In High Places (3 page)

'That's impossible!'

'Shush! I don't know how it happened, but it has.'

'We'll have to get an emergency supply.'

'Charles has phoned the air force mess. They're rushing some over.'

'My God!' There was a plaintiveness to His Excellency's voice. 'Can't we ever entertain without something going wrong?'

Arthur Lexington murmured, 'I suppose I must drink my coffee neat.' He glanced at the fresh glass of grape juice which a few minutes earlier had been brought to James Howden. 'You don't have to worry. They've probably got gallons of that.'

The Governor General was muttering angrily, 'I'll have someone's scalp for this.'

'Now, Sheldon' - still the whispers, host and hostess oblivious of their amused audience - 'it's just one of those things, and you know how careful one has to be with the help.'

'Blast the help!'

Natalie Griffiths said patiently, 'I thought you ought to know. But let me deal with it, dear.'

"Oh, very well.' His Excellency smiled - a mixture of resignation and affection - and together they returned to their original place by the fire.

'Sic (transit gloria
. The voice which launched a thousand aeroplanes may not now rebuke the scullery maid.' It had been said with an edge and a shade too loudly. The Prime Minister frowned.

The speaker was Harvey Warrender, Minister of Citizenship and Immigration. He stood beside them now, a tall, pudgily built figure with thinning hair and a bass, booming voice. His manner was habitually didactic - a hangover, perhaps, from the years he had spent as a college professor, before entering politics.

'Steady, Harvey,' Arthur Lexington said. That's royalty you're treading on.'

'Sometimes,' Warrender responded, his voice lower, 'I resent reminders that brass hats invariably survive.'

There was an uncomfortable silence. The reference was well understood. The Warrenders' only son, a young air force officer, had been killed heroically in action during World War II. The father's pride in his son had been lasting, as had his grief;

Several replies to his remark about brass hats might easily have been made. The Governor General had fought bravely in two wars, and the Victoria Cross was not awarded lightly ... Death and sacrifice in war observed no boundaries of rank or age...

It seemed best to say nothing.

'Well, on with the motley,' Arthur Lexington said brightly. 'Excuse me, Prime Minister; Harvey.' He nodded, then crossed the room to rejoin his wife.

'Why is it,' Warrender said, 'that to some people certain subjects arc embarrassing? Or is there a cut-off date for remembrance?'

'I think it's mainly a question of the time and place.' James Howden had no desire to pursue the subject. He sometimes wished he could dispense with Harvey Warrender as a member of the Government, but there were compelling reasons he could not.

Seeking to change the subject, the Prime Minister said, 'Harvey, I've been wanting to talk about your department.' He was remiss, he supposed, in using a social occasion for so much official business. But of late many subjects he should have dealt with at his desk had to stand aside for more urgent business. Immigration was one.

'Is it praise or blame you are about to tender me?' Harvey Warrender's question had a touch of belligerence. Plainly the drink he was holding was not his first.

Howden was reminded of a conversation a few days ago when he and the party director had been discussing current political problems. Brian Richardson had said: 'The Immigration Department has got us a consistently bad press, and unfortunately it's one of the few issues that electors can understand. You can fool around with tariffs and the bank rate all you want, and the votes it will affect are negligible. But let the papers get one picture of a mother and child being deported -like that case last month - and that's when the party needs to worry.'

Momentarily, Howden experienced a sense of anger at having to consider trivia when - particularly now - bigger and vital issues demanded so much of his mind. Then he reflected that the need to mix homely things with great affairs had always been a politician's lot. Often it was a key to power -never to lose sight of small events amid the big. And immigration was a subject which always disturbed him. It had so many facets, hedged around with political pitfalls as well as advantages. The difficult thing was to be certain which were which.

Canada was still a promised land for many, and likely to remain so; therefore any Government must handle its population inlet valves with extreme caution. Too many immigrants from one source, too few from another, could be sufficient to change the balance of power within a generation. In a way, the Prime Minister thought, we have our own apartheid policy, though fortunately the barriers of race and colour are set up discreetly and put into effect beyond our borders, in Canadian embassies and consulates overseas. And definite as they are, at home we can pretend they do not exist.

Some people in the country, he knew, wanted more immigration, others less. The 'more' group included idealists who would fling the doors wide open to all comers, and employers, who favoured a bigger labour force. Opposition to immigration usually came from labour unions, given to crying 'unemployment' each time immigration was discussed, and failing to recognize that unemployment, in some degree at least, was a necessary economic fact of life. On this side also were the Anglo-Saxon and Protestant segments - in surprising numbers - who objected to 'too many-foreigners', particularly if the immigrants happened to be Catholic. Often it was necessary for the Government to walk a tightrope to avoid alienating one side or the other.

He decided this was a moment to be blunt. 'Your department has been getting a bad press, Harvey, and I think a good deal of it is your own fault. I want you to take a tighter hold of things and stop letting your officials have so much of their own way. Replace a few if you have to, even the top; we can't fire civil servants but we've plenty of shelves to put them on. And for God's sake keep those controversial immigration cases out of the papers! The one last month, for example - the woman and child.'

'That woman had been running a brothel in Hong Kong,' Harvey Warrender said. 'And she had VD.'

'Perhaps that isn't a good example. But there've been plenty of others, and when these sensitive cases come up you make the Government look like some heartless ogre, which harms us all.'

The Prime Minister had spoken quietly but intensely, his strong eyes riveting the other man.

'Obviously,' Warrender said, 'my question is answered. Praise is not the order of the day.'

James Howden said sharply, 'It isn't a question of praise or blame. It's a matter of good political judgement.'

'And your political judgement has always been better than mine, Jim. Isn't that so?' Warrender's eyes squinted upward. 'Otherwise I might be leader of the party instead of you.'

Howden made no reply. The liquor in the other man was obviously taking hold. Now Warrender said, 'What my officials are doing is administering the law as it stands. I happen to think they're performing a good job. If you don't like it, why don't we get together and amend the Immigration Act?'

He had made a mistake, the Prime Minister decided, in choosing this time and place to talk. Seeking to end the conversation, he said, 'We can't do that. There's too much else in our legislative programme.'

'Balls!'

It was like a whipcrack in the room. There was a second's silence. Heads turned. The Prime Minister saw the Governor General glance in their direction. Then conversation resumed, but Howden could sense that others were listening.

'You're afraid of immigration,' Warrender said. 'We're all afraid - the way every other Government has been. That's why we won't admit a few things honestly, even among ourselves.'

Stuart Cawston, who had finished his conjuring tricks a moment or two earlier, strolled with seeming casualness to join them. 'Harvey,' the Finance Minister said cheerfully, 'you're making an ass of yourself.'

'Take care of him, Stu,' the Prime Minister said. He could feel his anger growing; if he continued to handle this himself there was a danger he would lose his temper, always volatile, which could only make the situation worse. Moving away, he joined Margaret and another group.

But he could still hear Warrender, this time addressing Cawston.

'When it comes to immigration I tell you we Canadians are a bunch of hypocrites. Our immigration policy - the policy that I administer, my friends - has to say one thing and mean another.'

'Tell me later,' Stuart Cawston said. He was still trying to smile, but barely succeeding.

'I'll tell you now!' Harvey Warrender had gripped the Finance Minister's arm firmly. 'There are two things this country needs if it's to go on expanding and everybody in this room knows it. One is a good big pool of unemployed for industry to draw on, and the other is a continued Anglo-Saxon majority. But do we ever admit it in public? No!'

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.