Part 7

The Hon Harvey Warrender

Chapter 1

The brief respite of Christmas had sped by as if it had never been.

On Christmas Day the Howdens had gone to early Communion and, after returning home, received guests until lunch-time - mostly official callers and a few family friends. In the afternoon the Lexingtons had driven over, and the Prime Minister and Arthur Lexington spent two hours closeted privately, discussing arrangements for Washington. Later, Margaret and James Howden talked by transatlantic telephone to their daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren in London, who were spending Christmas together. By the time everyone had spoken to everyone else it was a lengthy call and, glancing at his watch at one point, James Howden was glad that his wealthy industrialist son-in-law, and not himself, would receive the bill. Later still, the Howdens dined quietly by themselves and afterwards the Prime Minister worked alone in his study while Margaret watched a movie on television. It was the sad, gentle James Hilton story Goodbye, Mr Chips, and Margaret was reminded nostalgically that she and her husband had seen it together in the 1930s, but now the star, Robert Donat, and its author were long dead, and nowadays the Howdens no longer went to movies ... At 11.30 after saying goodnight, Margaret went to bed, while James Howden continued to work until 1 AM.

Milly Freedeman's Christmas Day had been less arduous, but also less interesting. She had wakened late and, after some mental indecision, went to a church service but not Communion. In the afternoon she took a taxi to the home of a former girlfriend from Toronto, now married and living in Ottawa, who had invited Milly for Christmas dinner. There were several small children in the household, who became trying after a while and, later still, boredom set in at the inevitable talk of child management, domestic help, and the cost of living. Once more - as she had on other occasions - Milly realized she was not fooling herself in believing that scenes of so-called domestic bliss held no charm for her. She preferred her own comfortable apartment, independence, and the work and responsibility she enjoyed. Then she thought: maybe I'm just getting old and sour, but all the same it was a relief when it became time to go. Her friend's husband drove her home and, on the way, made tentative advances which Milly rejected firmly.

Throughout the day she had thought a good deal about Brian Richardson, wondering what he was doing and if he would telephone. When he failed to call, her disappointment was intense.

Common sense warned Milly against deeper emotional involvement. She reminded herself of Richardson's marriage, the unlikelihood of anything permanent between the two of them, her own vulnerability ... But the image persisted, daydreams ousting reason, an echo of softly whispered words: I want you, Milly I don't know any other way to say it, except I want you ... And in the end it was this thought which became, deliciously and dreamily, her last remembrance of the waking day.

Brian Richardson had a hard-working Christmas Day. He had left Milly's apartment in the early morning and, after four hours of sleep, his alarm clock wakened him. Eloise, he noticed, had not come in overnight, a fact occasioning no surprise. After fixing breakfast for himself he had driven to party headquarters on Sparks Street, where he remained through most of the day, working on details of the general campaign plan he had discussed with the Prime Minister. Since only a janitor and himself were in the building and there were no interruptions, he accomplished a great deal and eventually returned to his own still empty apartment with a sense of satisfaction. Once or twice, earlier on, he had been surprised to find himself distracted by remembering Milly the way she had been the night before. Twice he was tempted to telephone her, but a sense of caution warned him against it. After all, the whole thing was just a passing affair, not to be taken too seriously. In the evening he had read for a while and went to bed early.

And now Christmas had gone. It was 11 AM, December 26th.