In High Places

by Arthur Hailey

  'Subtlety and the State Department keep separate houses,' Lexington said. 'I've always considered, you know, that American diplomacy comes two ways - either contemplating rape or ready to receive it. There's seldom any in between.'

  The Prime Minister laughed. 'How about now?' He invariably enjoyed the moments which the two of them had ^lone. They had long been staunch friends who trusted each other firmly. One reason, possibly, was that there was no sense of competition between them. While others in the Cabinet openly or covertly aspired to the Prime Ministership, Arthur Lexington, as Howden knew full well, had no ambitions in that direction.

  Lexington, in fact, would probably still have been an ambassador, happy in his spare time with the twin hobbies of stamp collecting and ornithology, had not Howden persuaded him years earlier to resign from the diplomatic corps and enter the party and later the Cabinet. Loyalty and a strong sense of duty had kept him there since, but he made no secret of looking forward with pleasure to the day when he would return from public to private life.

  Lexington had paced the long garnet-coloured rug before answering the Prime Minister's question. Now he stopped and said, 'Like you, I don't care to get violated.'

  'But there'll be plenty who'll say we have been.'

  'Some will say that whichever line we take. There'll be sincere people among them too - not just the rabble-rousers.'

  'Yes, I've thought of that,' Howden said. 'The Act of Union will cost us some of our own party, I'm afraid. But I'm still convinced there's no other choice.'

  The External Affairs Minister sank into a facing chair. He hooked a footstool close and stretched out, resting both feet.

  'I wish I were as sure as you. Prime Minister.' As Howden eyed him sharply Lexington shook his head. 'Oh, don't misunderstand me; I'm with you the whole way. But the speed of it all disturbs me. The trouble is, we're living in a time of compressed history, yet so few realize it. Changes which used to take fifty years take five or less, and we can't help it because communications have made it that way. The one thing I hope is that we can keep a sense of national unity, but it won't be easy.'

  'It was never easy,' Howden said. He glanced at his watch. They would have to leave Blair House in thirty minutes, to allow for a session with the White House press corps before the official talks began. But he supposed there was time to discuss with Lexington a subject which had been on his own mind for some time. This seemed a good moment to bring it up.

  'On the subject of identity,' he announced thoughtfully, 'there's something the Queen mentioned not long ago - the last time I was in London.'

  'Yes?'

  'The lady has suggested -- in fact I may say urged - that we reinstate titles. She made what I thought was an interesting point/

  James Howden half-closed his eyes, recalling the scene as it had been, four and a half months earlier: a mellow September afternoon in London; himself at Buckingham Palace for a courtesy call. He had been received with appropriate respect and escorted promptly to the royal presence ...

  '... Do please have some more tea,' the Queen had said, and he had passed the fragile gold-rimmed cup and saucer, unable to resist the thought - though knowing it naive - that the British monarch was pouring tea in her palace for the orphan boy from Medicine Hat.

  'And bread and butter. Prime Minister!' He took some. There was brown and white, cut paper-thin. He declined the jam - three kinds in a gold server. As it was, you needed a juggler's skill to balance everything at English teatime.

  They were alone in the drawing room of the Private Apartments - a large airy place, overlooking the palace gardens, formal by North American standards but less overpowering with gilt and crystal than most of the other state rooms. The Queen was dressed simply in a silk cornflower-blue dress, her neat ankles crossed casually above matching kid leather pumps. No women, Howden thought with admiration, have quite so much poise as upper-class Englishwomen not consciously trying.

  The Queen spread strawberry jam thickly for herself, then observed in her precise, high-pitched voice, 'My husband and I have frequently considered that for Canada's own sake there should be more to distinguish it.'

  James Howden had been tempted to reply that there was a good deal to distinguish Canada, compared with current British achievements, but decided that perhaps he had misinterpreted the meaning. A moment later showed he had.

  The Queen added: 'To distinguish it in the sense of difference, that is, from the United States.'

