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.'
'No-,' Margaret said, 'eventually one doesn't, of course. At the time you think the wound will never heal. But in the end it always does.'
Milly hesitated, searching for the right words for what was in her mind. Finally she said softly, 'You must have minded very much.'
'Yes.' Margaret nodded slowly. 'I remember I was terribly hurt at the time. Any woman would be. But one gets over those things in the end. It's a case of having to, really.'
Milly said gently, 'I wonder if I could be as understanding.' After a moment she added impulsively, 'Brian Richardson wants me to marry him.'
'And shall you?'
'I haven't decided.' Milly shook her head perplexedly. 'I think I love him; I know I do. But then, in another way, I'm not sure.'
'I wish I could help you.' There was a gentleness in Margaret's voice. 'I learned a long time ago, though - you can't live other people's lives. We have to make our own decisions even if we're wrong.'
Yes, Milly thought, as she wondered again - how long could her own decision be postponed?
Chapter 2
James Howden carefully closed the double doors of the study before picking up the special red telephone - a duplicate of one upon his East Block office desk. It was a 'scrambled' phone, with direct, safeguarded circuits. 'Prime Minister speaking,' he announced.
An operator's voice responded, 'The President is waiting, sir. One moment please.'
There was a click and then a strong bluff voice. 'Jim, is that you?'
Howden smiled at the familiar Midwestern twang. 'Yes, Tyler,' he said, 'Howden speaking.'
'How have you been, Jim?'
He admitted: 'Somewhat tired. I've covered a lot of ground in a few days.'
'I know. Your ambassador was in; he showed me your schedule.'
The President's voice took on concern. 'Don't kill yourself, Jim. We all need you.'
'I'm stopping short of that.' Howden smiled. 'But I'm glad to hear I'm needed. I hope the electorate feels the same way.'
The voice became serious. 'Do you think you can carry it, Jim? Do you think you can carry it through?'
'Yes.' The seriousness was matched. 'It won't be easy, but I can do it, providing all the conditions we discussed are met.' He added meaningfully, 'All the conditions.'
'It's that I called about.' The gruff voice paused. 'By the way, what's your weather up there?'
'It's snowing.' '
'That's what I thought.' The President chuckled. 'Are you sure you want more of the stuff - Alaska for instance?'
'We want it,' Howden said. 'And we know how to handle snow and ice; we live with it.' He forebore from adding what the Minister of Mines and Resources had observed enthusiastically at Cabinet ten days earlier: 'Alaska's like a can that's had two holes punched in it and the lid left on. If we take the lid off there are great areas that can be developed - for agriculture, housing, industry. In time, as we learn to beat the weather, we'd push even further...' It was hard to think all the time in terms of imminent war.
'Well,' the President said, 'we've decided to let the plebiscite go through. I may have a fight on my hands - our people don't like taking stars off the flag once they put them on. But, like you, I figure I can have my way.'
'I'm glad,' James Howden said. 'Very glad.'
'You received the draft of our joint statement?'
'Yes,' Howden acknowledged. 'Angry flew out West to meet m
e. I made some suggestions and left him to work out the details with Arthur Lexington.'
'Then we'll have it settled by tomorrow morning, with Alaska in the next. After the statement, when it comes to our separate speeches, I shall emphasize self-determination for Alaska. I presume you'll do the same.'
'Yes, I shall.' The Prime Minister added dryly, 'For Alaska and Canada.'
'Four o'clock then, tomorrow afternoon.' The President chuckled. 'I suppose we should synchronize our watches.'
'Four o'clock,' Howden said. He had a sense of finality, as if somewhere a door were closing.
The President's voice came softly through the phone. 'Jim.'
'Yes, Tyler?'
'Things are no better internationally; you know that.'
'If anything,' Howden said, 'I'd say they're worse.'
'You remember what I said: that I'm praying for the gift of a year before the fighting starts. It's the best we can hope for.'
'Yes,' Howden said. 'I remember.'
There was a pause, with heavy breathing, as if a moment of emotion were being controlled. Then the voice said quietly, 'This is a good thing we are doing, Jim. The very best... for the-children ... their children yet to come...'
