There was a pause between them in which Harvey War-render's eyes moved up to a point above the deputy's head. Without turning, Hess knew what it was the Minister saw: a portrait in oils of a young man, in Royal Canadian Air Force uniform. It had been painted from a photograph after the death in action of Harvey Warrender's son. Many times before in this room Claude Hess had seen the father's eyes straying to the picture, and sometimes they had spoken of it.
Now Warrender said, as if recognizing the other's awareness, 'I often think about my son, you know.'
Hess nodded slowly. It was not a new opening and sometimes he sidestepped it. Today he decided to reply.
'I never had a son,' Hess said. 'Just daughters. We've a good relationship, but I've always thought there must be something special between a father and son.'
'There is,' Harvey Warrender said. 'There is, and it never quite dies – not for me, anyway.' He went on, his voice warming. 'I think so many times of what my son Howard could have been. He was a splendid boy, always with the finest courage. That was his outstanding feature – courage; and in the end he died heroically. I've often told myself I've that to be proud of.'
The deputy wondered if heroism were the kind of thing he would remember a son of his own by. But the Minister had said much the same thing before, to others as well as himself, seeming unaware of repetition. Sometimes Harvey Warrender would describe in graphic detail the blazing air battle in which his son had died until it was hard to be sure where sorrow ended and hero worship began. At times there had been comments around Ottawa on the subject, though most of them charitable. Grief did strange things, Claude Hess thought, even sometimes producing a parody of grief. He was glad when his superior's tone became more businesslike.
'All right,' Warrender said, 'let's talk about this Vancouver thing. One thing I want to be sure of is that we're absolutely in the clear legally. That's important.'
'Yes, I know.' Hess nodded sagely, then touched the file he had brought in. 'I've gone over the reports again, sir, and I'm sure there's nothing you need worry about. Only one thing concerns me a little.'
'The publicity?'
'No; I think you'll have to expect that.' Actually the publicity had bothered Hess, who had been convinced that political pressure would cause the Government to back down on enforcement of the Immigration Act, as had happened many times before. Apparently, though, he had been wrong. Now he continued, 'What I was thinking is that we don't have a senior man in Vancouver right now. Williamson, our district superintendent, is on sick leave and it may be several months before he's back, if at all.'
'Yes,' Warrender said. He lit a cigarette, offering one to the deputy minister, who accepted it. 'I remember now.'
'In the ordinary way I wouldn't get concerned; but if the pressure builds up, as it may, I'd like to have someone out there I can rely on personally, and who can handle the Press.'
'I presume you've something in mind.'
'Yes.' Hess had been thinking quickly. The decision to stand firm had pleased him. Warrender was eccentric at times, but Hess believed in loyalty, and now he must protect his Minister's position in every way possible. He said thoughtfully, 'I could shuffle some responsibilities here and relieve one of my deputy directors. Then he could take charge in Vancouver -ostensibly until we know about Williamson, but actually to handle this specific case.'
'I agree.' Warrender nodded vigorously. 'Who do you think should go?'
The deputy minister exhaled cigarette smoke. He was smiling slightly. 'Kramer,' he said slowly. 'With your approval, sir, I'll send Edgar Kramer.'
Chapter 4
In her apartment, restlessly, Milly Freedeman reviewed once more the events of the day. Why had she copied the photostat? What could she do with it, if anything? Where did her loyalty really lie?
She wished there could be an end to the conniving and manoeuvres in which she was obliged to share. As she had a day or two before, she considered leaving politics, abandoning James Howden, and beginning something new. She wondered if somewhere, anywhere, among any group of people, there was a sanctuary where intrigue never happened. On the whole, she doubted it.
The telephone's ringing was an interruption. 'Milly,' Brian Richardson's voice said briskly, 'Raoul Lemieux – he's a deputy in Trade and Commerce and a friend of mine – is starting a party. We're both invited. How about it?' '
Milly's heart leapt. She asked impulsively, 'Will it be gay?' The party director chuckled. 'Raoul's parties usually get that way.' 'Noisy?'
'Last time,' Richardson said, 'the neighbours called the police.'
'Does he have music? Can we dance?'
'There's a stack of records; at Raoul's, anything goes.'
'I'll come,' Milly said. 'Oh, please; I'll come.' 'I'll pick you up in half an hour.' His voice sounded amused. She said impetuously, 'Thank you, Brian; thank you.' 'You can thank me later.' There was a click as the line went dead.
She knew just the dress that she would wear; it was crimson chiffon, a low-cut neck. Excitedly, with a feeling of release, she kicked her shoes across the living-room.
Part 8 Edgar Kramer
Chapter 1
In the thirty-six hours during which Edgar S. Kramer had been in Vancouver, he had come to two conclusions. First, he had decided there was no problem in the West Coast Headquarters of the Department of Citizenship and Immigration which he could not handle with ease. Second, he was dismally aware that a personal and embarrassing physical disability was steadily becoming worse.
In a square, functionally furnished office on the second storey of the department's water-front Immigration Building, Edgar Kramer mentally debated both matters.
Kramer was a grey-eyed, spare man in his late forties, with wavy brown hair parted in the middle, rimless glasses, and an agile logician's mind which had already taken him a long way, from a modest beginning, in government service. He was industrious, undeviatingly honest, and impartial in administering official regulations to the letter. He disliked sentiment, 'inefficiency, and disrespect for rules and order. A colleague had once observed that, 'Edgar would cut off his own mother's pension if there was a comma out of place in the application.' While exaggerated, the charge held a basis of truth, though it could equally well be said that Kramer would help his greatest enemy unstintingly if the regulations of his job required it.
He was married, without children, to a plain woman who ordered their home with a kind of colourless efficiency. She was already apartment hunting in sections of the city which she had decided were respectable and therefore suited to her husband's government position.
In the higher civil service Edgar S. Kramer had become one of a few marked men, picked out – largely through ability, and partly by a knack of getting noticed – for advancement to higher things. In the Department of Immigration he was looked on as a dependable troubleshooter and it was a safe prediction that within a few years, allowing for promotions and retirements, he would be eligible for appointment as deputy minister.
Fully aware of this favoured position, and also exceedingly ambitious, Edgar Kramer sought constantly to safeguard and improve it. He had been delighted by the assignment to take charge temporarily in Vancouver, especially since learning that the Minister himself had approved his selection and would be watching results. For this reason alone, the personal problem which currently plagued him could not have been more untimely.
Stated simply, the problem was this: Edgar Kramer was obliged to urinate with annoying and humiliating frequency.