'I care,' Bonar Deitz responded, 'and so should everybody.'
'Ah! But what people should do and really do are different things. It's average voters we have to think about, and average voters don't understand international trade and, what's more, don't want to. What they care about is issues they can understand – human issues which stir their emotions; that they can weep for or cheer about; something like this lost and lonely young man, Henri Duval, who so badly needs a friend. Will you be his friend, my boy?'
'Well,' Bonar Deitz said thoughtfully, 'maybe you have something.'
He paused, considering. Old man Deveraux was right about one thing: the Opposition did need a good popular issue with which to clobber the Government, because lately there had been all too few.
There was another thing. Bonar Deitz was acutely aware that recently there had been growing criticism of himself among his own supporters. He was too mild, they said, in his attacks, as Opposition Leader, upon the Government. Well, perhaps his critics were right; he had been mild at times and he supposed it was the result of being able, always, to see the other fellow's point of view. In the cut and thrust of politics such reasonableness could be a handicap.
But a clear-cut human-rights issue – if this turned out to be one; and it looked as if it might – well, that would be different. He could fight hard, hitting the Government in its tender underbelly and perhaps, that way, his own record would be evened out. Even more important, it would be the kind of fight which newspapers and the public could grasp and applaud.
But would it help his own party at the next election? That was the real test, and particularly for himself. He remembered the question which the boy had asked this afternoon: 'Do you think you'll ever make it?' the real answer was that the next campaign would decide one way or the other. Bonar Deitz had led the Opposition through one election which had brought defeat. A sound defeat would spell the end of his own tenure as Leader and his ambition to become Prime Minister.
Would it help to have the kind of fight which the Senator was suggesting? Yes, he decided, it very likely would.
'Thank you. Senator,' Bonar Deitz said. 'I think your suggestion is sound. If it can be done, we'll make this man Duval an issue and there are a lot of other things about immigration we can hit at the same time.'
'Now you're talking.' The Senator beamed.
'There'll have to be some precautions,' Deitz said. He glanced at the others in the lounge, making sure he could not be overheard. 'We must be certain that this fellow in Vancouver is what he purports to be, and of good character. That's clear, isn't it?'
'Naturally, my boy. Naturally.'
'How do you suggest we begin?'
'The first thing is to secure a lawyer for this young man,' Senator Deveraux said. 'I'll take care of that myself in Vancouver tomorrow. After that there'll be legal steps during which, we trust, the Immigration Department will behave with its usual blundering heartlessness. And then… well, the rest will be up to you.'
The Opposition Leader nodded approval. 'That sounds all right. There's one thing about the lawyer, though.'
'I'll get the right man – someone we can rely on. You may be sure of that.'
'It might be wise if the lawyer isn't one of our own party.' Bonar Deitz spoke slowly, thinking aloud. 'That way, when we come into the picture it won't look too much like a setup. In fact, the lawyer really shouldn't belong to any party.'
'A well-taken point. There is a problem, however, that most of our lawyers support one party or another.'
'Not all lawyers do,' Bonar Deitz said carefully. 'Not all the new ones, for instance. Those just in practice, fresh from law school.'
'Brilliant!' A slow grin spread over Senator Deveraux's face.
'That's it my boy! We will find an innocent.' His grin widened. 'A little lamb whom we shall lead.'
Chapter 4
It was still snowing, though wetly, when Brian Richardson, his scarf wound tightly, overshoes snug, and topcoat collar upturned, left the office on Sparks Street for the short walk to Parliament Hill. The Prime Minister had finally called him and said, 'You'd better come up. There's a lot I want to talk about.' Now, taking long plunging strides through the crowds of Christmas Eve shoppers, Richardson shivered at the cold which seemed intensified by dusk settling greyly over the city.
Richardson disliked winter and Christmas with equal impartiality – the first through a built-in physical craving for warmth, the second because of an agnosticism which he was convinced most others shared but would not admit. He had once told James Howden, 'Christmas is ten times phonier than any politics you ever saw, but nobody dare say so. All they'll tell you is "Christmas is too commercialized". Hell! – the commercial bit is the only part that makes sense.'
Some of the commercial bit impinged on Richardson's consciousness now as he passed store fronts, most lighted garishly, with their inevitable Christmas themes. He grinned at a combination of signs he had noticed earlier. In the window of ah appliance showroom a bright green panel blazoned in neoned misquotation, PEACE ON EARTH GOODWILL TOWARDS MEN. Below, a second sign, equally bright, read: ENJOY IT NOW – PAY LATER.
Aside from a few gifts – including one for Milly Freedeman, which he must buy before this evening – Brian Richardson was glad there was no part he would have to act out in the Christmas scheme of things. Like James Howden, for instance, who would be obliged to turn out for church tomorrow morning, as he did most Sundays, even though his religious beliefs were about as non-existent as Richardson's own.
Once, years before, when Richardson had worked as an advertising account executive, a major industrial client had underwritten a 'go to church' campaign which Richardson had handled. At one point the client had suggested pointedly that Richardson, too, should follow the advice in his own clever advertising copy and become a church attender. He had gone; the industrial end of the account was too important to take chances with. But he had been secretly relieved when the agency later lost the account and that particular client no longer had to be appeased.
That was one of the reasons he enjoyed his work so greatly nowadays. There were no clients for him to appease, and any appeasement needed was handled by others at Richardson's direction. Nor, because he was out of the public eye, was there any front that had to be maintained; that kind of thing was politicians' business. Far from worrying about appearance, the party director had a duty to remain obscure, and behind the obscurity he could live pretty much as he pleased.
That was one reason he had been less concerned than Milly Freedeman about a possible eavesdropper when they had made their date for tonight, though perhaps, he thought, out of consideration he should be more discreet another time. If there were another time.
Come to think of it, that was something to consider and perhaps after tonight it would be wise to ring down the curtain on the incident with Milly. Love 'em and leave 'em, he thought. After all, there were always plenty of women whose company – in and out of bed – a well organized male could enjoy.
He liked Milly, of course; she had a personal warmth and depth of character which appealed to him, and she hadn't been bad – though a bit inhibited – the one time they had made love. All the same, if the two of them went on meeting there was always the danger of emotional involvement – not himself, because he intended to avoid that sort of thing for a long time to come. But Milly might be hurt – women were apt to become serious about what men thought of as casual love-making – and it was something he preferred not to happen.