'Good heavens!' Margaret whispered. 'You'd think we were going to China as missionaries.'
'I know,' he answered. 'It's a nuisance, but people seem to expect this sort of thing.'
'Don't be silly,' Margaret said softly. Her hand touched his. 'You love it all, and there's no reason you shouldn't.'
The limousine swung in a wide arc across the airport ramp, halting smoothly near the VIP Vanguard, its fuselage gleaming in the morning sunshine, the RCAF crew drawn up at attention alongside. An RCMP constable opened the car door and Margaret alighted, James Howden following. The military and police snapped to salutes and the Prime Minister raised the new pearl-grey homburg which Margaret had brought him back from her shopping trip in Montreal. There was an air of expectancy among those waiting, he thought; or perhaps it was the sharp, cold wind sweeping across the airport runways which made faces seem tense. He wondered about secrecy - whether it had been preserved, or if there had been leakage, with hints of the true importance' of today's journey.
Stuart Cawston stepped forward, beaming. Smiling Stu, as the senior member of Cabinet, would be Acting Prime Minister in Howden's absence. 'Greetings, sir - and Margaret,' the Finance Minister said. Then, as they shook hands, 'We are, as you see, a sizeable cheering section.'
'Where are the massed bands?' Margaret asked irreverently. 'It seems the only thing missing.'
'It's supposed to be a secret,' Cawston answered lightly, 'but we flew them ahead to Washington disguised as US Marines. So if you see any, assume they're ours.' He touched the Prime Minister's arm. His face becoming serious, he asked, 'Is there any further word - proof or disproof?'
James Howden shook his head. There was no need for explanations; the question was one which the world had been asking ever since, forty-eight hours earlier, Moscow had trumpeted the destruction of a US nuclear submarine, the Defiant, in the East Siberian Sea. According to the Russian claim -which Washington had since denied - the submarine had encroached on Soviet territorial waters. The incident had brought to an apparent peak mounting world tensions of the past few weeks.
'There can't possibly be any proof, not now,' Howden said softly. The welcoming group waited as he spoke earnestly to Cawston. 'I believe it's a calculated act of provocation and we should resist any temptation to retaliate. I intend to urge that on the White House because we still need time - as much as we can get.'
'I agree,' Cawston said quietly.
'I've ruled against any statement or protest ourselves,' the Prime Minister said, 'and you must understand there's to be none unless Arthur and I decide in Washington, and in that case it'll be from there. Is that clear?'
'Quite clear,' Cawston said. 'Frankly I'm glad it's you and Arthur, and not me.'
They returned to the waiting group and James Howden began to shake hands. At the same time the other three cabinet members who would accompany him on the flight - Arthur Lexington, Adrian Nesbitson, and Styles Bracken of Trade and Commerce - fell in behind.
Adrian Nesbitson looked a good deal healthier, Howden thought, than the last time they had met. The old warrior, pink cheeked and tightly cocooned in woollen scarf, fur hat, and heavy overcoat, had a touch of his parade-ground manner and was obviously enjoying the occasion, as he did all ceremonial. They must talk during the flight, Howden realized there had been no opportunity since the Defence Committee meeting and it was essential, somehow, to bring the old man into line. Even though Nesbitson would not participate directly in the Presidential talks, there must be no apparent dissension within the Canadian group.
Behind Nesbitson, Arthur Lexington wore the casual air becoming an External Affairs Minister to whom travel anywhere in the world was routine business. Seemingly unbothered by the cold, he had on a soft felt hat and light topcoat, his customary bow tie visible beneath. Bracken, the Trade and Commerce Minister, a wealthy westerner who had joined the Cabinet only a few months earlier, was being taken along- for appearance's sake, since trade was supposed to be the main topic in the Washington talks.
Harvey Warrender was in the cabinet line-up. 'A profitable -journey.' His manner was carefully correct, containing no hint of their previous clash. He added, 'And you too, Margaret.'
'Thank you,' the Prime Minister answered. His response was notably less courteous than to the others.
Unexpectedly Margaret said, 'Haven't you a Latin tag for us, Harvey?'
