In High Places Read online

  The Minister of Citizenship and Immigration paused, glared around him, then ploughed on. 'Both those things need carefully balanced immigration. We have to let immigrants come in, because when industry expands the manpower should be ready and waiting - not next week, or next month, or next year, but at the moment the factories need it. But open the gates of immigration too wide or too often, or both, and what happens? The population goes-out of balance. And it wouldn't take too many generations of those kind of mistakes before you'd have the House of Commons debating in Italian and a Chinaman running Government House.'

  This time there were several comments of disapproval from the other guests to whom Warrender's voice had become increasingly audible. Moreover the Governor General had quite plainly heard the last remark and the Prime Minister saw him beckon an aide. Harvey Warrender's wife, a pale, fragile woman, had moved uncertainly towards her husband and taken his arm. But he ignored her.

  Dr Borden Tayne, the Health and Welfare Minister and a former college boxing champion who towered above them all, said in a stage whisper, 'For Christ's sake, knock it off!' He had joined Cawston at Warrender's side. A voice murmured urgently, 'Get him out of here!' Another answered, 'He can't go. Nobody can leave until the Governor General does.' Unabashed, Harvey Warrender was continuing. 'When you're talking about immigration,' he declared loudly, 'I tell you the public wants sentiment, not facts. Facts are uncomfortable. People like to think of their country as holding the door open for the poor and suffering. It makes them feel noble. Only thing is, they'd just as soon the poor and suffering keep well out of sight when they get here, and not track lice in the suburbs or muddy up the prissy new churches. No siree, the public in this country doesn't want wide-open immigration. What's more, it knows the Government will never allow it, so there's no real risk in hollering for it. That way, everybody can be righteous and safe at the same time.' . In a separate compartment of his mind the Prime Minister acknowledged that everything Harvey had said made sound sense but impractical politics.

  'What started all this?' one of the women asked.

  Harvey Warrender heard the remark and answered. 'It started because I was told to change the way I'm running my department. But I'd remind you I'm enforcing the Immigration Act - the law.' He looked at the phalanx of male figures around him. 'And I'll go on enforcing the law until you bastards agree to change it.'

  Somebody said, 'Perhaps you won't have a department tomorrow, chum.'

  One of the aides - an air force flight lieutenant this time -appeared at the Prime Minister's side. He announced quietly, 'His Excellency asked me to tell you, sir, that he is withdrawing.'

  James Howden glanced towards the outer doorway. The Governor General was smilingly shaking hands with a few of the guests. With Margaret beside him, the Prime Minister moved across. The others melted away.

  'I hope you won't mind our retiring early,' the Governor General said. 'Natalie and I are a little tired.'

  'I do apologize,' Howden began.

  'Don't, my dear fellow. Best if I don't see anything.' The Governor General smiled warmly. 'A most happy Christmas to you, Prime Minister. And to you, Margaret dear.'

  With quiet, firm dignity, preceded by an aide as the women guests curtsied and their husbands bowed, their Excellencies withdrew.

  Chapter 2

  In the car returning from Government House, Margaret asked, 'After what happened tonight, won't Harvey Warrender have to resign?'

  'I don't know, dear,' James Howden said thoughtfully. 'He may not want to.'

  'Can't you force him?'

  He wondered what Margaret would say if he answered truthfully:

  No, I can't force Harvey Warrender to resign. And the reason is that somewhere in this city - in a safety deposit box, perhaps - there is a scrap of paper with some handwriting -my own. And if produced and made public, it might just as well be an obituary - or a suicide note from James McCallum Howden.

  Instead he answered, 'Harvey has a big following in the party, you know.'

  'But surely a following wouldn't excuse what happened tonight.'

  He made no answer.

  He had never told Margaret about the convention, about the deal that he and Harvey had made nine years ago over the party leadership; the hard-driven deal, with the two of them alone in the small theatrical dressing-room while outside in the big Toronto auditorium their rival factions cheered, awaiting the balloting which had been unaccountably delayed - unaccountably, that is, except to the two chief opponents dealing their cards, face up, behind the scenes.

