In High Places

‘By God, I should think so! Jim, let me ask you a question.’

‘Please do.’

‘Why is it that you believe you can hold out for what you’re demanding? You need the Act of Union and you know it.’

‘Yes,’ James Howden said, ‘I think we do. But frankly I believe you need it more, and, as you said, time is what counts.’

There was a silence in the small room. The President drew a deep breath. Admiral Rapoport shrugged and turned away.

‘Supposing, just supposing,’ the President said softly, ‘that I agreed to your terms, subject of course to congressional approval, how would you plan to make this known?’

‘An announcement to the House of Commons eleven days from now.’

Again a pause.

‘You understand… I’m only supposing…’ The words were reluctant, laboured. ‘But if it happened, I would be obliged to make an identical statement before a joint session of Congress. You realize that our two statements would have to be coincided to the second.’

‘Yes,’ Howden said.

He had succeeded, he knew. In his mouth was (he taste of victory.

Chapter 3

In the private cabin of the Vanguard, Margaret Howden, smartly dressed in a new grey-blue suit, a velour hat perched neatly on her attractive grey hair, had emptied the contents of her handbag on to a small reading table in front of her seat. Sorting crumpled US and Canadian bills – mostly small denominations – she glanced at her husband who was absorbed with the editorial page of a day-old Toronto Daily Star. Fifteen minutes earlier, after a ceremonial farewell by the Vice-President, supported by an honour guard of FS Marines, their special flight had taken off from Washington airport. Now, in mid-morning sunshine, above broken cumulus cloud, they were flying smoothly northward towards Ottawa and home.

‘You know,’ Howden said, turning pages, ‘I’ve often wondered why we don’t let editorial writers take over and run the country. They’ve a solution for everything. Though, of course,’ he mused, ‘if they did run the country there’s always the problem of who’d write the editorials.’

‘Why not you?’ Margaret said. She put the bills beside a small pile of silver already counted. ‘Perhaps that way you and

I could have more time together and I wouldn’t have to go shopping to fill in time on trips. Oh dear! – I’m afraid I’ve been quite extravagant.’

Howden grinned involuntarily. Putting down the newspaper, he asked, ‘How much?’

Margaret checked the money she had counted against a pencilled list with receipts attached. She answered ruefully, ‘Almost two hundred dollars.’

He was tempted to protest mildly, then remembered he had not revealed to Margaret their latest financial problem. Well, the money was spent; what was the point in worrying now? Besides, a discussion about their own finances – which always made Margaret anxious – would consume more energy than he was willing to expend at the moment. Instead he said, ‘I’m not due for a customs exemption, but you are. So you can take in a hundred dollars’ worth, duty-free, but declare the rest and you’ll have to pay some tax.’

‘No, I won’t!’ Margaret exclaimed. ‘It’s the most absurd thing I ever heard of. You know perfectly well the customs men would never come near us if you didn’t insist on it. You’re entitled to privileges; why not use them?’ As if instinctively, her hand covered the small remaining pile of dollars.

‘Dear,’ he said patiently – they had been over this same ground on other occasions – ‘you know how I feel about this sort of thing. I happen to believe that I should act like an ordinary citizen is expected to by law.’

A flush of colour in her cheeks, Margaret said, ‘All I can say is, you’re being absolutely childish.’

‘Perhaps so,’ he insisted gently. ‘All the same, that’s the way I’d like it done.’

Again he felt a reluctance to involve himself in deeper explanation; to point out the political wisdom of being painstakingly honest about small things, even to avoiding the mild smuggling which most-Canadians indulged in at one time or another when they returned across the border. Besides, he had always been aware how easy it was for people like himself in public life to be tripped up by small, and sometimes innocent, transgressions. There were petty minds, especially among rival parties, always at watch for the slightest slip which afterwards the newspapers would gleefully record. He had seen politicians hounded out of public life, disgraced, through small offences which in other circles would draw no more than a mild rebuke. And then there were others who for years had lined their pockets with huge sums of public money but were caught out -through carelessness usually – on some minor issue.

He folded the newspaper and put it down.

‘Don’t be too upset, dear, about paying duty just this once. There may not be any duty – or customs procedure – soon.’ He had already told Margaret, the previous evening, the broad outline of the Act of Union.

‘Well,’ his wife said, ‘I’m certainly not sorry about that. I’ve always thought it silly to go through so much performance -opening bags, declaring things – between two countries so close together in every way.’

Howden smiled, but decided not to lecture Margaret on the history of Canadian tariffs which had made possible the extremely favourable terms of the Act of Union. And they were favourable terms, he thought, leaning back in the comfortable upholstered seat. Once more, as he had several times in the past twenty-four hours, James Howden reflected on the undoubted success of his negotiations in Washington.

Of course, even at the end the President had given no firm commitment on the demand about Alaska. But there would be a commitment for the Alaskan plebiscite; of that, Howden was convinced. The idea, naturally, needed time to accept. At first the whole proposal – as it had originally in the Prime Minister’s own mind – would seem outrageous and impossible in Washington. But considered carefully it was a sane and logical extension of the Act of Union, in which Canada was to concede so much.

