The Fourth Estate

“Insignificant,” said Tulpanov, placing his drink back on the table. “But that may not always be the case, Lubji.” Armstrong raised an eyebrow. “You may well have secured the foreign distribution rights to the bulk of German scientific research, but it won’t be too long before it’s out of date, and then you’ll need all the latest Russian material. That is, if you wish to remain ahead of the game.”

“And what would you expect in return?” asked Armstrong, scooping up another spoonful of caviar.

“Let us just leave it, Lubji, that I will be in touch from time to time.”

18.

Daily Mail

13 April 1961

THE VOICE FROM SPACE: “HOW I DID IT.” GAGARIN TELLS KHRUSHCHEV OF THE BLUE EARTH

Heather placed a cup of black coffee in front of him. T

ownsend was already regretting that he had agreed to give the interview, especially to a trainee reporter. His golden rule was never to allow a journalist to talk to him on the record. Some proprietors enjoyed reading about themselves in their own papers. Townsend was not among them, but when Bruce Kelly had pressed him in an unguarded moment, saying it would be good for the paper and good for his image, he’d reluctantly agreed.

He had nearly canceled two or three times that morning, but a series of telephone calls and meetings meant that he’d never got round to doing it. And then Heather walked in to tell him that the young reporter was waiting in the outer hall. “Shall I send her in?” Heather asked.

“Yes,” he said, checking his watch. “But I don’t want to be too long. There are several things I need to go over with you before tomorrow’s board meeting.”

“I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes and tell you there’s an overseas call on the line.”

“Good idea,” he said. “But say it’s from New York. For some reason that always makes them leave a little quicker. And if you get desperate, use the Andrew Blacker routine.”

Heather nodded and left the room as Townsend ran his finger down the agenda for the board meeting. He stopped at item seven. He needed to be better briefed on the West Riding Group if he was going to convince the board that they should back him on that one. Even if they gave him the go-ahead, he still had to close the deal on his trip to England. In fact he would have to travel straight up to Leeds if he felt the deal was worth pursuing.

“Good morning, Mr. Townsend.”

Keith looked up, but didn’t speak.

“Your secretary warned me that you’re extremely busy, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time,” she said rather quickly.

He still didn’t say a word.

“I’m Kate Tulloh. I’m a reporter with the Chronicle.”

Keith came from behind his desk, shook hands with the young journalist, and ushered her toward a comfortable chair usually reserved for board members, editors or people with whom he expected to close important deals. Once she was seated, he took the chair opposite her.

“How long have you been with the company?” he asked as she extracted a shorthand pad and a pencil from her bag.

She crossed her legs and said, “Only for a few months, Mr. Townsend. I joined the Chronicle as a trainee after leaving college. You’re my first big assignment.”

Keith felt old for the first time in his life, although he had only recently celebrated his thirty-third birthday.

“What’s the accent?” he asked. “I can’t quite place it.”

“I was born in Budapest, but my parents fled from Hungary at the time of the revolution. The only ship we could get on was going to Australia.”

“My grandfather also fled to Australia,” Keith said.

“Because of a revolution?” she asked.

“No. He was Scottish, and just wanted to get as far away from the English as possible.” Kate laughed. “You recently won a young writers’ award, didn’t you?” he asked, trying to recall the briefing note Heather had prepared for him.

“Yes. Bruce presented the awards last year, which is how I ended up on the Chronicle.”

“So what does your father do?”