  Nine years. James Howden's thoughts went back...

  ... They would win the next election. Everyone in the party knew it. There was eagerness, a smell of victory, a sense of things to come.

  The party had convened to elect a new leader. It was a virtual certainty that whoever was elected would become Prime Minister within a year. It was a prize and an opportunity which James McCallum Howden had dreamed of all his political life.

  The choice lay between himself and Harvey Warrender. Warrender led the party's intellectuals. He had strong support among the rank and file. James Howden was a middle-of-the-roader. Their strength was approximately equal.

  Outside in the meeting hall there was noise and cheering.

  'I'm willing to withdraw,' Harvey said. 'On terms'

  James Howden asked, 'What terms?'

  'First - a cabinet post of my own choosing, for as long as we're in power.'

  'You can have anything except External Affairs or Health.'

  Howden had no intention of creating an ogre to compete with himself. External Affairs could keep a man permanently in the headlines. The Health Department disbursed family allowances to the populace and its minister rode high in public favour.

  'I'd accept that,' Harvey Warrender said, 'providing you agree to the other.'

  The delegates outside were getting restless. Through the closed door they could hear feet stomping, impatient shouts.

  'Tell me your second condition,' Howden said.

  'When we're in office,' Harvey said slowly, 'there'll be a lot of changes. Take television. The country's growing and there's room for more stations. We've already said we'll organize the Board of Broadcast Governors. We can load it with our own people, and a few others who'll go along.' He stopped.

  'Go on,' Howden said.

  'I want the TV franchise for--' He named a city - the country's most prosperous industrial centre. 'In my nephew's name.'

  James Howden whistled softly. If it were done, it would be patronage on a grand scale. The TV franchise was a plum of plums. Already there were many favour seekers - big money interests among them - jostling in line.

  'It's worth two million dollars,' Howden said.

  'I know.' Harvey Warrender seemed a little flushed. 'But I'm thinking of my old age. They don't pay college professors a fortune, and I've never saved any money in politics.'

  'If it were traced back...'

  'It won't be traceable,' Harvey said. 'I'll see to that. My name won't appear anywhere. They can suspect all they want, but it won't be traceable.'

  Howden shook his head in doubt. Outside there was another burst of noise - catcalls now, and some ironic singing.

  'I'll make you a promise, Jim,' Harvey Warrender said. 'H I go down - for this or anything else - I'll take the blame alone and I won't involve you. But if you fire me, or fail to support me on an honest issue, I'll take you too.'

  'You couldn't prove...'

  'I want it in writing,' Harvey said. He gestured towards the hall. 'Before we go out there. Otherwise we'll let it go to a vote.'

  It would be a close thing. They both knew it. James How-den envisaged the cup he had coveted slipping away.

  'I'll do it,' he said. 'Give me something to write on.'

  Harvey had passed him a convention programme and he had scribbled the words on the back - words which would destroy him utterly if they were ever used.

  'Don't worry,' Harvey said, pocke
ting the card. 'It will be safe. And when we're both out of politics I'll give it back to you.'

  They had gone outside then - Harvey Warrender to make a speech renouncing the leadership - one of the finest of his political life - and James Howden to be elected, cheered, and chaired through the hall...

  The bargain struck had been kept on both sides even though, over the years, as James Howden's prestige had risen, Harvey Warrender's had steadily declined. Nowadays it was hard to remember that Warrender had once been a serious contender for the party leadership; certainly he was nowhere in line of succession now. But that sort of thing happened so often in politics; once a man was eclipsed in a contest for power, his stature, it seemed, grew less as time went on.

  Their car had turned out of Government House grounds, heading west towards the Prime Minister's residence at 24 Sussex Drive.

  'I've sometimes thought,' Margaret said half to herself, 'that Harvey Warrender is just a little mad.'

  That was the trouble, Howden thought; Harvey was a little mad. That was why there was no assurance that he might not produce that hastily written agreement of nine years earlier even though, in doing so, he would destroy himself.

