The Fourth Estate (16 page)

Betsy was
surprised that Keith didn’t even drop in to speak to her after he had dumped
his bike behind the post office. He walked back to school, aware that he only
had three weeks in which to get his hands on E 100.

He went straight
to his study and tried to concentrate on old exam papers, but his mind kept
returning to the irregular withdrawals. He came up with a dozen stories that in
different circumstances might have sounded credible. But how would he ever
explain why the checks had been cashed at thirty-minute intervals, at a branch
so near a racecourse?

By the following
morning, he was considering signing up for the army and getting himself shipped
off to Burma before anyone discovered what he had done. Perhaps if he died
winning the VC they wouldn’t mention the missing C 100 in his obituary. The one
thing he didn’t consider was placing a bet the following week, even after he
had been given another “sure thing” by the same stable lad. It didn’t help when
he read in Thursday morning’s Sporting Globe that this particular “sure thing”
had romped home at ten to one.

It was during
prep the following Monday, as Keith was struggling through an essay on the gold
standard, that the handwritten note was delivered to his room. It simply stated,
“The headmaster would like to see you in his study immediately.”

Keith felt sick.
He left the half-finished essay on his desk and began to make his way slowly
over to the headmaster’s house. How could they have found Out so quickly? Had
the bank decided to cover itself and tell the bursar about several irregular
withdrawals? How could they be so certain that the money hadn’t been used on
legitimate expenses? “So, Townsend, what were those legitimate expenses,
withdrawn from a bank at thirty-minute intervals, just a mile from a racecourse
on a Wednesday afternoon?” he could already hear the headmaster asking
sarcastically.

Keith climbed
the steps to the headmaster’s house, feeling cold and sick.

The door was
opened for him by the maid even before he had a chance to knock. She led him
through to Mr. Jessop’s study without saying a word.

When he entered
the room, he thought he had never seen such a severe expression on the
headmaster’s face. He glanced across the room and saw that his housemaster was
seated on the sofa in the corner. Keith remained standing, aware that on this
occasion he wouldn’t be invited to have a seat or take a glass of sherry.

“Townsend,” the
headmaster began, “I am investigating a most serious allegation, in which I am
sorry to report that you appear to be personally involved.” Keith dug his nails
into his palms to stop himself from trembling. “As you can see, Mr. Clarke has
joined us. This is simply to ensure that a witness is present should it become
necessary for this matter to be put in the hands of the police.” Keith felt his
legs weaken, and feared he might collapse if he wasn’t offered a chair.

“I will come
straight to the point, Townsend.” The head paused as if searching for the right
words. Keith couldn’t stop shaking. “My daughter, Penny, it seems is... is...
pregnant,” said Mr. Jessop, “and she informs me that she was raped. It appears
that you”-Keith was about to protest-”were the only witness to the episode. And
as the accused is not only in your house, but is also the head boy, I consider
it to be of the greatest importance that you feel able to cooperate fully with
this inquiry.”

Keith let out an
audible sigh of relief. “I shall do my best, sir,” he said, as the headmasters
eyes returned to what he suspected was a prepared script.

“Did You on
Saturday 6 October, at around three o’clock in the afternoon, have cause to
enter the cricket pavilion?”

“Yes, sir,” said
Keith without hesitation. “I often have to visit the pavilion in connection
with my responsibility for the appeal.”

“Yes, of
course,” said the headmaster. “Quite right and proper that you should do so.”
Mr. Clarke looked grave, and nodded his agreement.

“And can you
tell me in your own words what you encountered when you entered the pavilion on
that particular Saturday?”

Keith wanted to
smirk when he heard the word “encountered,” but somehow managed to keep a
serious look on his face.

“Take your
time,” said Mr. Jessop. “And whatever your feelings are, you mustn’t regard
this as sneaking.”

Don’t worry, thought
Keith, I won’t. He pondered whether this was the occasion to settle two old
scores at the same time. But perhaps he would gain more by...

“You might also
care to consider that several reputations rest on your interpretation of what
took place on that unfortunate afternoon.” It was the word “reputations” that
helped Keith to make up his mind. He frowned as if contemplating deeply the
implications of what he was about to say, and wondered just how much longer he
could stretch out the agony.

“When I entered
the pavilion, Headmaster,” he began, trying to sound unusually responsible, “I
found the room in complete darkness, which puzzled me until I discovered that
all the blinds had been pulled down.

I was even more
surprised to hear noises coming from the visitors’ changing rooms, as I knew
the First Eleven were playing away that day. I fumbled around for the light
switch, and when I flicked it on, I was shocked to see...” Keith hesitated,
trying to make it sound as if he felt too embarrassed to continue.

“There is no
need for you to worry that you are letting down a friend, Townsend,” prompted
the headmaster. “You can rely on our discretion.”

Which is more
than you can on mine, thought Keith. 11... to see your daughter and Duncan
Alexander lying naked in the slips cradle.” Keith paused again, and this time
the headmaster didn’t press him to continue. So he took even longer. “Whatever
had been taking place must have stopped the moment I switched the light on.” He
hesitated once more.

“This is not
easy for me either, Townsend, as you may well appreciate,” said the headmaster.

“I do appreciate
it, sir,” said Keith, pleased by the way he was managing to string the whole
episode out.

“In your opinion
were they having, or had they had, sexual intercourse?”

“I feel fairly
confident, Headmaster, that sexual intercourse had already taken place,” said
Keith, hoping his reply sounded inconclusive.

“But can you be
certain?” asked the headmaster.

“Yes, I think
so, sir,” said Keith, after a long pause, “because...”

