The Fourth Estate by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

their efforts with those
of his rivals.
    “‘Benevolent
Dictator’-weak headline,” his father declared one Sunday morning as he glanced
at the front page of the previous day’s Adelaide Gazette. A few moments later
he added, “And an even weaker story. Neither of these people should ever be
allowed near a front page again.”
    “But there’s
only one name on top of the column,” said Keith, who had been listening
intently to his father.
    Sir Graham
chuckled. “True, my boy, but the headline would have been set up by a
sub-editor, probably long after the journalist who wrote the piece had left for
the day.”
    Keith remained puzzled
until his father explained that headlines could be changed only moments before
the paper was put to bed. “You must grab the readers’ attention with the
headline, otherwise they will never bother to read the story.”
    Sir Graham read
out loud an article about the new German leader. It was the first time Keith
had heard the name of Adolf Hitter. “Damned good photograph, though,” his
father added, as he pointed to the picture of a little man with a toothbrush
moustache, striking a pose with his right hand held high in the air. “Never
forget the hoary old clich6, my boy: ‘A picture’s worth a thousand words.’”
    There was a
sharp rap on the door that both of them knew could only have been administered
by the knuckle of Miss Steadman. Sir Graham doubted if the timing of her knock
each Sunday had varied by more than a few seconds since the day she had
arrived.
    “Enter,” he said
in his sternest voice. He turned to wink at his son.
    Neither of the
male Townsends ever let anyone else know that behind her back they called Miss
Steadman “Gruppenfahrer.”
    Miss Steadman
stepped into the study and delivered the same words she had repeated every
Sunday for the past year: “It’s time for Master Keith to get ready for church,
Sir Graham.”
    “Good heavens,
Miss Steadman, is it that late already?” lie would reply before shooing his son
toward the door. Keith reluctantly left the safe haven of his father’s study
and followed Miss Steadman out of the room.
    “Do you know
what my father has just told me, Miss Steadman?” Keith said, in a broad
Australian accent that he felt sure would annoy her.
    I have no idea,
Master Keith,” she replied. “But whatever it was, let us hope that it will not
stop you concentrating property on the Reverend Davidson’s sermon.” Keith fell
into a gloomy silence as they continued their route march up the stairs to his
bedroom. He didn’t utter a sound again until he had joined his father and
mother in the back of the Rolls.
    Keith knew that
he would have to concentrate on the minister’s every word, because Miss Steadman
always tested him and his sisters on the most minute details of the text before
they went to bed. Sir Graham was relieved that she never subjected him to the
same examination.
    Three nights in
the tree house-which Miss Steadman had constructed within weeks of her
arrival-was the punishment for any child who obtained less than 80 percent in
the sermon test. “Good for character-building,” she would continually remind
them. What Keith never told her was that he occasionally gave the wrong answer
deliberately, because three nights in the tree house was a blessed escape from
her tyranny.
    Two decisions
were made when Keith was eleven which were to shape the rest of his life, and
both of them caused him to burst into tears.
    Following the
declaration of war on Germany, Sir Graham was given a special assignment by the
Australian government which, he explained to his son, would require him to
spend a considerable amount of time abroad. That was the first.
    The second came only
days after Sir Graham had departed for London, when Keith was offered, and on
his mother’s insistence took up, a place at St.
    Andrew’s
Grammar-a boys’ boarding school on the outskirts of Melbourne.
    Keith wasn’t
sure which of the decisions