The Fourth Estate

“But surely you accept that the paper can no longer be described as ‘the Times of Australia’?”

“Yes, and I regret that,” said Keith, admitting the fact for the first time to anyone other than his mother.

“Will the Sunday Continent follow the same pattern as the daily, or are you going to produce the quality national newspaper Australia so desperately needs?”

Keith was beginning to realize why Miss Tulloh had won her award, and why Bruce thought so highly of her. This time he chose his words more carefully. “I will endeavor to produce a paper that the majority of Australians would like to see on their breakfast tables every Sunday morning. Does that answer your question, Kate?”

“I fear it does, Mr. Townsend,” she said with a smile.

Keith returned the smile. It quickly disappeared when he heard her next question.

“May I now turn to an incident in your life that has been widely covered by the gossip columns?” Keith reddened slightly as she waited for his response. His instinct was to end the interview there and then, but he just nodded.

“Is it true that on your wedding day you ordered your chauffeur to drive straight past the church only moments before the bride was due to arrive?”

Keith was relieved when Heather marched into the room and said firmly, “Your conference call is due in a couple of minutes, Mr. Townsend.”

“My conference call?” he asked, brightening up.

“Yes, sir,” said Heather. “Sir” was a word she resorted to only when she was very cross.

“London and Los Angeles,” she said. She paused before adding, “and Tokyo.” Very cross, thought Keith. But at least she had given him the chance to escape. Kate had even closed her shorthand pad.

“Rearrange it for this afternoon,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure which of the women looked more surprised. Heather left them without another word, and this time she closed the door behind her.

Neither of them spoke again until Keith said, “Yes, it’s true. But I’d be obliged if you didn’t refer to it in your article.”

Kate put her pencil down on the table, as Keith turned and looked out of the window. “I’m sorry, Mr. Townsend,” she said, “that was insensitive of me.”

“‘Just doing my job’ is what reporters usually say,” said Keith quietly.

“Perhaps we could move on to your somewhat unusual, if not to say bizarre, takeover of 2WW.”

Keith sat up in his chair and relaxed a little for the first time.

“When the story first broke in the Chronicle—on the morning of your wedding, incidentally—Sir Somerset described you as ‘a pirate’.”

“I’m sure he intended it as a compliment.”

“A compliment?”

“Yes. I assume he meant that I was acting in the great tradition of pirates.”

“Who did you have in mind?” asked Kate innocently.

“Walter Raleigh and Francis Drake,” replied Keith.

“I suspect it’s more likely to have been Bluebeard or Captain Morgan that Sir Somerset had in mind,” said Kate, returning his smile.

“Perhaps. But I think you’ll find that both sides ended up satisfied with that particular deal.”

Kate looked back down at her notes. “Mr. Townsend, you now own, or have the majority shareholding in, seventeen newspapers, eleven radio stations, an aircraft company, a hotel and two coalmines.” She looked back up at him. “What do you plan to do next?”

“I’d like to sell the hotel and the coalmines, so if you happen to come across anyone who might be interested…”

Kate laughed. “No, seriously,” she said, as Heather marched back into the room.

“The prime minister is on his way up in the lift, Mr. Townsend,” she said, her Scottish accent even more pronounced than usual. “You are, as you will remember, entertaining him for lunch in the boardroom.”