For a moment there was silence. Then, with a click, the line went dead.
When he had replaced the red telephone James Howden stood meditatively in the silen4>book-lined study. A portrait of Sir John A. Macdonald, founder of Canadian confederation, statesman, bon-vivctnt, and tippler extraordinary, looked down upon him.
This was a moment of triumph, Howden supposed. A moment ago the President had been jocular in his concession of the Alaska plebiscite, but it must have been bitter medicine to take and, except for Howden's own toughness in negotiations, the concession would never have been won. Now, as well as the other benefits for Canada, there was a single big red apple in return for the loss of a large part of Canadian sovereignty. He thought inconsequentially: A is for Apple; A is for Alaska.
There was a single tap upon the study's double doors. 'Yes,' he called.
It was Yarrow, the steward. The soft-footed, ageing major-domo of Number 24 announced, 'Mr Cawston is here, sir. He informs me it's very urgent.' Behind Yarrow, in the upstairs hallway, Howden could see the Finance Minister, wearing a heavy overcoat and scarf, homburg hat in hand.
He called, 'Come in, Stu.'
Entering the study, Cawston shook his head as Yarrow moved to take his outer clothing. 'I'll only be a few minutes;
I'll leave these here.' He slipped off the overcoat, folding it over a chair, the hat and scarf beside it. Turning, he smiled automatically, rubbed a hand across his balding head, then, as the door closed behind the steward, his face became sombre. 'I've bad news,' he announced tersely. 'About as bad as it can be.'
Howden waited.
Cawston said heavily, 'The Cabinet is split - right down the middle.'
James Howden allowed the words to sink in before replying.
'I don't understand,' he said. 'I was under the impression--'
'So was I,' Cawston affirmed. 'I thought you had them sold - all of us.' He gestured deprecatingly. 'Except for one or two who might have resigned after tomorrow.'
Howden nodded. Since his return from Washington there had been two full cabinet sessions on the Act of Union. The first had followed the pattern of the Defence Committee on Christmas Eve. At the second, enthusiasm had started to generate as advantages to Canada had begun to be seen. There had, of course, been a few dissidents; that was to be expected. He had foreseen, too, the inevitability of one or two resignations - they would have to be accepted and the subsequent disturbance weathered. But not a major cabinet split...
He commanded crisply, 'Give me the details.'
'There are nine involved.'
'Nine!' So Cawston had not exaggerated when he said 'down the middle'. It was more than a third of the Cabinet.
'It wouldn't have been as many, I'm sure,' Smiling Stu stated apologetically, 'if it hadn't been for the leadership...'
'Leadership!' Howden snapped. 'What leadership?'
'This is going to surprise you.' Cawston hesitated, as if anticipating the Prime Minister's anger. 'The leader of the revolt is Adrian Nesbitson.'
Stunned, incredulous, James Howden stared.
As if anticipating, Cawston said, 'There's no mistake; it's Adrian Nesbitson. He began two days ago. He persuaded the others.'
'The fool! That old, useless fool!'
'No.' Cawston shook his head firmly. 'That won't do. You can't dismiss him like that.'
'But we had an agreement. We made a deal.' The arrangement on the aeroplane had been clear. The Governor Generalship, and in return the ageing Defence Minister's support...
Cawston declared decisively, 'Whatever deal you had has gone by default.'
The two men were still standing. Grimly, the Prime Minister asked, 'Who are the others?'
'Borden Tayne, George Yhorkis, Aaron Gold, Rita Buchanan...' Smiling Stu ran quickly through the remaining names. 'But Adrian is the one who counts. He's holding them together.'
'Lucien Perrault is still with us?' He thought quickly of Quebec: the important French Canadian support.
Cawston nodded.
It was like a bad dream, Howden thought; a nightmare in which ridiculous things had ousted sanity. After a while he would wake up.
There was a knock on the hallway door and Yarrow entered. He announced, 'Your car is waiting, sir. It's time to leave for the airport.'
