Free The Fourth Estate by Jeffrey Archer Page A

carried on with her work.
    Lubji was just
about to move on when a young man, only a few years older than him, strolled up
to the kiosk, selected a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches, and then
walked off without paying the old lady. She jumped out of the kiosk, waving her
arms and shouting, ‘Thief! Thief!” But the young man simply shrugged his
shoulders and lit one of the cigarettes. Lubji ran down the road after him and
placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. When he turned round, Lubji said, “You
haven’t paid for the cigarettes.”
    “Get lost, you
bloody Slovak,” the man said, pushing him away before continuing down the
street. Lubji ran after him again and this time grabbed his arm. The man turned
a second time, and without warning threw a punch at his pursuer. Lubji ducked,
and the clenched fist flew over his shoulder. As the man rocked forward, Lubji
landed an uppercut in his solar plexus with such force that the man staggered
backward and collapsed in a heap on the ground, dropping the cigarettes and
matches. Lubji had discovered something else he must have inherited from his
father.
    Lubji had been
so surprised by his own strength that he hesitated for a moment before bending
down to pick up the cigarettes and matches. He left the man clutching his
stomach and ran back to the kiosk.
    ‘Thank you,” the
old woman said when he handed back her goods.
    “My name is
Lubji Hoch,” he told her, and bowed low.
    “And mine is
Mrs. Cerani,” she said.
    When the old
lady went home that night, Lubji slept on the pavement behind the kiosk. The
following morning she was surprised to find him still there, sitting on a stack
of unopened newspapers.
    The moment he
saw her coming down the street, he began to untie the bundles. He watched as
she sorted out the papers and placed them in racks to attract the early morning
workers. During the day Mrs. Ceram started to tell Lubji about the different
papers, and was amazed to find how many languages he could read. It wasn’t long
before she discovered that he could also converse with any refugee who came in
search of news from his own country.
    The next day
Lubji had all the papers set out in their racks long before Mrs. Ceram arrived.
He had even sold a couple of them to early customers.
    By the end of
the week she could often be found snoozing happily in the corner of her kiosk,
needing only to offer the occasional piece of advice if Lubji was unable to
answer a customer’s query.
    After Mrs. Ceram
locked up the kiosk on the Friday evening, she beckoned Lubji to follow her.
They walked in silence for some time, before stopping at a little house about a
mile from the kiosk. The old lady invited him to come inside, and ushered him
through to the front room to meet her husband.
    Mr. Cerani was
shocked when he first saw the filthy young giant, but softened a little when he
learned that Lubji was a Jewish refugee from Ostrava. He invited him to join
them for supper. It was the first time Lubji had sat at a table since he had
left the academy.
    Over the meal
Lubji learned that Mr. Cerani ran a paper shop that supplied the kiosk where
his wife worked. He began to ask his host a series of questions about returned
copies, loss leaders, margins and alternative stock. It was not long before the
newsagent realized why the profits at the kiosk had shot up that week. While
Lubji did the washing up, Mr. and Mrs.
    Cerani conferred
in the corner of the kitchen. When they had finished speaking, Mrs. Cerani
beckoned to Lubji, who assumed the time had come for him to leave. But instead of
showing him to the door, she began to climb the stairs. She turned and beckoned
again, and he followed in her wake. At the top of the stairs she opened a door
that led into a tiny room. There was no carpet on the floor, and the only
furniture was a single bed, a battered chest of drawers and a small table. The
old lady stared at the empty bed with a sad look on her face, gestured toward
it and quickly