And as for the plebiscite in Alaska, coupled with the support he already had, Canada could make the terms for a ‘yes’ vote so attractive that they would not be refused. Moreover, in advance, he would declare generous compensation for Alaskan residents who chose not to stay under a new regime, though he hoped most would. In any case, with the Act of Union in force, the borders between Alaska, Canada, and the remainder of the continental US would be merely imaginary. The difference in Alaska would simply be one of Canadian civil law and administration taking over.

The one major factor which he had not discussed with the President was the possibility that Canada, despite expected devastation, might emerge, postwar, the stronger and senior partner in the Act of Union. But as to that, and its practical effect, only time could determine.

The prop-jet motors whined on as the Vanguard winged northward. Glancing from the cabin window, he saw there were still green fields beneath them.

‘Where are we, Jamie?’ Margaret asked.

He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll have left Maryland by now, so I expect we’re over Pennsylvania. After that, just New York State, then a few minutes to home.’

‘I hope it isn’t snowing in Ottawa,’ Margaret said, putting her receipts and money away. ‘I’d like to get cold again gradually.’

He thought amusedly: there are things I’d like to do gradually, too. Ideally, there should be a slow, painstaking build-up of influential support for the Act of Union. But, as always, time was short and he would have to take chances and move swiftly.

Fortunately, he now had a great deal to offer. The arrangement about Alaska, plus the other substantial concessions, would be ample to place before Parliament and the voters. Coupled with the gravity of the times, which required no emphasis, he was convinced he could win an election, thereby providing a mandate for the Act of Union.

And even apart from crisis, the time was ripe. Ten or even five years ago, when the search for a so-called Canadian identity, with all its attendant chauvinism, was at its height, any Act of Union would have been rejected out of hand. But the national mood since then had changed.

Naturally, the Opposition, led by Bonar Deitz, would fight with every weapon they could employ. But he could beat them, he was sure. Extreme nationalism nowadays was seen for what it was – a dangerous self-indulgence; and dangerous because, for a while, it had alienated Canada from its strongest friend in a hostile world. Now, ties of culture, idealism, fellow feeling, and sometimes even love, ran frankly north and south in increasing measure. It was not that people had ceased to be critical of the United States; on the contrary, the US could frequently be the despair of friends and admirers alike. But at least underneath, with all faults allowed for, there was a common basic decency – in contrast to the festering, malevolent evil elsewhere in the world.

Margaret had picked up the Star and turned its pages. ‘Oh, here are the horoscopes, Jamie. Did you read yours?’ Turning his head, he answered testily, ‘No, and I wish you wouldn’t keep bringing that up.’ He wondered if Margaret were trying to bait him in retaliation for their argument earlier. Just lately their relationship had been a trifle strained, he thought, perhaps because they had spent too little time alone. Their last long talk had been when?… oh yes, the evening of the affair at Government House. He supposed he ought to be more considerate of Margaret, but the trouble was, there were so few hours in a day and so many things that were important and could be done only by himself. Perhaps, when some of the preparation he now faced was over, there would be more time…

‘What awful gibberish this is!’ Margaret rustled the newspaper indignantly. ‘Really! – the Star is so self-righteous with its exposes of this and that, and then they print this kind of dishonesty every day.’

‘They’re probably ashamed of it,’ her husband said. ‘But it helps sell papers. So they put it near the back hoping no one will notice except those who want to read.’

‘Listen! This is your prediction for today, Jamie – Sagittarius.’ Margaret read carefully, holding the page towards the light. ‘"Important and favourable Venus vibrations. Do not worry about your efforts; they have been good and will materialize further. Carry on, and don’t lose faith in yourself. But look out for clouds which are becoming bigger."’ She put down the paper. ‘What rubbish! What appalling rubbish i’

‘Yes,’ James Howden said, ‘isn’t it?’ It was strange, though, he thought: the reference to the cloud once more. What had it been the time before, just a week and a half ago: beware of the cloud no larger than a man’s hand. The phrase was from the Old Testament, wasn’t it? The story of Elijah, who had seen a little cloud arise from the sea… and afterwards he had been touched by the angel, and had anointed kings; and later still he had divided the waters of Jordan and risen to heaven in a fiery chariot. But to Elijah the cloud had been an omen of strength. Was it that for himself; or an omen of warning? Which? Suddenly the words of old Mrs Zeeder came back… the day in court at Medicine Hat… I’m a child born under Sagittarius, dear. You’ll see.’

‘Jamie!’ Margaret said sharply.

‘What is it?’ Abruptly he refocused his thoughts.

‘What were you thinking then?’

‘I wasn’t,’ he lied. ‘I’d switched my mind off.’

A few minutes later Margaret announced, ‘Wing Commander Galbraith invited me to the flight deck. I suppose I’d better go.’

Her husband nodded. ‘I wish you would; and apologize for me this trip.’ He glanced across the cabin at a wall clock. ‘While you’re gone I suppose I’d better see young Prowse. He’s been bursting with something or other for the past two days.’