The Fourth Estate

“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?”