Cawston said urgently, 'Adrian has become a changed man. It's almost as if...' He struggled for a metaphor '... as if a mummy had been given blood and come to life. He's talked with me and I can tell you--'
'Don't tell me!' This had gone far enough. 'I'll talk to him myself.'
James Howden calculated rapidly. Time was ebbing away; there were few remaining hours between now and four o'clock tomorrow afternoon.
'Adrian knows he has to-see you,' Cawston said. 'He's holding himself available.'
'Where?'
'The whole group is in Arthur Lexington's office. I came from there. Arthur's talking to them; not getting anywhere,
I'm afraid.'
The steward coughed discreetly. Tonight's schedule, Howden knew was exceptionally tight. He had a vision of the waiting car; the VIP Vanguard warming up at Uplands Airport; the helicopter standing by at Montreal; a packed expectant audience ...
He said decisively, 'Nesbitson must come with me to Montreal. If he leaves for the airport now, he can be on my plane.'
Cawston nodded swiftly. 'I'll take care of it.' He was already on the telephone as Howden left.
Chapter 3
The Prime Minister's Oldsmobile drove directly to the waiting aircraft.
The Vanguard's navigation lights flashed rhythmically in the darkness as ground crew, wrapped in hooded parkas, surrounded it like busy moles. A battery cart - ready for starting motors - was plugged into the fuselage.
The chauffeur opened the car door and the Prime Minister alighted. At the foot of the loading ramp, his coat collar tightly clasped against the wind and drifting snow, Brian Richardson was waiting. He" said, without preliminary, 'The old boy just got here. He's in your cabin, strapped in, with a scotch and soda in his hand.'
Howden stopped. He asked, 'Stu told you?'
Richardson nodded.
'I'll try reasoning with him,' Howden said grimly. 'I don't know what else I can do.'
'Have you considered throwing him out?' The party director grinned dourly. 'Say, at five thousand feet.'
Despite his own depression, Howden laughed. 'That way we'd have two martyrs: one in Vancouver, one here.' He started up the ramp steps, then called over his shoulder, 'Besides, after today, the news can only get better.'
'Good luck, chief!' the party director shouted. But his words were whipped away by the wind.
In the compact VIP drawing-room, its ordered luxury softly lighted, the short pudgy figure of General Nesbitson was strapped int
o one of the four deep reclining chairs. As Richardson had said, the Defence Minister was holding a drink which he put down as the Prime Minister entered.
Outside there was a whine as the turbo-prop motors came to life.
The flight-sergeant steward hovered behind Howden, who shook his head. 'Leave everything,' he ordered curtly. 'There's nothing I need and we'd like to be alone.' He threw his outdoor clothing over one of the spare chairs and sat down facing the older man. One of the cabin reading lights, he noticed, had been turned on. It shone down on Nesbitson's balding head and pink-cheeked face like an interrogation lamp above a prisoner. Well, Howden thought, perhaps it was an omen of the line he should take.
'This is a short flight,' he said peremptorily, 'and we have very little time. I believe you owe me an explanation.'
The Vanguard was taxi-ing now and, judging by their motion, moving fast. There was to be little delay. Tonight, How-| den knew, they would have priority over everything else in the air.
Momentarily the old man flushed at Howden's tone. Then he said with surprising firmness, 'I should have thought the explanation would be clear. Prime Minister. I intend to resign in protest against what you are planning, and so do others.'
James Howden inquired coolly, 'Isn't there something you've forgotten? - a compact we made. Here, in this aeroplane, ten days ago?'
The old man's eyes were steadfast. He said evenly, 'I am ashamed to remember it. I believe we both should be.'
'Speak of your own shame,' Howden flared, 'not mine. I am trying to save this country. You and your kind, looking backward, would destroy it.'
'If you are saving Canada, why plan to give it away?' There was a hint of new strength behind the words. Howden remembered what Stu Cawston had said: 'Adrian is a changed man.' Physically he seemed less shrunken, to have more stature than before.
'If you are speaking of the Act of Union,' the Prime Minister argued, 'we shall gain far more than we shall give.'
The old man replied bitterly, 'Disbanding our armed forces; having the Yanks move in without restraint; letting them run our foreign policy - you call that gaining?'
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