading British publisher to take on the rights to his books. After months of being told, “I’ll get back to you, Captain Armstrong,” he began to wonder just how long it was going to take him to push open the door that would allow him to become part of the British publishing establishment.
It was on an October morning when Armstrong was staring across at the massive edifices of the Globe and the Citizen—the nation’s two most popular dailies—that Sally told him a journalist from The Times was on the line. Armstrong nodded.
“I’ll put you through to Captain Armstrong,” she said.
Armstrong crossed the room and took the receiver from her hand. “It’s Dick Armstrong, chairman of Armstrong Communications. How can I help you?”
“My name is Neville Andrade. I’m the science correspondent of The Times. I recently picked up the French edition of one of Julius Hahn’s publications, The Germans and the Atom Bomb, and was curious to know how many other titles you have in translation.” Armstrong put the phone down an hour later, having told Andrade his life story and promised that his driver would have the complete list of titles on his desk by midday.
When he arrived at the office late the following morning, because of what Londoners described as a pea-souper, Sally told him she had taken seven calls in twenty minutes. As the phone rang again, she pointed to his desk. A copy of The Times lay open at the science page. Armstrong sat down and began to read Andrade’s long piece about the atom bomb and how, despite losing the war, German scientists still remained far ahead of the rest of the world in many fields.
The phone rang again, but he remained puzzled as to why Sally was being besieged until he came to the final paragraph of the article. “The key to this information is held b
y Captain Richard Armstrong MC, who controls the translation rights in all the publications of the prestigious Julius Hahn empire.”
Within days, the phrase “We’ll get back to you, Captain Armstrong,” became “I’m sure we can match those terms, Dick,” and he began selecting which houses would be allowed to publish his manuscripts and distribute his magazines. People he had never been able to get an appointment with in the past were inviting him to lunch at the Garrick, even if, having met him, they didn’t go as far as suggesting he should become a member.
By the end of the year Armstrong had finally returned the £1,000, and it was no longer possible for Colonel Oakshott to convince Hahn that his chairman was still having a tough time getting anyone to sign a contract. Oakshott was glad Hahn couldn’t see that the Dodge had been replaced by a Bentley, and that Benson was now wearing a smart gray uniform and a peaked cap. Armstrong’s newest problem was to find suitable new offices and qualified staff, so that he could keep up with the rapid expansion. When the floors above and below him fell vacant, he signed new leases for them within hours.
It was at the annual reunion of the North Staffordshire Regiment at the Café Royal that Armstrong bumped into Major Wakeham. He discovered that Peter had just been demobbed, and was about to take up a job in personnel with the Great Western Railway. Armstrong spent the rest of the evening persuading him that Armstrong Communications was a better prospect. Peter joined him as general manager the following Monday.
Once Peter had settled in, Armstrong began to travel all over the world—from Montreal to New York to Tokyo to Christchurch—selling Hahn manuscripts, and always demanding large advances. He began to place the money in several different bank accounts, with the result that even Sally couldn’t be quite sure just how much the company had on deposit at any one time, or where it was located. Whenever he was back in England, he found his small staff quite unable to keep up with the demands of an ever-growing order book. And Charlotte had become tired of him commenting on how much the children had grown.
When the lease for the entire building in Fleet Street came on the market, he immediately snapped it up. Now even the most skeptical potential customer who visited him in his new offices accepted that Captain Armstrong was safe to do business with. Rumors reached Berlin of Armstrong’s success, but Hahn’s letters requesting details of sales figures country by country, sight of all overseas contracts and audited accounts were studiously ignored.
Colonel Oakshott, who was left to report Hahn’s growing incredulity at Armstrong’s claims that the company was having difficulty in breaking even, was treated more and more like a messenger boy, despite the fact that he had recently been appointed deputy chairman. But even after Oakshott threatened to resign, and Stephen Hallet warned Armstrong that he had received a letter from Hahn’s London solicitors threatening to terminate their partnership, Armstrong remained unperturbed. He felt confident that as long as the law prevented Hahn from traveling outside Germany, he had no way of discovering how large his empire had grown, and therefore how much 50 percent actually represented.
* * *
Within weeks of Winston Churchill’s government being returned to power in 1951, all restrictions on travel for German citizens were lifted. Armstrong was not surprised to learn from the colonel that Hahn’s and Schultz’s first trip abroad would be to London.
After a long consultation with a KC at Gray’s Inn, the two Germans took a taxi to Fleet Street for a meeting with their overseas partner. Hahn’s habit of punctuality had not deserted him in old age, and Sally met the two men in reception. She guided them up to Dick’s vast new office, and hoped they were suitably impressed by the hustle and bustle of activity that was taking place all around them.
They entered Armstrong’s office to be greeted with the expansive smile they both remembered so well. Schultz was shocked by how much weight the captain had put on, and didn’t care for his colorful bow tie.
