Still preceding, the naval lieutenant led the way directly to a point near a blazing log fire where the Governor General had been receiving. The aide announced: 'The Prime Minister and Mrs Howden.'
His Excellency, the Right Honourable Air Marshal Sheldon Griffiths, VC, DFC, RCAF (retired). Her Majesty's Governor General in the Dominion of Canada, extended his hand. 'Good evening. Prime Minister.' Then, inclining his head courteously, 'Margaret.'
Margaret Howden curtsied expertly, her smile including Natalie Griffiths at her husband's side.
'Good evening. Your Excellency,' James Howden said. 'You're looking extremely well.'
The Governor General, silver-haired, ruddy, and militarily erect despite his years, was wearing faultless evening dress with a long impressive row of medals and decorations. He leaned forward confidentially. 'I feel as if my damn tailplane's burning up.' Gesturing to the fireplace. 'Now you're here, let's move away from this inferno.'
Together the four strolled through the room, the Governor General a courteous, friendly host.
'I saw your new Karsh portrait,' he told Melissa Tayne, serene and gracious wife of Dr Borden Tayne, the Health and Welfare Minister. 'It's very beautiful and almost does you justice.' Her husband, alongside, flushed with pleasure.
Next to them Daisy Cawston, lumpish, motherly, and not caring, burbled, 'I've been trying to persuade my husband to sit for Karsh, Your Excellency, at least while Stuart has some hair left.' Beside her, Stuart Cawston, Finance Minister, and known to friends and adversaries as 'Smiling Stu', grinned good-naturedly.
Soberly the Governor General inspected Cawston's rapidly balding scalp. 'Better take your wife's advice, old chap. Not much time left, I'd say.' His tone robbed the words of any offence and there was a chorus of laughter in which the Finance Minister joined.
Now, as the viceregal group moved on, James Howden dropped back. He caught the eye of Arthur Lexington, the External Affairs Minister, several groups away with his wife Susan, and nodded imperceptibly. Casually Lexington excused himself and strolled over- a short cherubic figure in his late fifties whose easy-going, avuncular ways concealed one of the sharpest minds in international politics.
'Good evening. Prime Minister,' Arthur Lexington said. Without changing his expression he lowered his voice. 'Everything's teed.'
'You've talked with Angry?' Howden asked crisply. His Excellency Phillip B. Angrove, 'Angry' to his friends, was the US Ambassador to Canada.
Lexington nodded. He said softly, 'Your meeting with the President is set for January second. Washington, of course. That gives us ten days.'
'We'll need all of it.'
'I know.'
'Have you discussed procedure?'
'Not in detail. There'll be a state banquet for you the first day – all the usual folderol – then the private meeting, just four of us, the following day. I suppose that's when we get down to business.'
'How about an announcement?'
Lexington nodded warningly, and the Prime Minister followed his eyes. A manservant was approaching with a tray of drinks. Among them was a single glass of grape juice, the latter a beverage which James Howden – a teetotaller – was believed to favour. Noncommittally he accepted the drink.
As the manservant left, Lexington sipping rye and water, Aaron Gold, Postmaster General and only Jewish member of the Cabinet, joined them. 'My feet are killing me,' he announced. 'Couldn't you drop a word to His Ex, Prime Minister – ask him for God's sake sit down, so the rest of us can get the weight off.'
'Never known you in a hurry to get off your feet, Aaron.' Arthur Lexington grinned. 'Not judging by your speeches.'
Stuart Cawston, nearby, had overheard. He called across:
'Why the tired feet, Aaron? Been delivering Christmas mail?'
'I should get humorists,' the Postmaster General said gloomily, 'when all I need is tenderness.'
'It was my understanding you had that already,' Howden said amusedly. The idiot counterpoint, he thought: comic dialogue on side-stage to Macbeth. Perhaps it was needed, though. The issues which had suddenly loomed ahead, touching the very existence of Canada, were formidable enough. How many in this room besides Lexington and himself had any idea… Now the others moved away.
Arthur Lexington said softly, 'I talked to Angry about an announcement of the meeting and he called the State Department again. They say the President has asked there be no announcement for the time being. Their thinking seems to be that coming so soon after the Russian note, there might be some obvious implications.'
'Can't see it'd do much harm,' Howden said, his hawklike features pensive. 'It'll have to be announced soon. But if that's what he wants…'
Around them conversation swirled as glasses clinked.'… I took off fourteen pounds, then discovered this heavenly bakery. Now it's all back…' '… explained I didn't see the red light because I was hurrying to meet my husband who's a cabinet minister…' '… I'll say this for Time; even the distortions are interesting…' '… Really, Toronto people nowadays are insufferable; they've a kind of cultural indigestion…' '… So I told him, if we want stupid liquor laws, that's our business; anyway, just try using the telephone in London…''… I think Tibetans are cute; there's a cave-man quality…''… Haven't you noticed, the departmental stores are billing faster? One time you could count on two extra weeks…' '… We should have stopped Hitler at the Rhine and Khrushchev in Budapest…' '… Make no mistake: if men had to be pregnant, there'd be a lot less – thank you, a gin and tonic.'
'When we do make the announcement,' Lexington said, his voice still lowered, 'we'll say the meeting is for trade talks.'
'Yes,' Howden agreed. 'I suppose that's best.'
'When will you tell the Cabinet?'
'I haven't decided. I thought perhaps the Defence Committee first. I'd like a few reactions.' Howden smiled dourly. 'Not everyone has your grasp of world affairs, Arthur.'
'Well, I suppose I get certain advantages.' Lexington paused, his homely face thoughtful, eyes questioning. 'Even so, the idea will take a lot of getting used to.'
'Yes,' James Howden said. 'I expect it will.'
The two moved apart, the Prime Minister rejoining the viceregal group. His Excellency was offering a quiet word of condolence to a cabinet member whose father had died the week before. Now, moving on, he congratulated smother whose daughter had won academic honours. The old man does it well, Howden thought – the right balance of affability and dignity; not too much of the one or the other.
James Howden found himself wondering just how long the cult of kings and queens and a royal representative would last in Canada. Eventually, of course, the country would cut itself loose from the British monarchy just as, years before, it had shed the yoke of rule by the British Parliament. The idea of royal occasions – quaint protocol, gilt coaches, court lackeys, and gold dinner services – was out of tune with the times, in North America especially. Already a good deal of ceremony associated with the throne seemed mildly funny, like a good-natured charade. When the day came, as it would, when people began to laugh out loud, then decay would have begun in earnest. Or perhaps, before that, some backstairs royal scandal would erupt and the crumbling come swiftly, in Britain as well as Canada.
The thought of royalty reminded him of a question he must raise tonight. The small entourage had paused, and now, easing the Governor General away from the others, Howden asked, 'It's next month, sir, I believe, that you leave for England.'