Margaret shook her head. Howden went on, not pausing.
'The human race has survived other perils that logically it shouldn't have: the Ice Age and the Flood are two that we know of. A nuclear war would be a mess and, if I could, I suppose I'd give my life to prevent it. But every war is a mess, though none of us dies more than once, and maybe it would be an easier way to go than some of the older means – like an arrow through the eye or being nailed to a cross.
'We'd set civilization back, though. No one can argue that›› and maybe we'd be in the Dark Ages again, if there's a darker one than this. We'd lose the knack of a lot of living, I expect -including how to explode atoms, which might not be a bad thing for a while.
'But annihilation, no! I won't believe in it! Something will survive, come crawling from the ruins, and try again. And that's the worst way it could be, Margaret. I believe that our side – the free part of the world – can do better. If we do the right things now and use the time we have.'
With the last words James Howden had risen. He crossed the room and turned. Looking at him, Margaret said softly, 'You're going to use it, aren't you – the time we have left?'
'Yes,' he said, 'I am.' His expression softened. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have told you all this. Has it upset you very much?'
'It's made me sad. The world, mankind – whatever name you give to it – we have so much and we're going to squander it all.' A pause, then gently: 'But you wanted to tell someone.'
He nodded. 'There aren't many people I can talk with freely.'
'Then I'm glad you told me.' Out of habit, Margaret moved the coffee things together. 'It's getting late. Don't you think we should go up?'
He shook his head. 'Not yet. But you go: I'll follow later.'
Partway to the door Margaret paused. On a Sheraton games table was a pile of papers and press clippings sent over from Howden's parliamentary office earlier in the day. She picked up a slim booklet, turning it over.
'You don't really read this sort of thing, Jamie, do you?' There was a title on the cover – Stargazer. Around it were the zodiac signs of astrology.
'Good God, no!' Her husband coloured slightly. 'Well, occasionally I glance at it – just for amusement.'
'But the old lady who used to send these to you – she died, didn't she?'
'I expect someone keeps on sending them.' Howden's voice had a trace of irritability. 'It's hard to get off any mailing list once you're on.'
'But this is a subscription copy,' Margaret persisted. 'Look – it's been renewed; you can tell from the date on the label.'
'Really, Margaret, how do -I know how and when and where it's been renewed? Have you any idea how much mail comes addressed to me in the course of a day? I don't check it all. I don't even see it all. Maybe this is something which someone in the office did without telling me. If it bothers you I'll have it stopped tomorrow.'
Margaret said calmly, 'There's no need to be testy, and it doesn't bother me. I was just curious, and even if you do read it, why make such a fuss? Perhaps it'll tell you how to deal with Harvey Warrender.' She put the book down. 'You're sure you won't come to bed now?'
'I'm sure. I've a lot of planning to do, and not much time.' It was an old experience. 'Goodnight, dear,' she said. Climbing the broad, curving staircase, Margaret wondered how many times in her married life she had spent solitary evenings or gone to bed this way, alone. It was as well, perhaps, that she had never counted them. In recent years, especially, it had become a pattern for James Howden to stay up late, brooding on politics or affairs of state, and usually when he came to bed Margaret was asleep and seldom awoke. It was not the sexual intimacies of bed she missed, she told herself with feminine frankness; those, in any case, had become channelled and organized years before. But companionship at close of day was a warmth a woman cherished. There have been good things about our marriage, Margaret thought, but there has been aloneness too.
The talk of war had left her with a sense of unaccustomed sadness. Inevitability of war, she supposed, was something which men accepted but women never would. Men made war; not women, save with small exceptions. Why? Was it because women were born to pain and suffering, but men must make their own? Suddenly she had a yearning for her children; not to comfort them, but to be comforted. Tears filled her eyes and a temptation seized her to return downstairs; to ask that for just one night, at the hour of sleep, she need not be alone.
Then she told herself: I'm being silly. "Jamie would be kind, but he would never understand.
Chapter 4
Briefly after his wife's departure James Howden remained before the fire – a glowing red, the earlier flames diminished -allowing his thoughts to drift along. What Margaret had said was true; talking had been a relief, and some of the things said tonight had been spoken aloud for the first time. But now he must make specific plans, not only for the Washington talks, but for his approach to the country afterwards.
The first essential, of course, was to retain power for himself; it was as if destiny beckoned him. But would others see it the same way? He hoped they would, but it was best to be sure. That was why, even at this time, he must chart a careful, guarded course in domestic policies. For the country's sake, an election victory for his own party in the next few months was vital.
As if in relief for a switch to smaller issues, his mind returned to the incident tonight involving Harvey Warrender. It was the kind of thing which must not occur again. He must have a showdown with Harvey, he decided, preferably tomorrow. One thing he was determined about – there would be no more embarrassment for the Government from the Department of Citizenship and Immigration.
The music had stopped and he crossed to the hi-fi to put on another record. He chose a Mantovani selection called 'Gems Forever'. On the way back he picked up the magazine which Margaret had commented on.
What he had told Margaret had been perfectly true. There was a mass of mail that came into his office and this was a trifling fragment only. Of course, many papers and magazines never reached him, except when there was some reference to himself, or a photograph. But for years now Milly Freedeman had put this particular one among a small selection. He was not aware that he had ever asked her to, but neither had he objected. He supposed, too, that Milly had automatically renewed the subscription whenever it ran out.
Naturally, the whole subject was nonsense – astrology, the occult, and its associated hocus-pocus – but it was interesting to see how gullible others could be. That was solely the basis for his own interest, though it had seemed difficult, somehow, to explain to Margaret.
It had started years before in Medicine Hat when he was becoming established in law and just beginning a political career. He had accepted a free legal-aid case, one of a good many he handled in those days, and the accused had been a white-haired, motherly woman charged with shoplifting. She was so obviously guilty and had a long record of similar offences that there seemed nothing to do but admit the facts and plead for leniency. But the old lady, a Mrs Ada Zeeder, had argued otherwise, her main concern being that the court hearing should be postponed for a week. He had asked why.
She had told him, 'Because the magistrate won't convict me then, silly.' Pressed further, she explained, 'I'm a child born under Sagittarius, dear. Next week is a strong week for all Sagittarians. You'll see.'
To humour the old woman he had had the case stood over and later entered a plea of not guilty. To his great surprise, and following the flimsiest of defences, a normally tough magistrate had dismissed the charge.