  'The trouble is, ma'am,' Howden responded carefully, 'it's hard to maintain a separate appearance when two countries live so close and similarly. From time to time we try to emphasize our separateness, though not always succeeding.'

  'Scotland has succeeded quite well in keeping its identity,' the Queen remarked. She stirred her tea, her expression guileless. 'Perhaps you should take a lesson or two from them.'

  'Well...' Howden smiled. It was true, he thought. Scotland, which had lost its independence two and a half centuries earlier, still possessed more nationhood and character than Canada ever had or would.

  The Queen continued thoughtfully: 'One reason, perhaps, is that Scotland has never yielded its traditions. Canada, if you will forgive me for saying so, has seemed in rather a hurry to shed them. I remember my father saying much the same thing.' The Queen smiled disarmingly, her manner robbing the words of any offence. 'Will you have tea?'

  'Thank you, no.' Howden surrendered his cup and saucer to a uniformed manservant who had come in quietly with more hot water for the teapot. He had a sense of relief at having balanced everything without mishap.

  'I do hope you haven't minded my saying that. Prime Minister.' The Queen replenished her own cup as the servant disappeared.

  'Not in the least,' Howden replied. It was his own turn to smile. 'It does us good to be told our failings sometimes, even if one isn't sure what to do about them.'

  'There is, perhaps, a thing which might be done,' the Queen said deliberately. 'My husband and I have often regretted the absence of a Canadian honours list. It would give me considerable pleasure if New Year's and Birthday honours were to be established again.'

  James Howden pursed his Ups. 'Titles of nobility are delicate ground in North America, ma'am.'

  'A part of North America, possibly, but are we not speaking of our Dominion of Canada?' Though spoken gently, it was a rebuke and despite himself Howden flushed. 'Actually,' the Queen observed with the faintest of smiles, 'I had gained the impression that in the United States, the British with tides are somewhat sought after.'

  Touche! Howden thought. How true it was! - Americans loved a lord.

  'Our award of honours has worked remarkably well in Australia, I am informed,' the Queen went on calmly, 'and here in Britain, of course, it continues to do so. Perhaps in Canada it might help you towards separateness from the United States.'

  James Howden wondered: how were you supposed to handle this kind of thing? As Prime Minister of an independent Commonwealth country his own power was a thousand times greater than the Queen's, yet custom obliged him to assume a fictional role of dutiful deference. Titles, nowadays -'Sirs' and 'Lords' and 'Ladies' - were nonsense, of course. Canada had had no part of them since the 1930s, and the few residual tides remaining among elderly Canadians were usually referred to with discreet smiles.

  With a sense of annoyance the Prime Minister wished the monarchy would content itself with being ornamental, the way it was generally assumed to be, instead of spinning royal spider webs. Behind the Queen's suggestion, he suspected, was the fear one always sensed in London - that Canada was slipping away as other Commonwealth nations had done and that anything, anything -- even a silken skein - should be tried in an attempt to delay the drifting.

  'I shall inform the Cabinet of your feelings, ma'am,' James Howden said. It was a polite lie, he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

  'As you see fit.' The Queen inclined her head graciously, then added, 'On a related subject, one of our happier preroga
tives in awarding honours is to confer an earldom upon Prime Ministers at their retirement from office. It is a custom we should be most happy to extend to Canada.' Her innocent eyes met Howden's directly.

  An earldom. Despite his own conviction, imagination stirred. If was almost the loftiest rank in British nobility; only marquesses and dukes ranked higher. Of course, he could never accept, but if he did, what title would he take? The Earl of Medicine Hat? No - too outlandish; people would laugh. The Earl of Ottawa? Oh yes! It had a rolling sound, and with deep meaning.

  The Queen took a linen napkin, wiped a trace of jam delicately from a manicured finger tip, then rose, James Howden following suit. The intimate tea party was at an end and considerately, as she often did on informal occasions, the Queen - strolled with him.

