The Fourth Estate

Keith winked at Kate, who burst out laughing. Heather held open the door and stood back to allow a distinguished-looking gentleman with a head of silver hair to enter the room.

“Good morning, Prime Minister,” Keith said, as he rose from his place and stepped forward to greet Robert Menzies. The two men shook hands before Keith turned round to introduce Kate, who was trying to hide in the corner of the room. “I don’t think you’ve met Kate Tulloh, Prime Minister. She’s one of the Chronicle’s most promising young reporters. I know she was hoping to get an interview with you at some point.”

“I should be delighted,” said Menzies. “Why don’t you give my office a call, Miss Tulloh, and we can fix a time?”

* * *

For the next two days Keith was unable to get Kate out of his mind. One thing was certain: she didn’t fit into any of his well-ordered plans.

When they had sat down to lunch, the prime minister had wondered why his host was so preoccupied. Townsend showed little interest in his innovative proposals for curbing the power of the trades unions, despite the fact that his papers had been pressing the government on the subject for several years.

Townsend wasn’t a great deal more articulate the following morning, when he chaired the monthly board meeting. In fact, for a man who controlled the largest communications empire in Australia, he was amazingly uncommunicative. One or two of his fellow-directors wondered if he was going down with something. When he addressed the board on item seven, his proposed trip to the UK for the purpose of taking over a small newspaper group in the north of England, few of them could see much point in his making the journey. He totally failed to convince them that anything worthwhile could possibly come out of it.

Once the board meeting was over and the directors had dispersed, Townsend returned to his office and remained at his desk going over papers until Heather finally left for the evening. He checked his watch as the door closed behind her. It was a few minutes past seven, which reminded him how late she normally worked. He didn’t pick up the phone until he was sure she wasn’t going to return, then he dialed the three digits that would put him straight through to the editor’s desk.

“Bruce, this trip I’m about to take to London. I ought to have a journalist along with me to make sure that if the story breaks, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”

“What are you hoping to buy this time?” asked Bruce. “The Times?”

“No, not on this trip,” replied Townsend. “I’m looking for something that just might make a profit.”

“Why don’t I call Ned Brewer at the London bureau? He’s the obvious man to follow up any story.”

“I’m not sure it’s a job for the bureau chief,” said Townsend. “I’m going to be traipsing round the north of England for several days, looking at print works, meeting journalists, trying to decide which editors to retain. I wouldn’t want Ned to be away from his desk for that length of time.”

“I suppose I could spare Ed Makins for a week. But I’d need him back for the opening of Parliament—especially if your hunch turns out to be right and Menzies does announce a bill to curb the powers of the trades unions.”

“No, no, I don’t need someone that high-powered. In any case, I can’t be sure how long I’ll be away. A good junior could do the job.” He paused, but Bruce made no helpful suggestions. “I was impressed by that girl you sent up to interview me the other day,” he said. “What was her name?”

“Kate Tulloh,” said Bruce. “But she’s far too young and inexperienced for somethi

ng as big as this.”

“So were you when we first met, Bruce. It didn’t stop me from offering you the job as editor.”

There was a moment’s silence before Bruce said, “I’ll see if she’s available.”

Townsend smiled as he put the phone down. He couldn’t pretend that he’d been looking forward to the trip to England, although he knew the time had come to expand his horizons beyond Australia.

He looked back down at the pile of notes that littered his desk. Despite a team of management consultants trawling through the details of every newspaper group in the United Kingdom, they had only come up with one good prospect.

A file had been prepared for him to consider over the weekend. He turned the first page and began to read a profile of the West Riding Group. Its head office was in Leeds. He smiled. The nearest he’d ever been to Leeds was a visit to the Doncaster racecourse when he was at Oxford. On that occasion—if he remembered correctly—he’d backed a winner.

19.

News Chronicle

25 October 1951

FINAL POLL GIVES CHURCHILL THE LEAD

“And how will you be paying, Mr. Armstrong?” asked the estate agent.

“It’s Captain Armstrong, actually.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Armstrong.”

“I’ll pay by check.”