The Fourth Estate (33 page)

Two sets of eyes
followed his progress out of the store.

When he returned
to the office, Bunty was a little surprised to discover the contents of the
shopping bag. In the thirty-two years she had worked for Sir Graham, she
couldn’t once remember him giving his wife a jigsaw puzzle.

Townsend ignored
her inquiring look, and said, “Bunty, I want to see the circulation manager
immediately. The news stand on the corner of King William Street had run out of
the Gazette by ten o’clock.” As she turned to leave he added, “Oh, and could
you book me a table for two tonight at Pilligrini’s?”

As Susan entered
the restaurant, several men in the room turned to watch her walk across to the
corner table. She was wearing a pink suit that emphasized her slim figure, and
although her skirt fell an inch below the knee, Townsend’s eyes were still
looking down when she arrived at the table. When she took the seat opposite
him, some of his fel low- diners’ looks turned to envy.

One voice, which
was intended to carry, said, ‘That bloody man gets everything he wants.”

They both laughed,
and Townsend poured her a glass of champagne. He soon found how easy it was to
be in her company. They began to swap stories of what they had both been doing
for the past twenty years as if they were old friends just catching up.
Townsend explained why he had been making so many journeys to Sydney recently,
and Susan told him why she wasn’t enjoying working in the toy department of
Moore’s.

“Is she always
that awful?” asked Townsend.

“You caught her
in a good mood. After you left, she spent the rest of the morning being
sarcastic about whether it was your mother or your nephew or perhaps someone
else that you’d come in for. And when I was a couple of minutes late getting
back from lunch, she said, ‘You’re one hundred and twenty seconds late, Miss
Glover. One hundred and twenty seconds of the company’s time. If it happens
again, we’ll have to think about deducting the appropriate sum from your
wages.’”

It was an almost
perfect imitation, and caused Townsend to burst out laughing.

“What’s her
problem?”

“I think she
wanted to be an air hostess.”

“I fear she
lacks one or two of the more obvious qualifications,” suggested Townsend.

“So, what have
you been up to today?” Susan asked. “Still trying to pick up air hostesses on
Austair?”

“No,” he smiled.
“That was last week-and I failed. Today I satisfied myself with trying to work
out if I could afford to pay C 1.9 million for the Sydney Cbronicle.”

“One point nine
million?” she said incredulously. “Then the least I can do is pick up the tab
for dinner. Last time I bought a copy of the Sydney Cbronicle it was sixpence.”

“Yes, but I want
all the copies,” said Townsend.

Although their
coffee cups had been cleared away, they continued to talk until long after the
kitchen staff had left. A couple of bored-looking waiters lounged against a
pillar, occasionally glancing at them hopefully.

When he caught
one of them stifling a yawn, Townsend called for the bill and left a large tip.
As they stepped out onto the pavement, he took Susan’s hand. “Where do you
live?”

“in the northern
suburbs, but I’m afraid I’ve missed the last bus. I’ll have to get a taxi.”

“It’s such a
glorious evening, why don’t we walk?”

“Suits me,” she
said, smiling.

They didn’t stop
talking until they arrived outside her front door an hour later. Susan turned
to him and said, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Keith. You’ve brought a new
meaning to the words’walking it off’.”

“Let’s do it
again soon,” he said.

“I’d like that.”

“When would suit
you?”

“I would have said
tomorrow, but it depends on whether I’m going to be expected to walk home every
time. If I am, I might have to suggest a local restaurant, or at least wear
more sensible shoes.”

“Certainly not,”
said Townsend. “I promise you tomorrow I’ll drive you home. But I have to be in
Sydney to sign a contract earlier in the day, so I don’t expect to be back much
before eight “

“That’s perfect.
It will give me enough time to go home and change.”

“Would U12toile
suit you?”

“Only if you
have something to celebrate.”

“There will be
something to celebrate, that I promise you.

‘Then I’ll see
you at E&oile at nine.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You
know, you’ll never get a taxi Out here at this time of night, Keith,” she said,
looking rather concerned. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a long walk back.”

“It will be
worth it,” said Townsend, as Susan disappeared down the short drive to her
front door.

A car drove up
and came to a halt by his side. The driver jumped out and opened the door for
him.

“Where to,
boss?”

“Home, Sam,” he
said to his driver. “But let’s go via the station, so I can pick up the early
morning edition.”

Townsend took
the first flight to Sydney the following morning. His lawyer, Clive Jervis, and
his accountant, Trevor Meacham, were sitting on either side of him.

“I’m still not
altogether happy with the rescission clause,” said Clive.

“And the payment
schedule needs a little fine tuning, that’s for sure,” added Trevor.

“How long is it
going to take to sort out these problems?” asked Townsend.

“I have a dinner
appointment in Adelaide tonight, and I must catch an afternoon flight.” Both
men looked doubtful.

Their fears were
to provejustified. The two companies lawyers spent the morning going over the
fine print, and the two accountants took even longer checking the figures.
Nobody stopped for lunch, and by three o’clock Townsend was checking his watch
every few minutes. Despite his pacing up and down the room, delivering
monosyllabic replies to lengthy questions, the final document wasn’t ready for
signing until a few minutes after five.

Townsend
breathed a sigh of relief when the lawyers finally rose from the boardroom
table and began to stretch themselves. He checked his watch again, and was
confident he could still catch a plane that would get him back to Adelaide in
time. He thanked both his advisers for their efforts, and was shaking hands
with their opposite numbers when Sir Somerset walked into the room, followed by
his editor and chief executive.

“I’m told we
have an agreement at last,” said the old man with a broad grin.