  What were Harvey's own feelings about that long-ago deal, Howden wondered. As far as he knew, Harvey Warrender had always been honest in politics until that time. Since then, Harvey's nephew had had his TV franchise and, if rumour Were true, had made a fortune. So had Harvey, presumably; his standard of living now was far beyond the means of a cabinet minister, though fortunately he had been discreet and not indulged in sudden changes.

  At the time the franchise was awarded there had been plenty of criticism and innuendo. But nothing had ever been proven and the Howden government, newly elected with a big majority in the House of Commons, had steam-rollered its critics, and eventually - as he had known from the first would happen - people had grown tired of the subject and it dropped out of sight.

  But was Harvey remembering? And suffering a little, with a stirring of uneasy conscience? And trying, perhaps, in some warped and twisted way to make amends?

  There had been a strange thing about Harvey lately -- an almost obsessive concern with doing the 'right' thing and hewing to the line of law, even in trifling ways. On several occasions recently there had been argument at Cabinet - Harvey objecting because some proposed action had overtones of political expediency; Harvey arguing that every fine-print clause in every law must be scrupulously observed. When that happened James Howden had thought little about the incidents, dismissing them as passing eccentricity. But now, remembering Harvey's alcoholic insistence tonight that immigration law must be administered exactly as laid down, he began to wonder.

  'Jamie, dear,' Margaret said, 'Harvey Warrender doesn't have some hold over you, does he?'

  'Of course not!' Then, wondering if he had been a shade too emphatic, 'It's just that I don't want to be rushed into a hasty decision. We'll see what reaction there is tomorrow. After all, it was just our own people who were there.'

  He felt Margaret's eyes upon him and wondered if she knew that he had lied.

  Chapter 3

  They entered the big stone mansion - official residence of Prime Minister for his term of office - by the awning-shielded main front door. Inside, Yarrow, the steward, vast them and took their coats. He announced, 'The American Ambassador has been trying to reach you, sir. The embassy called twice and stated the matter was urgent.'

  James Howden nodded. Probably Washington had learned of the press leak too. If so, it would make Arthur Lexington's assignment that much easier. 'Wait for five minutes,' he instructed, 'then let the switchboard know that I'm home.'

  'We'll have coffee in the drawing-room, Mr Yarrow,' Margaret said. 'And some sandwiches, please, for Mr Howden; he missed the buffet.' She stopped in the main-hall powder-room to arrange her hair.

  James Howden had gone ahead, through the series of hallways to the third hall, with its big french doors overlooking the river and the Gatineau Hills beyond. It was a sight which always enraptured him and even at night, oriented by distant pin-point lights, he could visualize it: the wide wind-flecked Ottawa River; the same river which the adventurer Etienne Brule had navigated three centuries and a half before; and afterwards Champlain; and later the missionaries and traders, plying their legendary route westward to the Great Lakes and the fur-rich North. And beyond the river lay the distant Quebec shoreline, storied and historic, witness to many changes : much that had come, and much that would one day end.

  In Ottawa, James Howden always thought, it was difficult not to have a sense of history. Especially now that the city -once beautiful and then commercially despoiled - was fast becoming green again: tree-thronged and laced with manicured parkways, thanks to the National Capital Commission. True the government buildings were largely characterless, bearing the stamp of what a critic had called 'the limp hand of bureaucratic art'. But even so there was a natural ruggedness about them, and given time, with natural beauty restored, Ottawa might one day equal Washington as a capital and perhaps surpass it.

  Behind him beneath the wide, curved staircase, one of two gilt telephones on an Adam side table chimed softly twice. It was the American Ambassador.

  'Hullo, Angry,' James Howden said. 'I hear that your people let the cat out.'

  The Hon Phillip Angrove's Bostonian drawl came back. 'I know. Prime Minister, and I'm damned apologetic. Fortunately, though, it's only the cat's head and we still have a firm grip on the body.'

  Tm relieved to hear it,' Howden said. 'But we must have a joint statement, you know. Arthur's on his way...'