“Welcome, my dear old friends,” Armstrong began, holding out his arms like a large bear. “It has been far too long.” He appeared surprised to receive a cool response, but he ushered them to the comfortable seats on the other side of his partner’s desk, then returned to an elevated chair which allowed him to tower over them. Behind him on the wall hung a large blown-up photograph of Field Marshal Montgomery pinning the Military Cross on the young captain’s chest.
Once Sally had poured his guests Brazilian coffee served in bone china cups, Hahn wasted no time in trying to tell Armstrong—as he referred to him—the purpose of their visit. He was just about to embark on his well-prepared speech when one of the four phones on the desk began ringing. Armstrong grabbed it, and Hahn assumed that he would instruct his secretary to hold all further calls. But instead he began an intense conversation in Russian. No sooner had he finished than another phone rang, and he started a fresh dialogue in French. Hahn and Schultz hid their misgivings and waited patiently for Captain Armstrong to complete the calls.
“So sorry,” said Armstrong, after he had finally put the third phone down, “but as you can see, the damn thing never stops ringing. And 50 percent of it,” he added with a broad smile, “is on your behalf.”
Hahn was just about to begin his speech a second time, when Armstrong pulled open his top drawer and took out a box of Havana cigars, a sight neither of his guests had seen for over ten years. He pushed the box across the desk. Hahn waved a hand in dismissal, and Schultz reluctantly followed his chairman’s lead.
Hahn tried to begin a third time.
“By the way,” said Armstrong, “I’ve booked a table for lunch at the Savoy Grill. Anybody who’s anybody eats at the Grill.” He gave them another expansive smile.
“We are not free for lunch,” said Hahn curtly.
“But we have so much to discuss,” insisted Armstrong, “not least catching up on old times.”
“We have very little to discuss,” said Hahn. “Especially old times.”
Armstrong was silenced for a moment.
“I am sorry to have to inform you, Captain Armstrong,” Hahn continued, “that we have decided to terminate our arrangement with you.”
“But that’s not possible,” said Armstrong. “We have a binding legal agreement.”
“You have obviously not read the document for some time,” said Hahn. “If you had, you would be only too aware of the penalties for failing to fulfill your financial obligations to us.”
“But I intend to fulfill…”
“‘In the event of non-payment, after twelve months all overseas rights automatically revert to the parent company.’” Hahn sounded as if he knew the clause off by heart.
“But I can clear all my obligations immediately,” said Armstrong, not at all certain that he could.
“That would not influence my decision,” said Hahn.
“But the contract stipulates that you must give me ninety days’ notice in writing,” said Armstrong, remembering one of the clauses Stephen Hallet had emphasized recently.
“We have done so on eleven separate occasions,” replied Hahn.
“I am not aware of having received any such notice,” said Armstrong. “Therefore I…”
“The last three of which,” continued Hahn, “were sent to this office, recorded delivery.”
“That doesn’t mean we ever received them.”
“Each of them was signed for by your secretary or Colonel Oakshott. Our final demand was hand-delivered to your solicitor, Stephen Hallet, who I understand drew up the original agreement.”
Once again Armstrong was silenced.
Hahn opened his battered briefcase, that Armstrong remembered so well, and removed copies of three documents which he placed on the desk in front of his former partner. He then took out a fourth document.
“I am now serving you with a month’s notice, requesting that you return any publications, plates or documents in your possession which have been supplied by us during the past two years, along with a check for £170,000 to cover the r
oyalties due to us. Our accountants consider this a conservative estimate.”
“Surely you’ll give me one more chance, after all I’ve done for you?” pleaded Armstrong.
“We have given you far too many chances already,” said Hahn, “and neither of us,” he nodded toward his colleague, “is at an age when we can waste any more time hoping you will honor your agreements.”
“But how can you hope to survive without me?” demanded Armstrong.
“Quite simply,” said Hahn. “We have already signed an agreement this morning to be represented by the distinguished publishing house of Macmillan, with whom I’m sure you are familiar. We will be making an announcement to that effect in next Friday’s Bookseller, so that our clients in Britain, the United States and the rest of the world are aware that you no longer represent us.”
Hahn rose from his chair, and Armstrong watched as he and Schultz turned to leave without another word. Before they reached the door, he shouted after them, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!”
Once the door had been closed, he walked slowly over to the window behind his desk. He stared down at the pavement, and didn’t move until he’d seen them climb into a taxi. As they drove away he returned to his chair, picked up the nearest phone and dialed a number. A familiar voice answered. “For the next seven days, buy every Macmillan share you can lay your hands on.” He slammed the phone down, then made a second call.
Stephen Hallet listened carefully as his client gave him a full report of his meeting with Hahn and Schultz. Hallet wasn’t surprised by their attitude, because he’d recently informed Armstrong about the termination order he’d received from Hahn’s London solicitors. When Armstrong had finished his version of the meeting, he only had one question: “How long do you think I can string it out for? I’m due to collect several large payments in the next few weeks.”
“A year, eighteen months perhaps, if you’re willing to issue a writ and take them all the way to court.”
The Fourth Estate Page 31