In High Places

'I've been called names before, and I'm here, aren't I?' 'The trick is to stay.' Richardson's expression was unsmiling. 'What must be done is consolidate your image so clearly in the public mind that people will trust you absolutely, and have confidence that whatever you recommend is for their own good.'

'Are we so far removed from that now?'

'Complacency isn't going to help either of us,' Richardson snapped, and the Prime Minister flushed but made no comment. The party director went on, 'Our latest private polls show that the Government – and you – have slipped four per cent in popularity since this time last year, and you personally are weakest in the West. Fortunately it's a minor change, but still a trend. We can change the trend, though, if it's worked at bard – and fast.'

'What's your suggestion?'

'I'll have a long list of them – the day after tomorrow. Mostly, though, it will mean getting out of here' – Richardson waved a hand around the office – 'and moving about the country – speaking engagements, press coverage, television time where we can get it. And it must start soon – immediately you're back from Washington.'

'You're not forgetting that Parliament reconvenes in less than two weeks.'

'I'm not forgetting. Some days you'll have to be two places at once.' Richardson permitted himself a grin. 'I hope you haven't lost that old knack of sleeping in aeroplanes.'

'You envisage, then, that part of this tour should take place before the announcement in the House.'

'Yes. We can arrange it if we work fast. As far as we can, I'd like to condition the country to expect what's coming, and that's where your speeches will be important. I think we should hire some new men to write them – really top people who can make you sound like Churchill, Roosevelt, and Billy Graham rolled together.'

'All right. Is that all?'

'It's all for now,' Richardson said. 'Oh, except for one thing – a nuisance item, I'm afraid, among all this. We've an immigration hassle in Vancouver.'

Irritably Howden said, 'Again!'

'There's a ship's stowaway who hasn't got a country and wants to come in. It looks as if the Press has taken his case up and it ought to be settled quickly.' He related the details which had appeared in the afternoon papers.

Briefly Howden was tempted to brush the matter aside. There were limits, after all, to the number of things a Prime Minister could become involved in personally, and with so much else… Then he was reminded of his intention to have a showdown with Harvey Warrender… his own awareness that small issues could sometimes become important. But still he hesitated.

'I talked to Harvey Warrender last night.' 'Yes,' Richardson said dryly. 'I heard about it.' 'I want to be fair.' Howden was still debating in his own mind. 'Some of what Harvey said last night made sense -about not letting people into the country… That particular case you told me about – the woman who was deported. I understand she'd been running a brothel in Hong Kong and she had VD.'

'But the newspapers wouldn't print that, even if we leaked it,' Richardson said irritably. 'All that people see is a mother and baby being thrown out by the big bully of a Government. The Opposition made the most of it in the House, didn't they? You needed overshoes to wade through the tears.'

The Prime Minister smiled.

'That's why we should settle this Vancouver thing pronto,' the party director insisted.

'But surely you wouldn't admit undesirables – like that woman, for instance – as immigrants.'

'Why not?' Richardson argued, 'if it means avoiding bad publicity? It can be done quietly by order in council. After all, there were twelve hundred special admissions last year, mostly to oblige our own MPs. You can be sure there were some maggots among the lot, so what difference do a few more make?'

The figure of twelve hundred surprised Howden. It was not news, of course, that the immigration laws of Canada were frequently bent, and the bending process was a form of patronage accepted by all political parties. But the extent surprised him. He asked, 'Was it really that many?'

'A few more, actually,' Richardson said. He added dryly, 'Fortunately the department lumps twenty to fifty immigrants under each order, and nobody adds the total.'

There was a pause, then the Prime Minister said mildly, 'Harvey and his deputy apparently think we should enforce the Immigration Act.'

'If you weren't the Queen's first minister,' Richardson responded, 'I'd be tempted to reply with a short, succinct word.'

James Howden frowned. Sometimes, he thought, Richardson went a little far.

Oblivious to the disapproval, the party director continued, 'Every government in the past fifty years has used the Immigration Act to help its own party members, so why should we suddenly stop? It doesn't make political sense.'

No, Howden thought, it didn't make sense. He reached for a telephone. 'All right,' he told Richardson, 'we'll do it your way. I'll have Harvey Warrender in now.' He instructed the government operator, 'Get Mr Warrender. He'll probably be at home.' With a hand cupped over the mouthpiece he asked, 'Apart from what we've talked about, is there anything else you think I should tell him?'

Richardson grinned. 'You could try suggesting that he keep both feet on the ground. That way he might not put one in his mouth so often.'

'If I tell Harvey that,' Howden said, 'he'll probably quote Plato at me.'

'In that case you could come back with Menander: He is raised the higher that he might fall the heavier.'

The Prime Minister's eyebrows went up. There were things about Brian Richardson which constantly surprised him.

The operator came on the line and Howden listened, then replaced the phone. 'The Warrenders are away for the holiday – at their cottage in the Laurentians, and there isn't a phone.'

Richardson said curiously, 'You give Harvey Warrender a lot of leeway, don't you? – more than some of the others.'

'Not this time,' James Howden said. After their discussion his mind was quite made up. 'I'll have him up here the day after tomorrow and this Vancouver case will not boil over. I guarantee it.'

Chapter 6

It was seven-thirty when Brian Richardson arrived at Milly Freedeman's apartment and he carried two packages, one containing an ounce of Guerlain, a perfume he knew Milly liked, the other twenty-six ounces of gin.

The perfume pleased Milly. About the gin she was less certain, though she took it to the kitchenette to mix drinks.

Waiting in the softly lighted living-room, Richardson watched from one of the two deep armchairs. He stretched his feet luxuriously across the beige broadloom – the single large-expense item Milly had indulged in when decorating the apartment – then said approvingly, 'You know, a lot of the stuff you've got in here, Milly, other people would throw out. But the way you've put it together, this is the cosiest hangout I know.'

'I assume that's a compliment.' In the kitchenette Milly turned, smiling. 'Anyway, I'm glad you like it.'

'Sure I like it. Who wouldn't?' Mentally Brian Richardson was contrasting the apartment with his own, which Eloise had remodelled just over a year ago. They had ivory walls, with off-white broadloom, Swedish walnut furniture and tailored curtains of pale peacock blue. He had long grown indifferent to it all, and the effect no longer offended him. But he recalled the bitter fight there had been with Eloise when on being confronted with the bill he had protestingly described it as 'the President's suite in a whore-house'.

Milly, he thought, would always know how to make a place warm and personal… a little untidy, books piled on tables, some place a man could relax.