Chapter 2

Less than a quarter-mile from Brian Richardson, within the sacrosanct cloister of the Rideau Club on Wellington Street, Senator Richard Deveraux, who was killing time before a scheduled jet flight to Vancouver, also read both papers, then rested his cigar in an ashtray and smilingly tore the stowaway item out. Unlike Richardson, who hoped fervently that the case would not embarrass the Government, the Senator - chairman of the Opposition party organization - was happily confident that it would.

Senator Deveraux had purloined the news item in the Rideau Club's reading room - a square, lofty chamber overlooking Parliament Hill, and guarded at its doorway by a stern bronze bust of Queen Victoria. To the ageing Senator, both the reading room and the club itself were an old familiar habitat.

The Rideau Club of Ottawa (as its members sometimes point out) is so exclusive and discreet that not even its name appears outside the building. A pedestrian passing by would never know what place it was unless he were told, and, if curious, he might take it for a private, though somewhat seedy, mansion.

Within the club, above a pillared entrance hall and broad divided stairway, the atmosphere is just as rarefied. There is no rule about silence, but most times of the day a sepulchral hush prevails and newer members tend to speak in whispers.

Membership of the Rideau Club, though non-partisan, is made up largely of Ottawa's political elite - cabinet ministers, judges, senators, diplomats, military chiefs of staff, top civil servants, a handful of trusted journalists, and the few ordinary Members of Parliament who can afford the stiff fees. But despite the non-partisan policy a good deal of political business is transacted. In fact, some of the larger decisions affecting Canada's development have been shaped, over brandy and cigars, by Rideau Club cronies, relaxed in the club's deep red-leather armchairs, as Senator Deveraux was relaxing now.

In his mid-seventies Richard Borden Deveraux was an imposing figure - tall, straight-backed, with clear eyes and a healthy robustness which had come from a lifetime entirely without exercise. His paunch was sufficient for distinction but not for ridicule. His manner was an amiable mixture of bluffness and bulldozing which produced results but rarely gave offence. He talked at length and gave the impression of listening not at all, though, in fact, there was little that he missed. He had prestige, influence and enormous wealth founded upon, a western Canada logging empire bequeathed by an earlier,, Deveraux.

Now, rising from his chair, the Senator proceeded, cigar jutting ahead, to one of two unobtrusive telephones - direct exchange lines - in the rear of the club. He dialled two numbers before reaching the man he wanted. On the second call he located the Hon Bonar Deitz, leader of the parliamentary Opposition. Deitz was in his Centre Block office.

'Bonar, my boy,' Senator Deveraux announced, Tm delighted, if surprised on Christmas Eve, to find you applying yourself so assiduously.'

'I've been writing letters,' the voice of Deitz said shortly. 'I'm going home now.'

'Splendid!' the Senator boomed. 'Will you stop in at the club on the way? Something has arisen and we need to get together.'

There was the beginning of a protest from the other end of the line which the Senator cut off. 'Now, my boy, that's not the attitude at all - not if you want our side to win elections and make you Prime Minister instead of that bag of wind James Howden. And you do want to be Prime Minister, don't you?' The Senator's voice took on a caressing note. 'Well, you will be, Bonar boy, never fear. Don't be long now. I'm waiting.'

Chuckling, the Senator padded to a chair in the club's main lounge, his canny mind already at work on methods of turning the news item he had read to the Opposition party's advantage. Soon there was a cloud of cigar smoke above him as he indulged his favourite mental exercise.

Richard Deveraux had never been a statesman, either young or elder, or even a serious legislator. His chosen field was political manipulation and he had practised it all his life. He enjoyed the exercise of semi-anonymous power. Within his party he had held few elective offices (his current tenure as organization chairman was a belated exception), yet in party affairs he had wielded authority as few others before him. There had been nothing sinister about this. It was based simply upon two factors - a natural political astuteness which in the past had made his advice eagerly sought, plus the judicious use of money.

In time, and during one of his own party's periods in power, these dual activities had brought Richard Deveraux the ultimate reward bestowed among the party faithful - a lifetime appointment to the Canadian Senate, whose members were once accurately described by one of their own as 'the highest class of pensioners in Canada'.

Like most of his elderly Senate brethren, Senator Deveraux rarely attended the few perfunctory debates which the upper chamber held as proof of its existence, and only on two occasions had he ever risen to speak. The first was to propose additional reserved parking for Senators on Parliament Hill, the second to complain that the Senate ventilating system was producing draughts. Both pleas resulted in action which, as Senator Deveraux was wont to observe dryly, 'is more than you can say for the majority of Senate speeches'.

It was ten minutes since the phone call and the leader of the Opposition had not yet appeared. But he knew that eventually Bonar Deitz would come, and meanwhile the Senator closed his eyes to doze. Almost at once - age and a heavy lunch taking their toll - he was asleep.