“Don’t feel
embarrassed, Townsend. You must understand that my only interest is in getting
at the truth.”

But that may not
be my only interest, thought Keith, who was not in the slightest embarrassed,
although it was obvious that the other two men in the room were.

“YOU Must tell
us exactly what you saw, Townsend.”

“It wasn’t so
much what I saw, sir, as what I heard,” said Keith.

The headmaster
lowered his head, and took some time to recover. “The next question is most
distasteful for me, Townsend. Because not only will it be necessary for me to
rely on your memory, but also on your judgment.”

“I will do my
best, sir.”

It was the
headmaster’s turn to hesitate, and Keith almost had to bite his tongue to
prevent himself from saying, “Take your time, sir.”

“in your judgment,
Townsend, and remember we’re speaking in confidence, did it appear to You, in
so far as you could tell, that my daughter was, so to speak...” he hesitated
again, “
...
complying?” Keith doubted
if the headmaster had put a more clumsy sentence together in his entire life.

Keith allowed
him to sweat for a few more seconds before he replied firmly, I am in no doubt,
sir, on that particular question.” Both men looked directly at him. “It was not
a case of rape.”

Mr. Jessop
showed no reaction, but simply asked, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because, sir,
neither of the voices I heard before I turned the light on was raised in anger
or fear. They were those of two people who were obviously-how shall I put it,
sir? – enjoying themselves.”

“Can you be
certain of that beyond reasonable doubt, Townsend?” asked the headmaster.

“Yes, sir- I
think I can.”

“And why is
that?” asked Mr. Jessop.

“Because...
because I had experienced exactly the same pleasure with Your daughter only a
fortnight before, sir.”

“in the pavilion?”
spluttered the headmaster in disbelief.

“No, to be
honest with you, sir, in my case it was in the gymnasium. I have a feeling that
your daughter preferred the gymnasium to the pavilion. She always said it was
much easier to relax on rubber mats than on cricket pads in the slips cradle.”
The housemaster was speechless.

“Thank you,
Townsend, for your frankness,” the headmaster somehow managed.

“Not at all,
sir. Will you be needing me for anything else?”

“No, not for the
moment, Townsend.” Keith turned to leave. “However, I would be obliged for your
complete discretion in this matter.”

“Of course,
sir,” said Keith, turning back to face him. He reddened slightly. I am sorry,
Headmaster, if I have embarrassed you, but as you reminded us all in your sermon
last Sunday, whatever situation one is faced with in life, one should always
remember the words of George Washington:

I cannot tell a
lie.’”

Penny was
nowhere to be seen during the next few weeks. When asked, the headmaster simply
said that she and her mother were visiting an aunt in New Zealand.

Keith quickly
put the headmaster’s problems to one side and continued to concentrate on his
own woes. He still hadn’t come up with a solution as to how he could return the
missing C100 to the pavilion account.

One morning,
after prayers, Duncan Alexander knocked on Keith’s study door.

‘Just dropped by
to thank you,” said Alexander. “Jolly decent of you, old chap,” he added,
sounding more British than the British.

“Any time,
mate,” responded Keith in a broad Australian accent. “After all, I only told
the old man the truth.”

“Quite so,” said
the head boy. “Nevertheless, I still owe you a great deal, old chap. We
Alexanders have long memories.”

“So do we
Townsends,” said Keith, not looking up at him.

“Well, if I can
be of any help to you in the future, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I won’t,”
promised Keith.

Durican opened
the door and looked back before adding, “I must say, Townsend, you’re not quite
the shit everyone says you are.

As the door
closed behind him, Keith mouthed the words of Asquith he’d quoted in ail essay
he’d been working on: “You’d better wait and see.”

‘There’s a call
for you in Mr. Clarke’s study on the house phone,” said the junior on corridor
duty.

As the month
drew to a close, Keith dreaded even opening his mail, or worse, receiving an
unexpected call. He always assumed someone had found out. As each day passed he
waited for the assistant manager of the bank to get in touch, informing him
that the time had come for the latest accounts to be presented to the bursar.

“But I’ve raised
over £4,000,” he repeated out loud again and again.

“That’s not the
point, Townsend,” he could hear the headmaster saying.

He tried not to
show the junior boy how anxious he really was. As he left his room and walked
into the corridor, he could see the open door of his housemaster’s study.

His strides
became slower and slower. He walked in, and Mr. Clarke handed him the phone.
Keith wished the housemaster would leave the room, but he just sat there and
continued to mark last night’s prep.

“Keith
Townsend,” he said.

“Good morning,
Keith. It’s Mike Adams.”

Keith
immediately recognized the name of the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald. How
had he found out about the missing money?

“Are you still
there?” asked Adams.

“Yes,” said
Keith. “What can I do for you?” He was relieved that Adams couldn’t see him
trembling.

“I’ve just read
the latest edition of the St. Andy, and in particular your piece on Australia
becoming a republic. I think it’s first class, and I’d like to reprint the
whole article in the SMH-if we can agree on a fee.”

“It’s not for
sale,” said Keith firmly.

1 was thinking
of offering you £75,” said Adams.

“I wouldn’t let
you reprint it, if you offered me .

“if we offered
you boa, much?”

The week before
Keith was due to sit his exams for Oxford, he returned to Toorak for some
last-minute cramming with Miss Steadman. They went over possible questions
together and read model answers she had prepared. She failed on only one
thing-getting him to relax. But he couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t the exams
he was nervous about.

“I’m sure you’ll
pass,” his mother said confidently over breakfast on the Sunday morning.