“I think so,”
said Townsend, trying not to show how anxious he was to escape. If he called
Moore’s to warn her he might be late, he knew they wouldn’t put him through.

“Well, let’s
have a drink to celebrate before we put our signatures to the final document,”
said Sir Somerset.

After the third
whiskey, Townsend suggested that perhaps the time had come to sign the
contract. Nick Watson agreed, and reminded Sir Somerset that he still had a
paper to bring out that night. “Quite right,” said the proprietor, removing a
fountain pen from his inside pocket. “And as I will still own the Cbronicle for
another six weeks, we can’t allow standards to drop. By the way, Keith, I do
hope you’ll be able to join me for dinner?”

“I’m afraid I
can’t tonight,” replied Townsend. “I already have a dinner appointment in
Adelaide.”

Sir Somerset
swung round to face him. “it had better be a beautiful woman,” he said,
“because I’m damned if I’ll be stood up for another business deal.”

“I promise you
she’s beautiful,” said Townsend, laughing. “And it’s only our second date.”

“in that case, I
won’t hold you up,” said Sir Somerset, heading toward the boardroom table where
two copies of the agreement had been laid out. He stopped for a moment, staring
down at the contract, and seemed to hesitate.

Both sides
looked a little nervous, and one of Sir Somerset’s lawyers began to fidget.

The old man
turned to Townsend and winked. “I must tell you that it was Duncan who finally convinced
me I should go with you, and not Hacker,” he said. He bent down and put his
signature to both contracts, then passed the pen over to Townsend, who
scribbled his name by the side of Sir Somerset’s.

The two men
shook hands rather fornially.’Just time for another drink,” said Sir Somerset,
and winked at Townsend. “You run along, Keith, and we’ll see how Much of the
profits we can ( O11SUme in your absence. I must say, my boy, I couldn’t be
more delighted that the Chronicle will be passing into the hands of Sir Graham
Townsend’s son.”

Nick Watson
stepped forward and put his arm round Townsend’s shoulder as he turned to
leave. “I must say, as editor of the Chronicle, how much I’m looking forward to
working with you. I hope we’ll be seeing you back in Syclney before too long.”

“I’m looking
forward to working with you as well,” said Townsend, “and I’m sure we’ll bump
into each other from time to time.” He turned to shake hands with Duncan
Alexander. “Thank you,” he said. “We’re all square.” Duncan thrust Out his
hand, but Townsend was already rushing out of the door.

He saw the lift
doors close seconds before he could stab the down arrow on the wall. When he
finally flagged a taxi, the driver refused to break the speed limit despite
coaxing, bribing and finally shouting. As he was being driven into the
terminal, Townsend was able to watch the Douglas DC4 rise into the air above
him, oblivious of its final passenger stranded in a taxi below.

“it must have
left on time for a change,” said the taxi driver with a shrug of the shoulders.
That was more than could be said for the next flight, which was scheduled to
take off an hour later, but ended up being delayed by forty minutes.

Townsend checked
his watch, walked slowly over to the phone booth, and looked up Susan’s number
in the Adelaide directory. The operator told him that the number was engaged.
When hc rang again a few minutes later, there was no reply. Perhaps she was
taking a shower. He tried to imagine the scene as the Tannoy announced, “This
is a final call for all passengers traveling to Adelaide.”

He asked the
operator to try once more, only to find the number was engaged again. He
cursed, replaced the phone and ran all the way to the aircraft, boarding just
before they closed the door. He continually thumped his armrest throughout the
flight, but it didn’t make the plane go any faster.

Sam was standing
by the car looking anxious when his master came charging out of the terminal.
He drove into Adelaide, ignoring every known speed limit, but by the time he
dropped his boss outside ffioile, the head waiter had already taken the last
orders.

Townsend tried
to explain what had happened, but Susan seemed to understand even before he had
opened his mouth. “I phoned you from the airport, but it was either engaged or
just went on ringing.” He looked at the untouched cutlery on the table in front
of her. “Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten.”

“No, I didn’t
feel that hungry,” she said, and took his hand. “But you must be famished, and
I’ll bet you still want to celebrate your triumph. So, if you had a choice,
what would you like to do most?”

When Townsend
walked into his office the following morning, he found Bunty hovering by his
desk clutching a sheet of paper. She looked as if she had been standing there
for some time.

“Problem,”
Townsend asked as he closed the door.

“No. It’s just
that VOU seem to have forgotten that I’m due to retire at the end of this
month.”

“I hadn’t
forgotten,” said Townsend, as he took the seat behind his desk.

“I just didn’t
think...”

“The rules of
the company arc quite clear on this matter,” said Bunty.

“When a female
employee reaches the age of sixty...”

“You’re never
sixty, BUnty!”

... she
qualifies for retirement on the last Friday of that calendar month.”

“Rules are there
to be broken.”

“Your father
said that there should be no exceptions to that particular rule, and I agree
with him.”

“But I haven’t
got the time to look for anyone else at the moment, Bunty.

What with the
takeover of the Chronicle and...”

1 had
anticipated that problem,” she said, not flinching, “and I have found the ideal
replacement.”

“But what are
her qualifications?” demanded Townsend, ready to dismiss them immediately as
inadequate.

“She’s my
niece,” came back the reply, “and more importantly, she comes from the Edinburgh
side of the family.”

Townsend
couldn’t think of a suitable reply. “Well, you’d better make an appointment for
her to see me.” He paused. “Some time next month.”

“She is at this
moment sitting in my office, and can see you right now,” said Bunty.

“You know how
busy I am,” said Townsend, looking down at the blank page in his diary. Bunty
had obviously made certain he had no appointments that morning. She handed over
the piece of paper she had been holding.