In High Places

Margaret's head was averted but she returned the pressure of his hand.

After a while he said, 'It isn't important about Warrender – not to us, I mean. It's hampering in some ways, that's all. But things will work out.'

'I expect I was being a bit silly too. Perhaps because I haven't seen much of you lately.' Margaret had taken a tiny square of cambric from her bag and delicately touched the corners of both eyes. She went on slowly, 'Sometimes I get a terrible feeling of jealousy about politics, a sort of helplessness in a way. I think I'd prefer it if you had another woman hidden somewhere. At least I'd know how to compete.'

'You don't have to compete,' he said. 'You never did.' For an instant he had a pang of guilt, remembering Milly Freedeman.

Abruptly Margaret said, 'If Harvey Warrender is so difficult, why give him the Immigration Department? Couldn't you put him somewhere where he'd be harmless – like Fisheries?'

James Howden sighed. 'Unfortunately Harvey wants to be Immigration Minister and he still has influence enough to make his wishes count.' He wondered if Margaret really believed the second statement, but she gave no sign of questioning.

The Vanguard was turning south on to course, still climbing, but less steeply now. The mid-morning sun shone brightly through the port side windows and, to the right, visible from both seats, Ottawa lay spread like a miniature city three thousand feet below. The Ottawa River was a slash of silver between snow-clad banks. To the west, near the narrows of Chaudiere Falls, faint white streamers pointed like fingers to the Supreme Court and Parliament, dwarfed and puny from above.

The capital slid out of sight below, leaving flat open country ahead. In ten minutes or so they would cross the St Lawrence and be over New York State. A guided missile, Howden thought, would cover the same ground, not in minutes but seconds.

Turning from the window Margaret asked, 'Do you think that people outside have any idea of all the things that go on in government? The political deals, favours for favours, and all the rest.'

Momentarily James Howden was startled. Not for the first time he had the feeling that Margaret had dipped into his thoughts. Then he answered, 'Some do, of course – those close to the inside. But I imagine that most of the people don't really, or at least don't want to know. And there are others who wouldn't believe it if you produced document proof and swore out affidavits.'

Reflectively Margaret said, 'We're always so quick to criticize American politics.'

'I know,' he agreed. 'It's quite illogical, of course, because in proportion we have as much patronage and graft as the Americans, perhaps even more. It's just that most times we're a good deal more discreet and every now and then we offer up a public sacrifice of somebody who became too greedy.'

The seat-belt sign above their heads had gone out. James Howden unsnapped his own belt and reached across to help Margaret release hers. 'Of course, my dear,' he said, 'you must realize that one of our greatest national assets is our sense of self-righteousness. It's something we inherited from the British. You remember Shaw? – "There is nothing so bad or so good that you will not find an Englishman doing it; but you will never find an Englishman in the wrong." That kind of conviction helps the national conscience quite a lot.'

'Sometimes,' Margaret said, 'you sound positively gleeful about the things which are wrong.'

Her husband paused, considering. 'I don't mean it to seem that way. It's just that when we're alone I try to drop pretences.' He smiled faintly. 'There aren't many places left nowadays where I'm not on show.'

'I'm sorry.' There was concern in Margaret's voice. 'I shouldn't have said that.'

'No! I wouldn't want either of us to feel there was something we couldn't say to each other, no matter what it was.' Fleetingly he thought of Harvey Warrender and the deal between them. Why had he never told Margaret? Perhaps he would someday. Now he continued, 'A good deal of what I know about politics saddens me. It always has. But then I get to thinking of our mortality and human weakness, remembering there has never been power with purity – anywhere. If you want to be pure, you must stand alone. If you seek to do positive things, achieve something, leave the world a mite better than you found it, then you must choose power and throw some of your purity away. There's no other choice.' He went on thoughtfully, 'It's as if we're all together in a strong-flowing river; and though you'd like to, you can't change its course suddenly. You can only go along, and try to ease it slowly in one direction or the other.'

A white intercom telephone near the Prime Minister's seat pinged musically and he answered it. The aircraft captain's voice announced, 'This is Galbraith, sir.'

'Yes, Wing Commander?' Galbraith, a veteran pilot with a reputation for solidity, was usually in command on VIP missions out of Ottawa. He had flown the Howdens many times before.

'We're at cruising height, twenty thousand, and estimating Washington in one hour ten minutes. Weather there is sunny and clear, temperature sixty-five.'

'That's good news,' Howden said. 'It'll be a taste of summer.' He told Margaret about the Washington weather, then said into the phone, 'I understand there'll be a luncheon at the embassy tomorrow. Wing Commander. We shall expect to see you.'

'Thank you, sir.'

James Howden replaced the telephone. While he had been speaking the RCAF steward had reappeared, this time with coffee trays and sandwiches. There was also a single glass of grape juice. Margaret pointed to it. 'If you really like that so much, I'll order some at home.'

He waited until the steward had gone, then lowered his voice. 'I'm beginning to loathe the stuff. I once said I liked it and word seems to have passed around. Now I understand why Disraeli hated primroses.'

'But I always thought he loved primroses,' Margaret said. 'Weren't they his favourite flower?'

Her husband shook his head emphatically. 'Disraeli said so just on one occasion, out of politeness to Queen Victoria, who had sent him some. But afterwards, people showered primroses on him until the mere sight of one could drive him to distraction. So you see, political myths die hard.' Smiling, he took the grape juice, opened a door of the rear of the cabin and poured it down the toilet.

Margaret said thoughtfully, 'You know, I sometimes think you're rather like Disraeli, though a little fiercer perhaps.' She smiled. 'At least you have the nose for it.'

'Yes,' he agreed, 'and this old craggy face of mine has been a trademark.' He fondled his eagle-beak nose, then said re-miniscently, 'It used to surprise me when people said I appeared fierce, but after a while, when I learned to switch it on and off, it became quite useful.'

'This is nice,' Margaret said, 'being by ourselves for a while. How long do we have before Washington?'

He grimaced. 'No longer than this, I'm afraid. I have to talk to Nesbitson before we land.'

'Do you really, Jamie?' It was more an entreaty than a question.

He said regretfully, 'I'm sorry, my dear,'

Margaret sighed. 'I thought it was too good to last. Well, I'll lie down so you can be private.' She got up, gathering her bag and hat. At the doorway of the little bedroom she turned. 'Are you going to bully him?'

'Probably not – unless I have to.'

'I hope you don't,' Margaret said seriously. 'He's such a sad old man. I always think he should be in a wheel chair with a blanket, and another old soldier pushing.'