Warrender's eyes flickered between the two. 'Sometimes I have the impression your husband dislikes my little gambits.'
'Never mind that,' Margaret said. 'I think it's rather fun.' -
The Immigration Minister smiled slightly. 'In that. case, may it be true: vectatio, interque, et mutata regio vigorem dant.'
'I dig the vigorem bit,' Stuart Cawston said. 'What's the rest, Harvey?'
'An observation of Seneca,' Warrender responded. 'Voyage, travel, and a change of place impart vigour.'
'I'm quite vigorous, with or without travel,' James Howden declared curtly. The exchange had annoyed him and he took Margaret's arm firmly, steering her towards the US Ambassador who moved forward, doffing his hat. As if instinctively the others held back.
'Angry, this is an unexpected pleasure,' Howden said.
'On the contrary. Prime Minister - my privilege and honour.' The ambassador bowed slightly to Margaret. Phillip Angrove, a grizzled career diplomat with friends in many countries of the world, had a way of making protocol courtesies seem personally meant, as perhaps, at times, they were. We tend too much, Howden thought, to discount everything that is said politely as surface dressing only. He noticed the ambassador was stooped at the shoulders rather more than usual.
Margaret had observed too. 'I hope your arthritis hasn't bothered you again, Mr Angrove.'
'It has, I'm afraid.' A rueful smile. 'The Canadian winter has many delights, Mrs Howden, but also penalties for us arthritics.'
'For heaven's sake don't be polite about our winter!' Margaret exclaimed. 'My husband and I were born here and still dislike it.'
'I hope not entirely.' The ambassador spoke quietly, his seamed face meditative. 'I have often considered, Mrs Howden, that Canadians have much to thank their climate for: stalwart character and hardihood, but with great warmth seldom far away.'
'If true, it's another reason we've so much in common.' James Howden offered his hand. 'You'll be joining us in Washington, I understand.'
The ambassador nodded assent. 'My own flight leaves a few minutes after yours.' As their hands clasped, 'A safe journey, sir, and a return with honour.'
As Howden and Margaret turned away, towards the waiting aircraft, the Press group closed in. There were a dozen reporters from the parliamentary press gallery and wire services, along with a self-important TV interviewer and accompanying film crew. Brian Richardson had stationed himself where he could hear and be seen by Howden, and the Prime Minister gave a grin and friendly nod, to which Richardson responded. The two of them had already discussed press arrangements for the trip and agreed that the principal official statement -though still not revealing the major issues involved - should be made on arrival in Washington. AU the same, Howden knew he must provide something for use by the Ottawa press corps. He spoke briefly, employing some of the regular platitudes concerning Canada-US relations. He then awaited questions.
The first was from the TV interviewer. 'There have been rumours, Mr Prime Minister, that this trip of yours may involve more than just trade talks.'
'Well, that's true,' Howden said with apparent seriousness. 'K there's time the President and I may play a little handball.' There was a ripple of laughter; he had touched the right note, being good-natured without scoring off the interviewer.
'But besides the sporting side, sir' -- the TV man smiled dutifully, exposing a double moon of faultless white teeth -'hasn't there been some talk of major military decisions being taken at this time?'
So there had been leakage, after all, though obviously just in a general way. It was not surprising really, Howden thought;
he had once heard someone say that when a secret went beyond a single person it was a secret no longer. All the same it was a reminder that vital information could not be stoppered up too long, and after Washington he must act quickly if he hoped to control release of the major news himself.
Now he answered, speaking carefully and remembering that what he said could be quoted later on, 'Naturally the subject of our joint defence will be discussed in Washington, as it always is on these occasions, along with other subjects of mutual concern. But as to decisions, any decisions will, of course, be taken in Ottawa with the full knowledge of Parliament and, if necessary, parliamentary approval.'
There was a small outburst of hand clapping from spectators.
'Can you say, Mr Howden,' the TV interviewer asked, 'whether the recent submarine incident will be discussed and, if so, what the Canadian attitude will be?'
