Chapter 3

In the private cabin of the Vanguard, Margaret Howden, smartly dressed in a new grey-blue suit, a velour hat perched neatly on her attractive grey hair, had emptied the contents of her handbag on to a small reading table in front of her seat. Sorting crumpled US and Canadian bills - mostly small denominations - she glanced at her husband who was absorbed with the editorial page of a day-old Toronto Daily Star. Fifteen minutes earlier, after a ceremonial farewell by the Vice-President, supported by an honour guard of FS Marines, their special flight had taken off from Washington airport. Now, in mid-morning sunshine, above broken cumulus cloud, they were flying smoothly northward towards Ottawa and home.

'You know,' Howden said, turning pages, 'I've often wondered why we don't let editorial writers take over and run the country. They've a solution for everything. Though, of course,' he mused, 'if they did run the country there's always the problem of who'd write the editorials.'

'Why not you?' Margaret said. She put the bills beside a small pile of silver already counted. 'Perhaps that way you and

I could have more time together and I wouldn't have to go shopping to fill in time on trips. Oh dear! - I'm afraid I've been quite extravagant.'

Howden grinned involuntarily. Putting down the newspaper, he asked, 'How much?'

Margaret checked the money she had counted against a pencilled list with receipts attached. She answered ruefully, 'Almost two hundred dollars.'

He was tempted to protest mildly, then remembered he had not revealed to Margaret their latest financial problem. Well, the money was spent; what was the point in worrying now? Besides, a discussion about their own finances - which always made Margaret anxious - would consume more energy than he was willing to expend at the moment. Instead he said, 'I'm not due for a customs exemption, but you are. So you can take in a hundred dollars' worth, duty-free, but declare the rest and you'll have to pay some tax.'

'No, I won't!' Margaret exclaimed. 'It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of. You know perfectly well the customs men would never come near us if you didn't insist on it. You're entitled to privileges; why not use them?' As if instinctively, her hand covered the small remaining pile of dollars.

'Dear,' he said patiently - they had been over this same ground on other occasions - 'you know how I feel about this sort of thing. I happen to believe that I should act like an ordinary citizen is expected to by law.'

A flush of colour in her cheeks, Margaret said, 'All I can say is, you're being absolutely childish.'

'Perhaps so,' he insisted gently. 'All the same, that's the way I'd like it done.'

Again he felt a reluctance to involve himself in deeper explanation; to point out the political wisdom of being painstakingly honest about small things, even to avoiding the mild smuggling which most-Canadians indulged in at one time or another when they returned across the border. Besides, he had always been aware how easy it was for people like himself in public life to be tripped up by small, and sometimes innocent, transgressions. There were petty minds, especially among rival parties, always at watch for the slightest slip which afterwards the newspapers would gleefully record. He had seen politicians hounded out of public life, disgraced, through small offences which in other circles would draw no more than a mild rebuke. And then there were others who for years had lined their pockets with huge sums of public money but were caught out -through carelessness usually - on some minor issue.

He folded the newspaper and put it down.

'Don't be too upset, dear, about paying duty just this once. There may not be any duty - or customs procedure - soon.' He had already told Margaret, the previous evening, the broad outline of the Act of Union.

'Well,' his wife said, 'I'm certainly not sorry about that. I've always thought it silly to go through so much performance -opening bags, declaring things - between two countries so close together in every way.'

Howden smiled, but decided not to lecture Margaret on the history of Canadian tariffs which had made possible the extremely favourable terms of the Act of Union. And they were favourable terms, he thought, leaning back in the comfortable upholstered seat. Once more, as he had several times in the past twenty-four hours, James Howden reflected on the undoubted success of his negotiations in Washington.

Of course, even at the end the President had given no firm commitment on the demand about Alaska. But there would be a commitment for the Alaskan plebiscite; of that, Howden was convinced. The idea, naturally, needed time to accept. At first the whole proposal - as it had originally in the Prime Minister's own mind - would seem outrageous and impossible in Washington. But considered carefully it was a sane and logical extension of the Act of Union, in which Canada was to concede so much.

And as for the plebiscite in Alaska, coupled with the support he already had, Canada could make the terms for a 'yes' vote so attractive that they would not be refused. Moreover, in advance, he would declare generous compensation for Alaskan residents who chose not to stay under a new regime, though he hoped most would. In any case, with the Act of Union in force, the borders between Alaska, Canada, and the remainder of the continental US would be merely imaginary. The difference in Alaska would simply be one of Canadian civil law and administration taking over.