  'He's right here with me now,' the ambassador rejoined. 'As soon as we've downed a couple we'll get on with it, sir. Do you want to approve the statement yourself?'

  'No,' Howden said. 'I'll leave it to you and Arthur.'

  They talked for a few minutes more, then the Prime Minister replaced the gilt telephone.

  Margaret had gone ahead into the big comfortable living-room with its chintz-covered sofas. Empire armchairs, and muted grey drapes. A log fire was burning brightly. She had put on a Kostelanetz recording of Tchaikovsky which played softly. It was the Howdens' favourite kind of music; the heavier classics seldom appealed to them. A few minutes later a maid brought in coffee with a piled plate of sandwiches. At a gesture from Margaret the girl offered the sandwiches to Howden and he took one absently.

  When the maid had gone he untied his white tie, loosened the stiff collar, then joined Margaret by the fire. He sank gratefully into a deep overstuffed chair, hooked a footstool nearer, and lifted both feet on to it. With a deep sigh: 'This is the life,' he said. 'You, me ... no one else ...' He lowered his chin and out of habit stroked the tip of his nose.

  Margaret smiled faintly. 'We should try it more often, Jamie.'

  'We will; we really will,' he said earnestly. Then, his tone changing, 'I've some news. We'll be going to Washington quite soon. I thought you'd like to know.'

  Pouring from a Sheffield coffee service his wife looked up. 'It's rather sudden, isn't it?'

  'Yes,' he answered. 'But some pretty important things have come up. I have to talk with the President.'

  'Well,' Margaret said, 'fortunately I've a new dress.' She paused thoughtfully. 'Now I must buy some shoes and I'll need a matching bag; gloves too.' A worried look crossed her face. 'There'll be time, won't there?'

  'Just about,' he said, then laughed at the incongruity.

  Margaret said decisively, 'I'll go to Montreal for a day's shopping right after the holiday. You can always get so much more there than in Ottawa. By the way, how are we for money?'

  He frowned, 'It isn't too good; we're overdrawn at the bank. We shall have to cash some more bonds, I expect.'

  'Again?' Margaret seemed worried. 'We haven't many left.'

  'No. But you go ahead.' He regarded his wife affectionately. 'One shopping trip won't make all that difference.'

  'Well... if you're sure.'

  'I'm sure.'
>
  But the only thing he was really sure of, Howden thought, was that no one would sue the Prime Minister for slow payment. Shortage of money for their personal needs was a constant source of worry. The Howdens had no private means beyond modest savings from his time in law practice, and it was characteristic of Canada - a national small-mindedness persisting in many places - that the country paid its leaders meanly.

  There was biting irony, Howden had often thought, in the fact that a Canadian Prime Minister, guiding his nation's destiny, received less in salary and allowances than a US congressman. He had no official car, providing his own from an inadequate allowance, and even provision of a house was something comparatively new. As recently as 1950 the then Prime Minister, Louis St Laurent, had been obliged to live in a two-room apartment, so small that Madame St Laurent had stored the family preserves under her bed. Moreover, after a lifetime of parliamentary service, the most an ex-Prime Minister could expect to receive on retirement was three thousand dollars a year from a contributory pension scheme. One result for the nation in the past had been that Prime Ministers tended to ding to office in old age. Others retired to penury and the charity of friends. Cabinet Ministers and MPs fared even less well. It's a remarkable thing, Howden thought, that so many of us stay honest. In a remote way he sympathized a little with

  Harvey Warrender for what he had done.

  'You'd have done better to marry a businessman,' he told Margaret. 'Second vice presidents have more cash for spending.'

  'I suppose there've been other compensations.' Margaret smiled. Thank God, he thought, we have had a good marriage.'

  Political life could bleed you of so many things in return for power -- sentiment, illusions, integrity even - and without the warmth of a woman close to him a man could become a hollow shell. He brushed aside the thought of Milly Freedeman, though with a sense of nervousness he had experienced earlier on.