The Fourth Estate

“Get McAlvoy for me.”

All Armstrong said when the editor of the Citizen came on the line was, “Alistair, I know what’s going to be on the front page of the Globe tomorrow, and I’m the one person who can top it.”

As soon as he put the phone down on McAlvoy, Armstrong asked Pamela to dig the Atkins file out of the safe. He began sipping his champagne. It wasn’t vintage.

* * *

The following morning the Globe’s headline read: “Minister’s Secret Moslem Love Child: Exclusive.” There followed three pages of pictures, illustrating an interview with Miss Patel’s brother, under the byline “Don Sharpe, Chief Investigative Reporter.”

Townsend was delighted, until he turned to the Citizen and read its headline:

LOVE CHILD MINISTER REVEALS ALL TO THE CITIZEN

There followed five pages of pictures and extracts from a tape-recorded interview given exclusively to the paper’s unnamed special affairs correspondent.

The lead story in the London Evening Post that night was that the prime minister had announced from 10 Downing Street that he had, with considerable regret, accepted the resignation of Mr. Ray Atkins MP.

29.

The Citizen

21 August 1978

NOT MANY PEOPLE INHABITING THE NEW GLOBE

When Townsend had cleared customs he found Sam waiting outside the terminal to drive him into Sydney. On the twenty-five-minute journey, Sam brought the boss up to date with what was happening in Australia. He left him in no doubt as to what he felt about the prime minister, Malcolm Fraser—out of date and out of touch—and the Sydney Opera House—a waste of money, and already out of date. But he gave him one piece of information which was fresh, and not out of date.

“Where did you pick that up, Sam?”

“The chairman’s driver told me.”

“And what did you have to tell him in exchange?”

“Only that you were coming back from London on a flying visit,” replied Sam, as they pulled up outside Global Corp’s headquarters on Pitt Street.

Heads turned as Townsend pushed his way through the revolving doors, walked across the lobby and into a waiting lift which whisked him straight up to the top floor. He called for the editor even before Heather had a chance to welcome him back.

Townsend paced up and down his office as he waited, stopping occasionally to admire the opera house, which, like Sam, all his papers with the exception of the Continent had been quick to condemn. Only half a mile away was the bridge that had until recently been the city’s trademark. In the harbor, colorful dinghies were sailing, their masts glowing in the sun. Although its population had doubled, Sydney now seemed terribly small compared to when he had first taken over the Chronicle. He felt as if he was looking down on a Lego town.

“Good to have you back, Keith,” said Bruce Kelly as he walked through the open door. Townsend swung round to greet the first man he had ever appointed to be editor of one of his newspapers.

“And it’s great to be back, Bruce. It’s been too long,” he said as they shook hands. He wondered if he had aged as much as the balding, overweight man who stood in front of him.

“How’s Kate?”

“She hates London, and seems to spend most of her time in New York, but I’m hoping she’ll be joining me next week. What’s happening over here?”

“Well, you’ll have seen

from our weekly reports that sales are slightly up on last year, advertising is up, and profits are at a record level. So I guess it must be time for me to retire.”

“That’s exactly what I came back home to talk to you about,” said Townsend.

The blood drained out of Bruce’s face. “Are you serious, chief?”

“Never been more serious,” said Townsend, facing his friend. “I need you in London.”

“Whatever for?” asked Bruce. “The Globe is hardly the sort of paper I’ve been trained to edit. It’s far too traditional and British.”