The Fourth Estate

As Keith waited to be connected, he checked his watch. It was 7:20.

“Alexander Downer speaking.”

“It’s Keith Townsend, High Commissioner. You asked me to call urgently.”

“Yes, thank you, Keith. We last met at the Melbourne Cup, but I don’t suppose you remember.” His Australian accent sounded far more pronounced than Townsend recalled.

“I do remember actually,” said Townsend.

“I’m sorry to say it’s not good news, Keith. It seems that your mother has had a heart attack. She’s at the Royal Melbourne Hospital. Her condition’s stable, but she’s in intensive care.”

Townsend was speechless. He had been out of the country when his father had died, and he wasn’t going to …

“Are you still there, Keith?”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “But I had dinner with her the night before I left, and I’ve never seen her looking better.”

“I’m sorry, Keith. It’s damned bad luck that it happened while you’re abroad. I’ve arranged to hold two first class seats on a Qantas flight to Melbourne that takes off at nine this morning. You can still make it if you leave at once. Or you could catch the same flight tomorrow morning.”

“No, I’ll leave immediately,” said Townsend.

“Would you like me to send my car over to the hotel to take you to the airport?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I already have a car booked to drive me to the station. I’ll use that one.”

“I’ve alerted the Qantas staff at Heathrow, so you won’t have any delays, but don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything else I can do to help. I hope we meet again in happier circum

stances.”

“Thank you,” said Townsend. He put the phone down and ran across to the reception desk.

“I’ll be checking out immediately,” he said to the man standing behind the counter. “Please have my bill ready as soon as I come back down.”

“Certainly, sir. Do you still need the car that’s waiting outside?”

“Yes, I do,” said Townsend. He turned quickly and ran up the stairs to the first floor, and jogged along the passageway checking the numbers. When he reached 124, he banged on the door with his fist. Kate opened it a few moments later, and immediately saw the anxiety in his face.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“My mother’s had a heart attack. Bring your bags straight down. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Would you like me to call Henry Wolstenholme and tell him what’s happened?”

“No. We can do that from the airport,” said Townsend, rushing off down the corridor.

A few minutes later he emerged from the lift on the ground floor. While his luggage was being placed in the boot, he settled the bill, walked quickly to the car, tipped the bellboy and joined Kate in the back. He leaned forward and said to the driver, “Heathrow.”

“Heathrow?” said the driver. “My day sheet says I’m to take you to King’s Cross. There’s nothing here about Heathrow.”

“I don’t give a damn what your day sheet says,” said Townsend. “Just get me to Heathrow.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve got my instructions. You see, King’s Cross is an inner-city booking whereas Heathrow is an outer-city journey, and I can’t just…”

“If you don’t move and move quickly, I’ll break your bloody neck,” said Townsend.

“I don’t have to listen to language like that from anyone,” said the driver. He got out of the car, unlocked the boot and began unloading their cases onto the curb.

Townsend was about to leap out after him when Kate took his hand. “Sit still and let me deal with this,” she said firmly.