In High Places

'I am sorry. Prime Minister,' General Nesbitson said with dignity. 'I can never agree. What you're proposing is to abandon our history, all that Canada has stood for…'

'You're wrong! I'm trying to perpetuate it.' Howden leaned forward, speaking earnestly, directly, to the other man. 'I'm trying to preserve the things we care about before it's too late: freedom, decency, justice under the law. Nothing else really matters.' He pleaded: 'Can't you understand?'

'All I can understand,' the old man said doggedly, 'is that there must be some other way.'

It was no use, Howden knew. But still he tried. After a while he asked, 'At least answer me this: How would you have Canada defend itself against guided-missile attack?' Nesbitson began stiffly: 'Initially we would deploy our conventional forces…'

'Never mind,' Howden said. He added dourly, 'I'm only surprised that while you've been Defence Minister you haven't revived the cavalry.'

In the morning, James Howden decided, he would interview the other dissident ministers one at a time. Some of them, he was sure, he could persuade over once again. But there would be others – in Cabinet, Parliament, and elsewhere – who would think as Adrian Nesbitson thought, who would follow his lead dreaming their wishful dreams… until the last gasp of radioactive dust…

But then, he had always expected a fight, right from the beginning. It would be a stiff fight, but if he could lead Nesbitson on, persuading him to expound his views, demonstrate their quaint absurdity…

It was sheer bad luck, though, that this and the immigration debacle had come together.

The twenty minutes had gone. The note of the motors was changing and they were losing height. Below were scattered lights, ahead a reflected halo in the sky from the lighted, shimmering city of Montreal.

Adrian Nesbitson had taken the drink he put down when Howden came in. Some of it had spilled, but he sipped from the residue in the glass.

'PM,' he said, 'personally I'm damn sorry about this split between us.'

Indifferently now Howden nodded. 'You realize of course, I can't possibly recommend you as Governor General.' The old man flushed. 'I thought I had made it clear-'

'Yes,' Howden said brusquely, 'you made a good deal clear.' Dismissing Nesbitson from his mind, he applied his thoughts to what must be done between now and tomorrow afternoon.

Part 18 Henri Duval

Chapter 1

A few minutes after 7.30 AM the telephone rang in Alan Maitland's Gilford Street apartment. Alan, still sleepy and in pyjama trousers only – he never used the tops and had a collection of them in their original wrappers – was preparing breakfast at his portable two-burner stove. Unplugging the toaster, which had a habit of reducing bread to a cinder if unwatched, he answered on the second ring.

'Good morning,' Sharon's voice said brightly. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm boiling an egg.' Trailing the telephone cord, Alan inspected an hourglass timer on the kitchenette table. 'It's been on three minutes; one to go.'

'Give it another six,' Sharon suggested cheerfully. 'Then you can have it hard-boiled tomorrow. Granddaddy would like you to have breakfast with us.'

Alan reflected swiftly. 'I suppose I could.' He corrected himself: 'At least – thank you, I mean.'

'Good.'

He interjected, 'I presume your grandfather knows the Duval hearing is this morning.'

'I think that's what he wants to talk about,' Sharon said. 'How long will you be?'

'I'll be up in half an hour.'

While dressing he ate the egg anyway.

At the South West Marine Drive mansion the butler, who still moved as if his feet hurt, showed Alan into a spacious dining-room, its walls lined – like the main entrance hall -with polished linen-fold panelling. An oak refectory table, Alan saw, was laid for three, with gleaming silver and white napery. On a 'carved oak sideboard several lidded chafing dishes, presumably containing breakfast, were arranged. The butler announced, 'Senator and Miss Deveraux will join you in a moment, sir.'

'Thank you,' Alan said. Waiting, he strolled the room's width to damask-draped windows facing the broad Fraser River a hundred feet below. Looking downward he could see the great log booms, touched by sunlight breaking through the morning mist. The source of wealth, he thought: of this house and others like it.

'Good morning, my boy.' It was Senator Deveraux, in the doorway, with Sharon. Alan turned.

As on the last occasion, the Senator's voice seemed weak. Today he was leaning heavily on a cane and, on the opposite side, Sharon supported his free arm. She smiled at Alan warmly. He felt his breath catch at the sight of her again.

'Good morning, sir,' Alan said. He pulled out a chair as Sharon helped her grandfather into it. 'I hope you're well.'

'I'm perfectly splendid, thank you.' Momentarily the voice had some of its earlier ring. 'My only trouble, periodically, is a touch of anno Domini.' He regarded Sharon and Alan who had joined him at the table. 'Even you young people will suffer from it in the end.'

The butler had silently reappeared and began to serve breakfast from the chafing dishes on to warmed plates. There were eggs Florentine and scrambled. Alan chose Florentine. Sharon said solicitously, 'We can do a boiled one if you like.'

'No thanks!' Alan surveyed the generous portion placed before him. 'Only reason I have them that way at home is that

I'm a good water boiler.'

'You are, indeed, an accomplished boiler,' the Senator observed. 'And not only with water.' He added slowly, 'I find that your boiling can have unexpected results.'

When the butler had left, closing the door softly behind him, Sharon announced, 'I'm going to court today. I hope you don't mind.' 'I almost wish you hadn't told me.' Alan smiled across the table. 'I might be self-conscious.'

Abruptly Senator Deveraux inquired, 'Tell me, my boy: is your law practice prospering?'

'Frankly, no.' Alan grinned ruefully. 'We had a thin time to begin with, and most of our savings soon disappeared. Then we began to break even. This month, though, I'm afraid we won't.'

Sharon frowned, as if puzzled. 'But surely all the publicity will help. Won't that bring you clients?'

'I thought so at first,' Alan answered frankly. 'But now I believe it's keeping people away. Tom and I were talking about it last night.' He explained to the Senator: 'Tom Lewis is my partner.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that,' the older man acknowledged. He added: 'I made some inquiries about you both.'

'The thing is, I think,' Alan expounded, 'conservative clients, like businessmen for instance, don't care for their lawyers being involved in a lot of publicity; and others, with small legal things to be done, have the idea we're too important or expensive.'

The Senator nodded. 'A remarkably shrewd assessment, I should say.'

'If it's true,' Sharon said, 'it's horribly unfair.'

'I understand,' Senator Deveraux remarked, 'that your Mr Lewis is especially interested in corporation law.'

Surprised, Alan answered, 'That's right; Tom always has been. Eventually he hopes to specialize.' Curiously, he wondered where this conversation was leading.

'It occurs to me,' the Senator said ponderously, 'that it might be of assistance to you if we settled two things this morning. First, there is the question of an advance on the final fee for your present services. I wonder if two thousand dollars would be agreeable.'

Alan swallowed the mouthful of eggs Florentine he had been chewing. Dazedly he replied, 'Frankly, sir, I hadn't considered that the final bill would be anywhere near that amount.'