The Fourth Estate (11 page)

Tomkins replaced
his glasses, but did not get beyond the headline and the first few words of the
opening paragraph before he was sick all over his prep.

Keith had to
admit that this was a far better response than he had hoped for. He felt his
father would have agreed that he had grabbed the reader’s attention with the
headline.

“Sixth Former
Caught in Bogs with New Boy. Trousers Down Allegation Denied.”

Keith retrieved
the front page and began tearing it up while a white-faced Tomkins tried to
regain his composure. “Of course,” he said, as he dropped the little pieces
into the wastepaper basket at Tomkins’s side, “I’d be happy for you to hold the
position of deputy editor, as long as you withdraw your name before the voting
takes place tomorrow.

‘The Case for
Socialism” turned out to be the banner headline in the first edition of the St.
Andy under its new editor.

‘The quality of
the paper and printing are of a far higher standard than I can ever recall,”
remarked the headmaster at the staff meeting the following morning. “However,
that is more than can be said for the contents. I suppose we must be thankful
that we only have to suffer two editions a term.” The rest of the staff nodded
their agreement.

Mr. Clarke then
reported that Cyril Tomkins had resigned from his position as deputy editor
only hours after the first edition of the magazine had been published. “Pity he
didn’t get the job in the first place,” the headmaster commented- “By the way,
did anyone ever find out why he withdrew from the contest at the last minute?”

Keith laughed
when this piece of information was relayed to him the following afternoon by
someone who had overheard it repeated at the breakfast table.

“But will he try
to do anything about it?” Keith asked as she zipped up her skirt.

“My father
didn’t say anything else on the subject, except that he was only thankful you
hadn’t called for Australia to become a republic.”

“Now there’s an
idea,” said Keith.

“Can you make
the same time next Saturday?” Penny asked, as she pulled her polo-neck sweater
over her head.

“I’ll try,” said
Keith. “But it can’t be in the gym next week because it’s already booked for a
house boxing match-unless of course you want us to do it in the middle of the
ring, surrounded by cheering spectators.”

“I think it
might be wise to leave others to end up lying flat,,)n their backs,” said
Penny. “What other suggestions do You have?”

“I can give you
a choice,” said Keith. ‘The indoor rifle range or the cricket pavilion.”

‘The cricket
pavilion,” said Penny without hesitation.

“What’s wrong
with the rifle range?” asked Keith.

“It’s always so
cold and dark down there.”

“is that right?”
said Keith. He paused. “Then it will have to be the cricket pavilion.”

“But how will we
get in?” she asked.

“With a key,” he
replied.

‘That’s not
possible,” she said, rising to the bait. “It’s always locked when the First
Eleven are away.”

“Not when the
groundsman’s son works on the Courier, it isn’t.”

Penny took him
in her arms, only moments after he had finished doing up his fly buttons. “Do
you love me, Keith?”

Keith tried to
think of a convincing reply that didn’t commit him. “Haven’t I sacrificed an
afternoon at the races to be with you?”

Penny frowned as
he released himself from her grip. She was just about to press him when he
added, “See you next week.” He unlocked the gym door and peeked out into the
corridor. He turned back, smiled and said, “Stay put for at least another five
minutes.”

He took a
circuitous route back to his dormitory and let himself in through the kitchen
window~

When he crept
into his study, he found a note on his desk from the headmaster asking to see
him at eight o’clock. He checked his watch. It was already ten to eight. He was
relieved that he hadn’t succumbed to Penny’s charms and stayed a little longer
in the gymnasium. He began to wonder what the headmaster was going to complain
about this time, but suspected that Penny had already pointed him in the right
direction.

He checked the
mirror above his washbasin, to be sure there were no outward signs of the
extra-curricular activities of the past two hours. He straightened his tie and
removed a touch of pink lipstick from his cheek.

As he crunched
across the gravel to the headmaster’s house, he began to rehearse his defense
against the reprimand he had been anticipating for some days. He tried to put
his thoughts into a coherent order, and felt more and more confident that he
could answer every one of the headmaster’s possible admonitions. Freedom of the
press, the exercise of one’s democratic rights, the evils of censorship-and if
the headmaster still rebuked him after that lot, he would remind him of his
address to the parents on Founder’s Day the previous year when he had condemned
Hitler for carrying out exactly the same gagging tactics on the German press.
Most of these arguments had been picked up from his father at the breakfast
table since he had returned from Yalta.

Keith arrived
outside the headmaster’s house as the clock on the school chapel struck eight.
A maid answered his knock on the door and said, “Good evening, Mr. Townsend.”
It was the first time anyone had ever called him “Mr.” She ushered him straight
through to the headmaster’s study. Mr. Jessop looked up from behind a desk
littered with papers.

“Good evening,
Townsend,” he said, dispensing with the usual custom of addressing a boy in his
final year by his Christian name. Keith was obviously in deep trouble.

“Good evening,
sir,” he replied, somehow managing to make the word “sir” sound condescending.

“Do have a
seat,” said Mr. Jessop, waving an arm toward the chair opposite his desk.

Keith was
surprised: if you were offered a seat, that usually meant you were not in any
trouble. Surely he wasn’t going to offer him...

“Would you care
for a sherry, Townsend?”

“No, thank you,”
replied Keith in disbelief. The sherry was normally offered only to the head
boy.

Ah, thought
Keith, bribery. He’s going to tell me that perhaps it might be wise in future
to temper my natural tendency to be provocative by .