  They were halfway across the room when the Queen's husband entered breezily. The Prince came in through a narrow private doorway camouflaged by a long gilt-framed mirror. 'Is there any tea left?' he asked cheerfully. Then seeing Howden, 'What! - leaving us already?'

  'Good afternoon. Your Royal Highness.' Howden bowed. He knew better than to reciprocate the informality. The Prince had been responsible for clearing away a good deal of stuffiness around the throne, but he still demanded deference and his eyes could flash and his tone become icy if he sensed it lacking.

  'If you really must go, I'll walk with you,' the Prince announced. Howden leaned over the Queen's hand which she offered, then with momentary formality retreated the rest of the way out. 'Careful!' the Prince warned. 'Chair astern to port!' He made a half-hearted attempt at backing out himself.

  The Queen's face was stony as they left. Howden surmised that sometimes she felt her husband's breeziness went a little far.

  Outside, in an ornate anteroom, the two men shook hands as a liveried footman waited to escort the Prime Minister to his car. 'Cheerio then,' the Prince said, unabashed. 'Before you go back to Canada try to pop in again.'

  Ten minutes later, driving down the Mall, away from Buckingham Palace and toward Canada House, James Howden had smiled, remembering. He admired the Prince's determination to be informal, though when you had a permanent rank like the Queen's husband you could turn informality on and off as you pleased. It was permanence of that sort which made a difference to a man, inside as well as out, and politicians like himself always knew that someday soon their tenure of rank would end. Of course, in England most retired cabinet ministers were given titles as a reminder that they had served their country well. But nowadays the system was out of date ... an absurd charade. It would be even more ridiculous in Canada ... the Earl of Ottawa, no less. How amused his colleagues would be!

  And yet, in fairness, he supposed he ought to examine the Queen's proposal carefully before dismissing it. The lady had a point when she spoke of the need for distinction between Canada and the United States. Perhaps, after all, he should sound out the Cabinet as he had promised. If it was for the country's good ...

  The Earl of Ottawa ...

  But he had not sounded out the Cabinet, nor mentioned the subject to anyone until this moment in Washington with Arthur Lexington. Now, though omitting the Queen's reference to himself, he explained, with touches of humour, the conversation as it had taken place.

  At the end, glancing at his watch, he saw that only fifteen minutes remained before they must cross Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House. Rising, he strolled once more to the open library window. Over his shoulder he asked, 'Well, what do you think?'

  The External Affairs Minister swung down his legs from the footstool and stood upright, stretching. His expression was amused. 'It would make us different from the US all right, but I'm not so sure it would be in the right direction.'

  'I thought much the same thing,' Howden said, 'but I must say it has since occurred to me that Her Majesty's point about separateness may be well taken. In the future, you know, anything which can help make Canada distinctive and an entity is going to be important.' He felt Lexington glance at him curiously, and added, 'If you feel strongly we'll forget the whole thing, but in view of the lady's request I felt all of us should discuss it.'

  'Discussion won't do any harm, I suppose,' Lexington conceded. He began to pace the rug again.

  'The thing is,' Howden said, 'I wonder if you'd be the one to bring the matter up in Cabinet. I believe it might come better from you, and, that way, I could reserve my judgement until we got some other opinions.'

  Arthur Lexington said dubiously, 'I'd like to think about that. Prime Minister, if you don't mind.'

  'Of course, Arthur; whatever you decide.' Obviously, Howden thought, the subject must be handled cautiously, if at all.

  Lexington paused beside a telephone on the polished centre table. Half-smiling, he inquired, 'Shall we call for coffee before our date with destiny?'

  Chapter 2

  Across the swathe of White House lawn dividing them, the President called out cheerfully in his strong, bluff voice to the group of focusing, jostling photographers.

  'You men must have shot enough film for a double feature.' Then to the Prime Minister at his side: 'What do you think, Jim? Shall we go inside and begin work?'

