In High Places

What does it all mean, Howden thought? What does it all amount to in the end? Everything around us seems so permanent: the long procession down the years; the statuary; the storeyed buildings; our systems of government; our enlightenment, or so we choose to think. And yet it is all so temporary, and we ourselves the most fragile, temporary part. Why do we struggle, strive, achieve, when the best we can do, in time, will amount to nothing?

There was no answer, he supposed. There was never any answer. The party director's voice recalled him to reality.

'How did they take it?' Brian Richardson repeated. A full meeting of Cabinet had been held early that morning.

Turning from the window, Howden asked, 'Take what?'

'The Act of Union, of course. What else?'

James Howden considered before answering. The two men were in the Prime Minister's parliamentary office -'Room 307S, a smaller and more intimate chamber than the regular suite of offices in the East Block, but only an elevator ride from the House of Commons.

'It's strange that you should ask what else. As far as the Act of Union was concerned, most of the Cabinet took it remarkably well. Of course, there'll be some dissension – perhaps strong dissension – when we discuss it again.'

Brian Richardson said dryly, 'That figures, doesn't it?'

'I suppose so,' Howden took a turn around the room. 'But then again, perhaps not. It's often true that big concepts can be accepted more readily than smaller ones.'

'That's because most people have little minds.'

'Not necessarily.' There were times when Richardson's cynicism grated on Howden. 'You were the one, I think, who pointed out that we've been moving towards the Act of Union for a long time. What's more, the terms as I have now negotiated them, are extremely favourable to Canada.' The Prime Minister paused, tweaked his nose, then continued thoughtfully, 'The extraordinary thing about this morning's Cabinet was that some people were much more anxious to talk about this wretched immigration affair.'

'Isn't everybody? I suppose you saw today's papers?'

The Prime Minister nodded, then sat down, motioning Richardson to a facing chair. 'This lawyer Maitland in Vancouver seems to be giving us a good deal of trouble. What do we know about him?'

'I checked. Seems to be just a young fellow, fairly bright, with no political connexions that are known of.'

'Not now, maybe. But this kind of case is a good way to start them. Is there any way we could approach Maitland indirectly; offer him a by-election seat if he'll take things easier?'

The party director shook his head. 'Too risky. I made some inquiries and the advice I get is to stay away. If anything like that was said, Maitland would use it against us. He's that type.'

In his own young days, Howden thought, he had been that type too. 'All right,' he said. 'What else can you suggest?'

Richardson hesitated. For three days and nights, ever since Milly Freedeman had produced the fateful photostatic record of the deal between the Prime Minister and Harvey War-render, his mind had explored possibilities.

Somewhere, Brian Richardson was convinced, a counter-lever against Harvey Warrender existed. There was always a counter-lever; even blackmailers had secrets they preferred to keep, though the problem was inevitably the same: how to wrest the secret out. There were many individuals in politics -inside and outside the party – whose secrets Richardson had been told or had stumbled on over the years. And in a locked safe in his own office a slim brown book contained them all, written in a private shorthand that only he could read.

But under 'Warrender' in the private brown book there was nothing save a new entry made a day or two ago.

Yet… somehow… the counter-lever must be found; and if anyone found it, Richardson knew, it would be himself.

Over the three days and nights he had turned his memory inside out… probing recesses… recalling chance words, incidents, asides… juggling faces, places, phrases. It was a process which had worked before, but this time it had not.

Except that for the past twenty-four hours he had had a nagging sense of being close. There was something, he knew; and it was near the surface of his mind. A face, a memory, a word might trigger it. But not yet. The question was: how long?

He was tempted to reveal to Howden his knowledge about the nine-year-old agreement; to have a full and frank discussion. It might clear the air, perhaps produce a plan for countering Harvey Warrender, possibly even release whatever was locked in his own mind. But to do so would involve Milly, at this moment, in the office outside, guarding their privacy. And Milly must not be involved, now or later. The Prime Minister had asked: 'What else can you suggest?'

'There's a fairly simple remedy, chief, which I've urged before.'

Howden said sharply, 'If you mean, let the stowaway in as an immigrant, that's out of the question now. We've taken a stand and we must maintain it. To back down would be an admission of weakness.'

'If Maitland has his way, the courts may overrule you.'

'No! Not if things are handled properly. I intend to talk to Warrender about that civil servant who's in charge out there.'

'Kramer,' Richardson said. 'He's a deputy director who was sent out temporarily.'

'He may have to be recalled. An experienced man would never have allowed a special inquiry. According to the newspapers he offered it voluntarily after the habeas corpus writ had been refused.' Howden added with a flash of anger, 'Because of that stupidity, the whole issue has been reactivated.'

'Maybe you should wait till you get out there. Then you can give him hell personally. Did you look over the schedule?'

'Yes.' Howden rose from the chair he had been occupying and crossed to his paper-strewn desk near the window. Dropping into an armchair behind, he reached for an open file folder. 'Considering the short notice,' he said approvingly, 'it's a good programme you've arranged for me.'

Howden's eye ran down the list. Allowing for a House of Commons announcement about the Act of Union in ten days' time, there were five days available for a whirlwind speaking tour across the country – the 'conditioning' period they had planned. He would begin in Toronto the day after tomorrow – a joint meeting of the influential Canadian and Empire Clubs – and end, on the final day, in Quebec City and Montreal. In between would be Fort William, Winnipeg, Edmonton, Vancouver, Calgary, and Regina.

He observed dryly, 'I see you've included the usual quota of honorary degrees.'

'I always thought you collected them,' Richardson said.

'I suppose you could call it that. I keep them in the basement of Number 24, along with the Indian headdresses. The two things are about as useful.'

Richardson gave a broad grin. 'Don't ever get quoted on that. We'd lose the Indian and intellectual votes together.' He added: 'You said the Cabinet kicked the Duval case around, as well as the Act of Union. Was there any new conclusion?'

'No. Except that if the Opposition forces a debate in the House this afternoon, Harvey Warrender will speak for the Government and I shall intervene if needed.'

Richardson said with a grin, 'More discreetly than yesterday, I hope.'

The Prime Minister flushed brick red. He answered angrily, 'That kind of remark is not required. What I said yesterday at the airport was an error, which I admit. But everyone has lapses occasionally. Even you, from time to time, have made a few mistakes.'

'I know.' The party director rubbed the tip of his nose ruefully, 'And I guess I just made another. Sorry.'

Slightly mollified, Howden said, 'Possibly Harvey War-render can handle the whole thing himself.'

Actually, Howden thought, if Harvey spoke as well and convincingly as he had in Cabinet, he might well retrieve some lost ground for the Government and the party. This morning under sharp attack from other ministers, Harvey had defended the Immigration Department's action, making it seem sane and logical. There had been nothing erratic about his manner, either; it was subdued and rational, though the trouble with Harvey was, you could never be sure when his mood might switch.