'I am quite sure it will be discussed,' Howden answered, his long, beaked face serious, 'and naturally we share the deep United States concern at the tragic loss of the Defiant and its crew. But beyond that, at present, I have no further statement to make.'
'In that case, sir...' the TV man began, but another reporter cut in impatiently, 'Do you mind if someone else has a turn, chum? Newspapers haven't been abolished yet, you know.'
There was a murmur of assent from others in the press group and James Howden smiled inwardly. He saw the TV interviewer flush, then nod to the camera crew. That particular portion of film, the Prime Minister guessed, would be edited out later.
The interrupter, a brisk, middle-aged journalist named George Haskins who worked for the Winnipeg Free Press, now proclaimed, 'Mr Prime Minister, I'd like to ask a question, not about Washington, but about the Government's stand on this man-without-a-country issue.'
James Howden frowned. Puzzled, he asked, 'How's that again, George?'
'I'm talking about this young fellow Henri Duval, sir - the one in Vancouver that the Immigration Department won't let in. Can you tell us why the Government is taking the stand it is?'
Howden caught Brian Richardson's eye and the party director shoved forward to the front. 'Gentlemen,' Richardson said, 'surely this is not the time...'
'Like hell it isn't, Brian!' the reporter Haskins flared. 'It's the hottest news story in the country, that's all.' Someone else added grumblingly, 'What with TV and public relations you can't hardly ask questions any more.'
Good-humouredly James Howden interposed, 'I'll answer any question that I can. I always have, haven't I?'
Haskins said, 'Yes, sir, you sure have. It's just other people who try to do the blocking.' He glared accusingly at Brian Richardson, who stared back, his face impassive.
'My only doubt' - the Prime Minister said, 'and obviously Mr Richardson's - is whether the subject matter is appropriate at this particular time.' He hoped he could lead the questioning away; if not, he supposed he would have to make the best of it. Sometimes he thought, there must be advantages in having a press secretary - as the US President did - who could handle this kind of thing. But he had always avoided appointing one for fear of becoming too remote.
Tomkins of the Toronto Star, a mild, scholarly Englishman who was greatly respected in the capital, said courteously, 'The fact is, sir, most of us here have telegrams from our editors asking for a quote from you about this man Duval. A lot of people, it seems, are interested in what's going to happen to him.'
'I see.' There was to be no avoidance of the subject then. Even a Prime Minister, if he were wise, could not bypass that kind of appeal. It was infuriating, however, to realize that some of the attention to his own Washington journey might be taken away as a result. Howden considered carefully. He could see Harvey Warrender edging nearer but ignored him, remembering angrily the other's obstinate stupidity which had caused this to happen. He caught Richardson's eye. The party director's expression seemed to say: 'I warned you there could be trouble if we didn't keep Warrender in line.' Or perhaps by now Richardson had guessed there was an additional factor involved; he was shrewd enough for that. But either way, with Harvey Warrender's threat still poised like a guillotine, James Howden himself would have to deal with the situation as competently as he could. One thing was certain, he reasoned: the incident, while briefly embarrassing, was the type of thing which would undoubtedly blow over in a few days and be forgotten. He noticed the TV film camera was in action again; perhaps, after all, this was a good time to explain the official position forcefully and thereby silence criticism.
'All right, gentlemen,' the Prime Minister declared briskly, 'here is what I have to say.' In front of him pencils poised, then scribbled as he began.
'It has been pointed out to me that there has been considerable newspaper coverage concerning the individual whose name Mr Haskins mentioned a moment ago. Some of the reports, I must say quite frankly, have been of a somewhat sensational nature, tending to ignore certain facts - facts which the Government, because of its responsibilities, cannot ignore.'
'Will you tell us what these are, sir?' This time, the Montreal Gazette.
'M you'll be patient I'm coming to that,' Howden's voice held a touch of sharpness. He disliked interruptions and it did no harm occasionally to remind these men that they were not interviewing some junior minister. 'I was about to remark that there are many individual cases receiving no publicity but which, nevertheless, come regularly before the Department of Citizenship and Immigration. And dealing with such cases, fairly and humanely, yet on the basis of law, is not a new experience either for this Government or its Immigration officers.'
