In High Places

'I'm glad you find something funny,' her husband observed icily. 'Personally, I don't.'

'I'm sorry, Jamie,' Margaret said. She tried to make her voice contrite, though hardly succeeding. 'But really, I can't help thinking: all of you, the whole Government so determined; and then this one little man…'

Brian Richardson remarked quietly, 'I agree with you, Mrs Howden. We've had the pants licked off us by a smart young lawyer.'

'Once and for all,' James Howden declared angrily, 'I am not interested in who has beaten whom.'

'Please don't shout, Jamie,' Margaret admonished.

'I'm interested,' Richardson said. 'It makes a difference on the day they count votes.'

'Is it too much to ask,' the Prime Minister insisted, 'that we should confine ourselves to facts?'

'All right,' Richardson said bluntly, 'let's try this on for size.' He produced a folded paper from an inside pocket. 'A new Gallup poll this morning shows the Government's popularity down seven per cent in the past two weeks. And to a question: "Do you favour a change of Government?" sixty-two per cent replied yes, thirty-one per cent no, and seven per cent were undecided.'

'Do sit down, Jamie,' Margaret urged. 'You too, Brian. I'll send for tea and we can have it here quietly.'

Howden dropped into a chair by the fireplace. 'Light that, will you?' He pointed to the fire which was already laid.

Striking a match from a folder, Richardson cupped it in his hands and bent down. After a moment flames began to grow.

Margaret was speaking into a house telephone across the room.

Howden said quietly, 'I didn't realize it was quite that bad.'

'It's worse than bad; it's grim. The mail's pouring in; so are telegrams, and all against us.' Matching the Prime Minister's tone of a moment earlier, Richardson asked, 'How would you feel about postponing tomorrow's announcement?'

'It's out of the question.'

'I warn you: we're not ready for an election.'

'We have to be,' Howden declared. 'We have to take out chances.'

'And lose?'

'The Act of Union is essential to Canadian survival. When it's explained to them, people will see that.'

'Will they?' Richardson asked softly. 'Or will they see Henri Duval?'

On the point of an impulsive answer, Howden stopped. The question, after all, was reasonable, he thought. And the presumption which went with it could prove true.

A loss of prestige through the incident of Duval could cause the Government's defeat on the issue of the Act of Union. He saw that now – in unmistakable terms which had not been dear to him before.

And yet, he reasoned, if it happened, how strange and ironic that something so insignificant as a ship's stowaway could affect the destiny of nations.

Or was it strange? Or new? Or even ironic? Perhaps, through all the centuries, it had been individual human issues which had swayed the world, creating history, moving mankind forward to an enlightenment dimly perceived, yet always out of reach…

Perhaps it's a way of humbling us, he thought; the way we learn; the upward struggle…,

But practical issues were nearer. He told Richardson, There are good reasons for not postponing. We need every day of the Act of Union we can get. Defence and survival depend on it. Besides, if we waited, there'd be leaks. Politically we'd be worse off.'

The party director nodded. 'I thought you'd say that. I just wanted to be sure.'

'I've sent for tea,' Margaret announced, rejoining them. 'You'll stay, Brian, won't you?'

'Thank you, Mrs Howden.' Brian Richardson had always liked Margaret. He envied Howden his successful marriage, the comfort and serenity it afforded him.

'I suppose it wouldn't do any good,' the Prime Minister said thoughtfully, 'if, even now, the Immigration Department admitted Duval.'

Richardson shook his head emphatically. 'Not the slightest. Besides, he's in the country already. Whatever happens at the court hearing tomorrow, the way I understand it, he can't be deported to the ship.'

The fire's kindling had burned through, and now birch logs were blazing. The heat spread out towards them in the already warm room.,

Richardson reasoned: perhaps his own agonizing session with Harvey Warrender had been a mistake. Certainly it had come too late to help this particular issue, though at least it had removed a shadow over James Howden in the future. If there was to be a future, he thought glumly.

A maidservant brought in tea things and disappeared. Margaret Howden poured, and Brian Richardson accepted the tea in a delicate Royal Doulton cup, declining cake.

Margaret said tentatively, 'I suppose you really have to go to Montreal tonight, Jamie.'

Her husband rubbed a hand across his face in a gesture of tiredness. 'I wish I hadn't. Any other time I'd send someone. "else. But tonight is something I must do myself.'

The party director glanced towards the windows where drapes were still undrawn. The darkness was complete now, and snow still falling. 'I checked the weather when I came in,' he said. 'There'll be no problem about your flight. Montreal is clear and staying that way, and they'll have a helicopter waiting to take you into the city.'

James Howden nodded.

There was a light tap on the door and Milly Freedeman came in. Richardson looked up, surprised; he had not been aware that Milly was in the house. But it was not unusual; he knew that she often worked with Howden in the Prime Minister's study upstairs.

'Excuse me,' Milly said. She smiled at Richardson and Margaret, then addressed Howden. 'The White House is on the line and they wish to know if it's convenient for you to talk with the President.'

'I'll come immediately,' the Prime Minister said, and rose.

Brian Richardson put down his teacup. 'I guess I'd better leave too. Thank you for the tea, Mrs Howden.' He stopped courteously by Margaret's chair, then touched Milly lightly on the arm. As the two men left the room together, Richardson's voice came back, I'll be at the airport when you leave, chief.'

'Don't go away, Milly,' Margaret said. 'Stay and have tea.'

'Thank you.' Milly took the chair which Richardson had vacated.

Busying herself with the silver teapot and hot water jug, Margaret declared, 'This is a turbulent household. Nothing ever stays calm for more than a few minutes at a time.'

Milly said quietly, 'Except for you.'

'I've no choice, my dear.' Margaret poured Milly's tea and replenished her own. 'Everything passes me by. Somehow I can never seem to get excited about all these important events.' She added thoughtfully, 'I suppose I should, really.'

'I don't see why,' Milly replied. 'They're all much the same when you get right down to it.'

'I've always thought so.' Margaret smiled. She moved the sugar and cream jug so that both were nearer Milly. 'But I'm surprised to hear it from you. I've always thought of you as Jamie's enthusiastic right arm.'

Milly said suddenly, surprising herself, 'Enthusiasm wears thin and arms get tired.'

Margaret laughed. 'We're both being terribly disloyal, aren't we? But I must say it's a relief now and then.'

There was a pause, the crackling of the burning logs the only sound in the big shadowy living-room. Firelight danced upon the ceiling. Putting down her teacup, Margaret said gently, 'Have you ever regretted the way things turned out? Between you and Jamie, I mean.'

For an instant Milly caught her breath, the stillness in the room alive with meaning. So Margaret had known. Known all these years, and never spoken. Milly had often wondered, at times half suspected. Now she knew, and found herself relieved.

She answered with simple honesty, 'I've never been quite sure. I don't think about it very much any more.'