The one major factor which he had not discussed with the President was the possibility that Canada, despite expected devastation, might emerge, postwar, the stronger and senior partner in the Act of Union. But as to that, and its practical effect, only time could determine.

The prop-jet motors whined on as the Vanguard winged northward. Glancing from the cabin window, he saw there were still green fields beneath them.

'Where are we, Jamie?' Margaret asked.

He glanced at his watch. 'We'll have left Maryland by now, so I expect we're over Pennsylvania. After that, just New York State, then a few minutes to home.'

'I hope it isn't snowing in Ottawa,' Margaret said, putting her receipts and money away. 'I'd like to get cold again gradually.'

He thought amusedly: there are things I'd like to do gradually, too. Ideally, there should be a slow, painstaking build-up of influential support for the Act of Union. But, as always, time was short and he would have to take chances and move swiftly.

Fortunately, he now had a great deal to offer. The arrangement about Alaska, plus the other substantial concessions, would be ample to place before Parliament and the voters. Coupled with the gravity of the times, which required no emphasis, he was convinced he could win an election, thereby providing a mandate for the Act of Union.

And even apart from crisis, the time was ripe. Ten or even five years ago, when the search for a so-called Canadian identity, with all its attendant chauvinism, was at its height, any Act of Union would have been rejected out of hand. But the national mood since then had changed.

Naturally, the Opposition, led by Bonar Deitz, would fight with every weapon they could employ. But he could beat them, he was sure. Extreme nationalism nowadays was seen for what it was - a dangerous self-indulgence; and dangerous because, for a while, it had alienated Canada from its strongest friend in a hostile world. Now, ties of culture, idealism, fellow feeling, and sometimes even love, ran frankly north and south in increasing measure. It was not that people had ceased to be critical of the United States; on the contrary, the US could frequently be the despair of friends and admirers alike. But at least underneath, with all faults allowed for, there was a common basic decency - in contrast to the festering, malevolent evil elsewhere in the world.

Margaret had picked up the Star and turned its pages. 'Oh, here are the horoscopes, Jamie. Did you read yours?' Turning his head, he answered testily, 'No, and I wish you wouldn't keep bringing that up.' He wondered if Margaret were trying to bait him in retaliation for their argument earlier. Just lately their relationship had been a trifle strained, he thought, perhaps because they had spent too little time alone. Their last long talk had been when? ... oh yes, the evening of the affair at Government House. He supposed he ought to be more considerate of Margaret, but the trouble was, there were so few hours in a day and so many things that were important and could be done only by himself. Perhaps, when some of the preparation he now faced was over, there would be more time...

'What awful gibberish this is!' Margaret rustled the newspaper indignantly. 'Really! - the Star is so self-righteous with its exposes of this and that, and then they print this kind of dishonesty every day.'

'They're probably ashamed of it,' her husband said. 'But it helps sell papers. So they put it near the back hoping no one will notice except those who want to read.'

'Listen! This is your prediction for today, Jamie - Sagittarius.' Margaret read carefully, holding the page towards the light. '"Important and favourable Venus vibrations. Do not worry about your efforts; they have been good and will materialize further. Carry on, and don't lose faith in yourself. But look out for clouds which are becoming bigger."' She put down the paper. 'What rubbish! What appalling rubbish i'

'Yes,' James Howden said, 'isn't it?' It was strange, though, he thought: the reference to the cloud once more. What had it been the time before, just a week and a half ago: beware of the cloud no larger than a man's hand. The phrase was from the Old Testament, wasn't it? The story of Elijah, who had seen a little cloud arise from the sea ... and afterwards he had been touched by the angel, and had anointed kings; and later still he had divided the waters of Jordan and risen to heaven in a fiery chariot. But to Elijah the cloud had been an omen of strength. Was it that for himself; or an omen of warning? Which? Suddenly the words of old Mrs Zeeder came back ... the day in court at Medicine Hat ... I'm a child born under Sagittarius, dear. You'll see.'

'Jamie!' Margaret said sharply.

'What is it?' Abruptly he refocused his thoughts.

'What were you thinking then?'

'I wasn't,' he lied. 'I'd switched my mind off.'

A few minutes later Margaret announced, 'Wing Commander Galbraith invited me to the flight deck. I suppose I'd better go.'

Her husband nodded. 'I wish you would; and apologize for me this trip.' He glanced across the cabin at a wall clock. 'While you're gone I suppose I'd better see young Prowse. He's been bursting with something or other for the past two days.'

