The Fourth Estate

The lights on the executive floor were finally switched off just after one, and the directors of the Messenger began to stream out of the building. Townsend looked hopefully at each one of them, but they walked straight past him without giving him so much as a glance.

Townsend hung around until he was certain that there was no one other than the cleaners left in the building. He then walked slowly back to the Gazette and watched the first edition come off the stone. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, so he joined the early-morning vans and helped to deliver the first editions around the city. It gave him the chance to make sure the Gazette was put above the Messenger in the racks.

* * *

Two days later Bunty placed a letter in the priority file:

Dear Mr. Townsend,

I have received your letter of the twenty-sixth inst.

In order not to waste any more of your time, let me make it clear the Messenger is not for sale, and never will be.

Yours faithfully,

Colin Grant

Townsend smiled and dropped the letter in the wastepaper basket.

* * *

Over the next few months Townsend pushed his staff night and day in a relentless drive to overtake his rival. He always made it clear to every one of his team that no one’s job was safe—and that included the editor’s. Resignations from those who were unable to keep up with the pace of the changes at the Gazette were outnumbered by those who left the Messenger to join him once they realized it was going to be “a battle to the death”—a phrase Townsend used whenever he addressed the monthly staff meeting.

A year after Townsend had returned from England, the two papers’ circulations were running neck and neck, and he felt the time had come for him to make another call to the chairman of the Messenger.

When Sir Colin came on the line, Townsend didn’t bother with the normal courtesies. His opening gambit was, “If £750,000 isn’t enough, Sir Colin, what do you consider the paper’s actually worth?”

“Far more than you can afford, young man. In any case,” he added, “as I’ve already explained, the Messenger’s not for sale.”

“Well, not for another six months,?

?? said Townsend.

“Not ever!” shouted Sir Colin down the line.

“Then I’ll just have to run you off the streets,” said Townsend. “And then you’ll be only too happy to take £50,000 for whatever remains of the bits and pieces.” He paused. “Feel free to call me when you change your mind.”

It was Sir Colin’s turn to slam the phone down.

* * *

On the day the Gazette outsold the Messenger for the first time, Townsend held a celebration party on the fourth floor, and announced the news in a banner headline above a picture of Sir Colin taken the previous year at his wife’s funeral. As each month passed, the gap between the two papers widened, and Townsend never missed an opportunity to inform his readers of the latest circulation figures. He was not surprised when Sir Colin rang and suggested that perhaps the time had come for them to meet.

After weeks of negotiations, it was agreed that the two papers should merge, but not before Townsend had secured the only two concessions he really cared about. The new paper would be printed on his presses, and called the Gazette Messenger.

When the newly-designated board met for the first time, Sir Colin was appointed chairman and Townsend chief executive.

Within six months the word Messenger had disappeared from the masthead, and all major decisions were being taken without any pretense of consulting the board or its chairman. Few were shocked when Sir Colin offered his resignation, and no one was surprised when Townsend accepted it.

When his mother asked what had caused Sir Colin to resign, Townsend replied that it had been by mutual agreement, because he felt the time had come to make way for a younger man. Lady Townsend wasn’t altogether convinced.

THIRD EDITION

Where There’s a Will …

13.

Der Telegraf