In High Places

R. Butler.

Senator Deveraux nodded sagely. 'Even so, I would say your efforts have produced a splendid outcome.'

'So they did,' Sharon said, returning to join them. She had taken off her outdoor clothes, revealing a soft woollen dress.

'Alan was simply magnificent.'

Alan smiled resignedly. It seemed useless to protest. 'All the same,' he said, 'we're a long way from getting Henri Duval admitted here as a landed immigrant.'

The older man made no immediate answer, his eyes returning to the waterfront and harbour spread beneath them. Turning his head, Alan could see Burrard Inlet, spume flecked from the streaming wind, the North Shore whipped by spray. A ship was leaving port – a grain boat, low in the water, laden; from the markings it looked Japanese. A Vancouver Island ferry headed in, cutting white water through the First Narrows, beginning a wide starboard turn towards the CPR pier. Elsewhere were other arrivals, departures: of ships and men, cargoes, commerce, the weft and warp of a busy deep-sea port.

At length the Senator said, 'Well, of course, in the end we may not achieve that final objective of landing our stowaway. One can win battles and lose a war. But never underestimate the importance of the battles, my boy, particularly, in political affairs.'

'I. think we've gone over that. Senator,' Alan rejoined. 'I'm not concerned about the politics, just in doing the best I can for my client!'

'Indeed! Indeed!' The old man's voice, for the first time held a trace of testiness. 'And I think you'll allow that you lose no opportunity to point it out. Sometimes, if I may say so, there is nothing quite so tedious as the self-righteousness of the very young.'

Alan flushed at the rebuke.

'But you'll forgive an old campaigner,' the Senator said, 'if I rejoice in the discomfiture which, in certain quarters, your resourceful actions have aroused.'

'I guess there's no harm in that.' Alan tried to make the remark sound light. He had an uncomfortable feeling of having been boorish without need.

Behind them a telephone bell rang. The room-service waiter, who had quietly reappeared, answered. The man moved familiarly around, Alan noticed, as if he were used to the habits of this private suite and had served the Senator many times before.

To Alan and Sharon the Senator said, 'Why don't you two young people have lunch? It's there behind you. I think you'll find whatever you need.'

'All right,' Sharon said. 'But aren't you having something, Granddaddy?'

The Senator shook his head. 'Perhaps later, my dear; not now.'

The waiter put down the telephone and came forward. He announced, 'It's your call to Ottawa, Senator, and they have Mr Bonar Deitz on the line. Will you take it here?'

'No, I'll go in the bedroom.' The old man eased upward in the chair, then, as if the effort were too much for him, fell back. 'Dear me, I seem to be a little heavy today.'

Concernedly, Sharon came to his side. 'Granddaddy, you shouldn't try to do so much!'

'Stuff and nonsense!' The Senator reached out, taking

Sharon's hands, and she helped him to his feet.

'May I, sir?' Alan offered his arm. 'No, thank you, my boy. I'm not ready for cripplehood yet.

It's merely to overcome gravity that I need some trifling help. Perambulation I've always managed myself and always shall, I hope.'

With the words he entered the doorway Sharon had used earlier, closing it partially behind him.

'Is he all right?' Alan asked doubtfully.

'I don't know.' Sharon's eyes were on the doorway. Turning back to Alan, she added, 'Even if he isn't, there's nothing he'll let me do. Why is it that some men are so obstinate?'

'I'm not obstinate.' 'Not much!' Sharon laughed. 'From you it comes in waves.

Anyway, let's have lunch.' There was vichyssoise, shrimp casserole, curried turkey's wings, and jellied tongue on the buffet table. The elderly waiter hurried forward.

'Thank you,' Sharon said. 'We'll serve ourselves.' 'Very well, Miss Deveraux.' Inclining his head respectfully, the man closed the double doors behind him, leaving them alone.

Alan ladled two cups of vichyssoise and gave one to Sharon.

They sipped, standing.

Alan's heart was pounding. 'When all this is over,' he asked slowly, 'shall I see you sometimes?'

'I hope so.' Sharon smiled. 'Otherwise I might have to stay around the law courts all the time.'

He was conscious of the faint perfume he had detected at their meeting in the house on the Drive. And of Sharon's eyes, mirroring amusement and perhaps something else.

Alan put down his soup cup. He said decisively, 'Give me yours.'

Sharon protested, 'I haven't finished yet.'

'Never mind that.' He reached out, taking it, and returned it to the table.

He held out his hands to Sharon and she came to him. Their faces were close. His arms went around her and their lips met softly. He had a blissful, breathless sense of floating on air.

After a moment, shyly, he touched her hair and whispered, 'I've wanted to do this ever since Christmas morning.'

'So have I,' Sharon said happily. 'Why ever did you take so long?'

They kissed again. As if from some other unreal world the sound of Senator Deveraux's voice came, muffled, through the partly open door. '… so this is the time to strike, Bonar… naturally you will lead the House… Howden on the defensive… splendid, my boy, splendid!…' To Alan, the words seemed unimportant, unconnected with himself.

'Don't worry about Granddaddy,' Sharon whispered. 'He's always ages on the phone to Ottawa.'

'Stop talking,' Alan said. You're wasting time.'

Ten minutes later the voice stopped and they broke away. After an interval Senator Deveraux came out, walking slowly. He lowered himself carefully on to a sofa facing the buffet table. If he noticed that the luncheon was virtually untouched, he made no comment.

After pausing for breath, the Senator announced, 'I have some excellent news.'

With a sense of returning to earth, hoping his voice sounded normal, Alan asked, 'Has the Government given in? Will they let Duval stay?'

'Not that.' The old man shook his head. 'In fact, if that happened it might upset our present strategy.'

'What then?' Alan had both feet on the ground now. He contained his irritation that politics, apparently, still came first.

'Come on, Granddaddy,' Sharon said; 'give!' 'Tomorrow in Ottawa,' the Senator declared grandly, 'the Parliamentary Opposition will stage a full-dress House of Commons debate in support of our young friend, Henri Duval.' 'Do you think it will do any good?' Alan asked.

The Senator replied sharply, 'It won't do any harm, will it? And it will keep your client's name very much in the news.' 'Yes,' Alan acknowledged. He nodded thoughtfully. 'It will certainly help us that way.'

'I'm sure it will, my boy. So at your special inquiry this afternoon remember that others are working with you in the same good cause.'

'Thank you. Senator. I will,' Alan glanced at his watch and realized he had better be moving. Acutely conscious of Sharon close by, he walked to the closet where the waiter had put his coat. 'Concerning this afternoon,' Senator Deveraux said softly,

'I have a single small suggestion.'

Slipping into his coat, Alan turned. 'Yes, sir?' There was a glint of amusement in the old man's eyes. 'It might be better,' he said, 'if sometime before the hearing you removed the lipstick.'