. . etc., etc.
Well, I already have a reply prepared for that one. You can go to hell.

“I am of course
aware, Townsend, of just how much work is involved in trying to gain a place at
Oxford while at the same time attempting to edit the school magazine.”

So that’s his
game. He wants me to resign. Never. He’ll have to sack me first. And if he
does, I’ll publish an underground magazine the week before the official one
comes out.

“Nevertheless, I
was hoping that you might feel able to take on a further responsibility.”

He’s not going
to make me a prefect? I don’t believe it.

“You may be
surprised to learn, Townsend, that I consider the cricket pavilion to be
unsuitable . continued the headmaster. Keith turned scarlet.

“Unsuitable,
Headmaster?” he blurted out.

“
...
for the first eleven of a school of
our reputation. Now, I realize that you have not made your mark at St. Andrew’s
as a sportsman. However, the School Council has decided that this year’s appeal
should be in aid of a new pavilion.”

Well, they
needn’t expect any help from me, thought Keith. But I may as well let him go on
a bit before I turn him down.

I know you will
be glad to learn that your mother has agreed to be president of the appeal.” He
paused. “With that in mind,. I hoped you’d agree to be the student chairman.

Keith made no
attempt to respond. He knew only too well that once the old man got into his
full stride, there was little point in interrupting him.

“And as you
don’t have the arduous responsibility of being a prefect, and do not represent
the school in any of its teams, I felt you might be interested in taking up
this challenge . . “

Keith still said
nothing.

‘The amount the
governors had in mind for the appeal was £5,000, and were you to succeed in
raising that magnificent sum, I would feel able to inform the college you’ve
applied to at Oxford of your stalwart efforts.” He paused to check some notes
in front of him. “Worcester College, if I remember correctly. I feel that I can
safely say that were your application to receive my personal blessing, it would
count greatly in your favor.”

And this,
thought Keith, from a man who happily climbed the steps of the pulpit every
Sunday to rail against the sins of bribery and corruption.

I therefore
hope, Townsend, that you will give the idea Your serious consideration.”

As there
followed a silence of over three seconds, Keith assumed the headmaster must
have come to an end. His first reaction was to tell the old man to think again
and to look for some other sucker to raise the money-not least because he had
absolutely no interest in either cricket or in going to Oxford. He was
determined that the moment he had left school, lie would join the Courier as a
trainee reporter. However, lie accepted that for the moment his mother was
still winning that particular argument, although if he deliberately failed the
entrance exam, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Despite this,
Keith could think of several good reasons to fall in with the headmaster’s
wishes. The sum was not that large, and collecting it on behalf of the school
might open some doors that had previously been slammed in his face. And then
there was his mother: she would need a great deal of placating after he had
failed to be offered a place at Oxford.

“It’s unlike you
to take so long to come to a decision,” said the headmaster, breaking into his
thoughts.

“I was giving
serious consideration to your proposal, Headmaster,” said Keith gravely- He had
absolutely no intention of allowing the old man to believe he could be bought
off quite that easily. This time it was the headmaster who remained silent.
Keith counted to three. “I’ll come back to you on this one if I may, sir,” he
said, hoping he Sounded like a bank manager addressing a customer requesting a
small overdraft.

“And when might
that be, Townsend?” inquired the headmaster, sounding a little irritated ...

“Two or three
days at the most, sir.”

“Thank you,
Townsend,” said the headmaster, rising from his chair to indicate that the
interview was over.

Keith turned to
leave, but before he reached the door, the headmaster added, “Do have a word
with your mother before you make your decision.”

“Your father
wants me to be the student rep for the annual appeal,” said Keith, as he
searched round for his pants.

“What do they
want to build this time?” asked Penny, still looking up at the ceiling.

“A new cricket
pavilion.”

“Can’t see
what’s wrong with this one.”

“It has been
known to be used for other purposes,” said Keith, as he pulled on his trousers.

“Can’t think
why.” She pulled at a trouser leg. He stared down at her thin naked body. “So,
what are you going to tell him?”

“I’m going to say
yes.”

“But why? It
could take up all your spare time.”

“I know. But it
will keep him off my back, and in any case it might act as an insurance
policy.”

“An insurance
policy?” said Penny.

“Yes, if I were
ever spotted at the racecourse-or worse...” He looked down at her again.

“
...
in the slips cradle with the
headmaster’s daughter?” She pushed herself up and began kissing him again.

“Have we time?”
he asked.

“Don’t be so
wet, Keith. If the First Eleven are playing at Wesley today and the game
doesn’t end until six, they won’t be back much before nine, so we have all the
time in the world.” She fell to her knees and began to undo his fly buttons.

“Unless it’s
raining,” said Keith.

Penny had been
the first girl Keith had made love to. She had seduced him one evening when he
was meant to be attending a concert by a visiting orchestra, he would never
have thought there was enough room in the ladies’ loo. He was relieved that
there was no way of showing the fact that he had lost his virginity. He was
certain it hadn’t been Penny’s first sexual experience, because to date he
hadn’t taught her a thing.

But all that had
taken place at the beginning of the previous term, and now he had his eye on a
girl called Betsy who served behind the counter in the local post office. In
fact lately his mother had been surprised by how regularly Keith had been
writing home.

Keith lay on a
neatly laid-out mattress of old pads in the slips cradle, and began to wonder
what Betsy would look like in the nude. He decided that this was definitely
going to be the last time ...