The Fourth Estate

“So what are we going to do about it?” asked the chairman, turning to face his chief executive.

“I have already put some plans in hand,” said Armstrong.

“Are we to be privy to these plans?” asked Sir Paul.

“I will brief the board fully at our next meeting,” said Armstrong.

Sir Paul didn’t look satisfied, but made no further comment.

The next day, Armstrong called for McAlvoy without bothering to consult anyone on the board. When the editor of the Citizen entered the proprietor’s office, Armstrong didn’t stand to greet him, and made no suggestion that he should take a seat.

“I’m sure you’ve worked out why I’ve asked to see you,” he said.

“No, Dick, I haven’t the slightest idea,” replied McAlvoy innocently.

“Well, I’ve just seen the JICNAR figures for the past month. If we continue at this rate, the Globe will be selling more copies than we are by the end of the year.”

“And you will still be the proprietor of a great national newspaper, while Townsend will still be publishing a rag.”

“That may well be the case. But I have a board and shareholders to consider.”

McAlvoy couldn’t recall Armstrong ever mentioning a board or shareholders in the past. The last refuge of a proprietor, he was about to say. Then he recalled his lawyer’s warning that his contract still had five months to run, and that he would be unwise to provoke Armstrong.

“I assume you’ve seen the Globe’s headline this morning?” said Armstrong, holding up his rival’s paper.

“Yes, of course I have,” said McAlvoy, glancing at the thick, bold print: “Top Pop Star Named in Drugs Scandal.”

“And we led on ‘Extra Benefits for Nurses.’”

“Our readers love nurses,” said McAlvoy.

“Our readers may well love nurses,” said Armstrong, flicking through the paper, “but in case you haven’t noticed, the Globe had the same story on page seven. It’s fairly clear to me, even if it isn’t to you, that most of our readers are more interested in pop stars and drug scandals.”

“The pop star in question,” countered McAlvoy, “has never had a record in the top hundred, and was smoking a joint in the privacy of his own home. If anyone had ever heard of him, the Globe would have put his name in the headline. I have a filing cabinet full of such rubbish, but I don’t insult our readers by publishing it.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you did,” said Armstrong, his voice rising with every word. “Let’s start challenging the Globe on its own ground for a change. Maybe if we did that, I wouldn’t be looking for a new editor.”

McAlvoy was momentarily stunned. “Am I to assume from this outburst that I’m fired?” he asked eventually.

“At last I’ve got through to you,” said Armstrong. “Yes, you’re fired. The name of the new editor will be announced on Monday. See that your desk is cleared by this evening.”

“Can I assume that after ten years as editor of this paper I will receive my full pension?”

“You will receive no more and no less than you are entitled to,” shouted Armstrong. “Now get out of my office.” He glared at McAlvoy, waiting for him to unleash one of the tirades for which he was so famous, but the sacked editor simply turned and left without uttering another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

Armstrong slipped into the adjoining room, toweled himself down and changed into a fresh shirt. It was exactly the same color as the previous one, so no one would notice.

Once McAlvoy was back at his desk, he quickly briefed a handful of his closest associates on the outcome of his meeting with Armstrong and on what he planned to do. A few minutes later he took the chair at the afternoon conference for the last time. He looked down the list of stories vying for the front page.

“I’m putting down a marker for tomorrow’s splash, Alistair,” said a voice. McAlvoy looked up at his political editor.

“What do you have in mind, Campbell?” he asked.

“A Labor councilor in Lambeth has gone on hunger strike to highlight the unfairness of the government’s housing policy. She’s black and unemployed.”

“Sounds good to me,” said McAlvoy. “Anyone else pushing for the lead?” No one spoke as he looked slowly round the room. His eyes finally rested on Kevin Rushcliffe, to whom he hadn’t addressed a word for over a month.

“How about you, Kevin?”