  'It's a pity, Mr President,' James Howden said. After the chill Ottawa winter, he had enjoyed the warmth and sunshine. 'But I suppose we'd better.' He nodded agreeably to the short, broad-shouldered man with the angular, bony features and sharp, determined jaw. The outdoor session which both of them had just had with the White House press corps had pleased Howden greatly. Throughout, the President had deferred courteously to the Prime Minister, saying little, and turning reporters' questions towards Howden so that the latter would be the one quoted today and tomorrow in press, TV, and radio. And afterwards, when they had strolled together on the south lawn of the White House for the benefit of photographers and TV cameras, the President had carefully manoeuvred James Howden nearest the battery of lenses. The result of such consideration, Howden thought -- a rare experience for a Canadian in Washington - could contribute a good deal to his own status back home.

  He felt the President's massive, big-fingered hand grasp his arm, steering, and the two of them moved towards the Executive Mansion steps. The other man's face, under the untidy thatch of grey-flecked hair with its abbreviated cowlick, was relaxed and agreeable. 'How'd it be, Jim...' - it was the easy Midwestern twang used so effectively in the televised Fireside Talks - 'How'd it be if we dropped the Mr President business?' A deep chuckle. 'You know my first name, I imagine.'

  Genuinely pleased, Howden replied, 'I'd be honoured, Tyler.' In a segment of his mind he wondered if it would be possible to leak this intimate relationship to the Press. In Canada it would give the lie to some of his critics who were always carping that the Howden government lacked influence in Washington. Of course, he recognized that most of the courtesies today and yesterday had stemmed from Canada's strong bargaining position - which he intended to uphold. But that was no reason for not being pleased, or making political hay whenever one could.

  As they strolled across the lawn, the ground soft beneath their feet, James Howden said, 'There hasn't been an opportunity before to congratulate you personally on your re-election.'

  'Why, thank you, Jim!' Again the pawlike hand, this time clapped firmly on the Prime Minister's shoulder. 'Yes, it was a wonderful election. I'm proud to say I have the largest popular vote a United States President has ever received. And we swept Congress, as you know. That's something else again -no President has ever enjoyed stronger support than I have right at this moment in the House and Senate. I can tell you confidently there isn't any legislation I want that I can't get passed. Oh, I make a few concessions here and there for the sake of it, but nothing to matter. It's a unique situation.'

  'Unique for you, perhaps,' Howden said. He decided some good-natured needling would do no harm. 'But, of course, with our own parliamentary system the party in power can always have the legislation it wants.'

  'True! True! And don't think there haven't been tim
es when I - and some of my predecessors - have envied you. The miracle about our constitution, you know, is that it works at all.' The President's voice ranged lustily on. 'The trouble was, the Founding Fathers were so damned anxious to cut loose from everything British that they threw out the best things along with the bad. But one makes the best of what one has, whether it's the body political or the body personal.'

  With the last words they had reached the wide, balustraded Steps leading under the curved and colonnaded South Portico. Preceding his guest, the President leaped upward two steps at a time and, not to be outdone, James Howden followed at the same pace.

  But at the halfway mark the Prime Minister stopped, short of breath and perspiring. His dark blue worsted suit, ideal in Ottawa, was uncomfortably heavy in the warm Washington sunshine. He wished he had brought one of his lightweight suits, but on looking them over none had seemed quite good enough for this occasion. The President was reported to be meticulous about dress and sometimes changed suits several times a day. But then, the US Chief Executive was not subject to the personal money worries of a Canadian Prime Minister.

  The thought reminded Howden briefly that he had not yet broken the news to Margaret of just how serious their own financial position had become. The man from Montreal Trust had made it clear: unless they stopped eroding the few thousands of capital remaining, his resources on retirement would be equal to the wages of a minor artisan. Of course, it would never really come to that: the Rockefeller Foundation and others could be appealed to - Rockefeller had granted Mackenzie King a hundred thousand dollars on the day of the veteran Prime Minister's retirement - but the thought of actively seeking an American handout, however generous, was still humiliating.