The Fourth Estate

“Back in Hungary he was an architect, but over here he’s only been able to pick up odd laboring jobs. The government refuses to recognize his qualifications, and the unions haven’t been all that sympathetic.”

“They don’t like me either,” said Keith. “And what about your mother?”

“I’m sorry to appear rude, Mr. Townsend, but I think I’m meant to be interviewing you.”

“Yes, of course,” said Keith, “do go ahead.” He stared at the girl, unaware of how nervous he was making her. He had never seen anyone more captivating. She had long, dark hair which fell onto her shoulders, and a perfectly oval face that hadn’t yet been savaged by the Australian sun. He suspected that the simple, well-tailored navy-blue suit she wore was more formal than she might normally have chosen. But that was probably because she was interviewing her boss. She crossed her legs again and her skirt rose slightly. He tried not to lower his eyes.

“Shall I repeat the question, Mr. Townsend?”

“Err … I’m so sorry.”

Heather walked in, and was surprised to find them seated in the directors’ corner of the room.

“There’s a call for you on line one from New York,” she said. “Mr. Lazar. He needs to have a word about a counterbid he’s just received from Channel 7 for one of next season’s sitcoms.”

“Tell him I’ll call back later,” said Keith, without looking up. “By the way, Kate,” he said, leaning forward, “would you like a coffee?”

“Yes, thank you Mr. Townsend.”

“Black or white?”

“White, but no sugar. Thank you,” she repeated, looking toward Heather.

Heather turned and left the room without asking Keith if he wanted another coffee.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Keith asked.

“Did you write or publish anything when you were at school?”

“Yes, I was editor of the school magazine in my last year,” he said. Kate began writing furiously. “As my father was before me.” By the time Heather reappeared with the coffee, he was still telling Kate about his triumph with the pavilion appeal.

“And when you went to Oxford, why didn’t you edit the student newspaper, or take over Isis, the university magazine?”

“In those days I was far more interested in politics—and in any case, I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life in the newspaper world.”

“Is it true that when you returned to Australia, you were devastated to find that your mother had sold the Melbourne Courier?”

“Yes, it is,” admitted Keith, as Heather walked back into the room. “And I’ll get it back one day,” he added under his breath.

“A problem, Heather?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She was standing only a foot away from him.

“Yes. I’m sorry to interrupt you again, Mr. Townsend, but Sir Kenneth Stirling has been trying to get in touch with you all morning. He wants to discuss your proposed trip to the UK.”

“Then I’ll have to call him back as well, won’t I?”

“He did warn me that he’ll be out most of the afternoon.”

“Then tell him I’ll call him at home this evening.”

“I can see you’re busy,” said Kate. “I can wait or come back at some other time.”

Keith shook his head, despite Heather remaining fixed on the spot for several seconds. He even began to wonder if Ken really was on the line.

Kate tried once more. “There are several stories among the clippings about how you took control of the Adelaide Messenger, and your coup with the late Sir Colin Grant.”

“Sir Colin was a close friend of my father,” said Keith, “and a merger was always going to be in the best interests of both papers.” Kate didn’t look convinced. “I’m sure you’ll have read in the clippings that Sir Colin was the first chairman of the merged group.”

“But he only chaired one board meeting.”