The Ottawa Journal asked, 'Isn't this case a little different, Mr Prime Minister? I mean, the man having no country and all that.'
James Howden said soberly, 'When you are dealing with human beings, Mr Chase, every case is different. That is why - to provide a measure of fairness and consistency - we have an Immigration Act, approved by Parliament and the Canadian people. The Government, as it must by law, operates within the framework of that act and, in the instance we are speaking of, this is exactly what has been done.' He paused, waiting for the note takers to catch up with his words, then continued. 'I have, of course, none of the details immediately before me. But I have been assured that the application of the young man in question has been considered carefully on its merits and that he is in no way admissible to Canada under the Immigration Act.'
A young reporter, whom Howden failed to recognize, asked, 'Wouldn't you say, sir, there are times when human considerations are more important than technicalities?'
Howden smiled. 'If you are asking me a rhetorical question, my answer is that human considerations are always important, and this Government has frequently demonstrated its awareness of them. But if your question is specifically about the case we are speaking of, let me repeat that human factors have been taken into account as far as is possible. However, I must remind you again that the Government is bound - as it must, and should be - by what it can accomplish legally.'
The wind blew bitingly and James Howden felt Margaret shiver beside him. This was enough, he decided; the next question would be the last. It came from the mild-mannered Tomkins who began, almost apologetically, 'The Leader of the Opposition made a statement earlier this morning, sir.' The reporter shuffled copy paper, consulting his notes, then went on, 'Mr Deitz said, "The Government should resolve the case of Henri Duval on broad human principles, rather than stubborn adherence to the letter of the law. The Minister of Citizenship and Immigration has power, if he chooses to use it, to enact an order in council permitting this tragically unfortunate young man to enter Canada as an immigrant."'
'The Minister has no such power,' James Howden snapped. 'The power is vested in the Crown in the person of the Governor General. Mr Bonar Deitz is equally aware of that as anyone else.'
There was a moment's silence, then with bland innocence the reporter asked, 'But doesn't the Governor General always do exactly what you yourself recommend, sir, including waiving the Immigration Act
, which has happened quite a few times, I believe?' For all his seeming mildness, Tomkins had one of the sharpest minds in the Ottawa press corps, and Howden realized he had walked into a verbal trap.
'I have always understood that the Opposition object to government by order in council,' he said sharply. But it was a weak answer and he knew it. He caught sight of Brian Richardson's face suffused with anger - and with good reason, Howden thought. Not only had the focus of attention shifted from the important Washington mission to this trivial affair, but he himself had not come out of the question well.
He decided to recover as best he could, 'I am sorry to learn from the reference to Mr Deitz that the matter we are speaking of could become an issue, perhaps, between political parties. My own conviction is that it should not.' He paused for effect, then continued earnestly, 'As I indicated earlier, there are no grounds for admitting this man Duval to Canada under our present laws and, from what I am told, many other countries have taken a similar stand. Nor do I see any obligation upon Canada to take such action when other countries will riot. As to the facts, both known and alleged, let me assure you again that these have been examined thoroughly by the Department of Citizenship and Immigration before a decision was reached. And now, gentlemen, if you please, that is all.'
He had been tempted to add something about newspapers maintaining a sense of news proportion, but decided not; the Press, while every brother's keeper, could be savagely resentful when criticized itself. Instead, smiling outwardly but seething with inner fury at Harvey Warrender, the Prime Minister took Margaret's arm and walked towards the waiting aircraft. Applause and cheers from his supporters followed them.
Chapter 2
The VIP turbo-prop Vanguard, maintained by the Government for official flights, was partitioned into three compartments - a conventional section forward for non-ministerial staff who had been boarded before the Prime Minister's arrival; a more comfortable centre cabin, now occupied by the three ministers and several deputies; and, aft, a comfortably upholstered drawing-room, decorated in pastel shades of blue, with a cosily compact bedroom adjoining.
In High Places Page 20