Despite the presence of an entourage - the three cabinet ministers and his own senior staff, now in the forward cabin -the Prime Minister had spent little time in Washington with anyone except Arthur Lexington.

'All right,' Margaret said. 'I'll send him in.'

Elliot Prowse, who entered from the forward cabin after Margaret had left, was one of the Prime Minister's two executive assistants. Young, athletically handsome, independently wealthy, and an honours graduate of McGill University, he was serving a political apprenticeship in a manner quite usual nowadays for young men whose ambitions lay towards higher political office. In a few years' time he would resign his present job and seek election to the House of Commons.

Meanwhile, the party made good use of his brains and scholarship, while he himself acquired a unique insight into administrative government, which eventually could be a short cut to cabinet rank.

James Howden was never quite certain how much he liked Prowse, who, at times, could be uncomfortably earnest. But now the Prime Minister's glowing satisfaction about the Washington talks prompted him to be expansive. Waving the assistant to a facing chair, he inquired, 'Well, Elliot, I believe you've something on your mind.'

'Yes, sir.' Prowse sat down carefully, his expression serious as usual. 'K you remember, I started to tell you yesterday...'

'I know you did,' Howden said, 'and I'm sorry I cut you off. But there were special problems - some of them you know - and I couldn't take time out.'

He thought he detected a trace of impatience in the younger man. Well, that was something else you had to learn in politics : to become used to talk, a great deal of it unnecessary, but it was the coinage of the business.

'Mr Richardson and Miss Freedeman have both been in touch with me,' Elliot Prowse said. 'It's about that immigration case in Vancouver.'

'For God's sake, no!' James Howden exploded. 'I've already heard enough of that to last a lifetime.'

'It seems they've been hearing a good deal more in Ottawa.' Prowse consulted a sheet of paper in a file he had brought in.

Howden fumed, 'Haven't people anything else to occupy their damn fool minds? Don't they know there are other things -- more important issues -- going on in the world?' Announcement of the Act of Union, he thought, would effectively wipe anything about immigration out of the news; when word came, the newspapers would have room for nothing else. But it was too soon yet...

'I can't answer that, sir.' Prowse had a habit of always taking questions literally, rhetorical or not. 'But I do have figures on telegrams and mail received on the subject so far.'

Tell me,' Howden grunted.

'Since you left Ottawa, and up to this morning, there've been two hundred and forty telegrams and three hundred and thirty-two letters addressed to you. All but two telegrams and eighteen of the letters are in favour of the man on the ship and critical of the Government.'

'Well,' Howden growled, 'at least there are twenty people with sense.'

'There have also been some new developments.' Elliot Prowse consulted his notes again. 'The man on the ship apparently has a lawyer who, the day before yesterday, obtained an order nisi for habeas corpus. The application is down for hearing in Vancouver this afternoon.'

'The court will throw it out,' Howden said wearily. 'It's an old legal dodge. I've used it myself.'

'Yes, sir; I understand they hold that opinion in Ottawa. But Mr Richardson is very concerned about newspaper coverage. It seems there's been a good deal. He asked me to report that the news stories are increasing in size and most of them are on page one. Some of the Eastern dailies now have their own reporters in Vancouver covering the case. There were fourteen critical editorials following your own remark before leaving for Washington. Mr Bonar Deitz is also making statements attacking the Government at every opportunity. In Mr Richardson's words, "the Opposition is making hay".'

'What the hell did he think they'd do?' the Prime Minister said angrily. 'Come out to cheer for us?'

'I don't really know what he thought about that.'

Howden snapped irritably, 'And why the hell do you have to answer every question?'

'I always assumed you expected an answer,' Prowse said.

The young man's tone expressed polite surprise and despite his own anger Howden released a smile. 'It isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, except...' His thoughts were on Harvey Warrender.

'There's one other thing,' Elliot Prowse was saying. 'Mr Richardson asked me to warn you there'll be more press questioning at the airport on landing. He says he doesn't see how you can avoid it.'

'I won't do any avoiding,' James Howden said grimly. He looked at his assistant directly. 'You're supposed to be a bright young man. What do you suggest?'

'Well...' Prowse hesitated.

'Go on.'

'If I may say so, sir, you're quite effective when you lose your temper.'

Howden smiled again, then shook his head. 'Let me warn you: never, never lose your temper with the Press.'

But later, forgetting his own advice, he had.

It happened after landing at Ottawa airport. They had taxied, as incoming VIP nights usually did, to the public side of the airport instead of the RCAF side from which the Vanguard had taken off. In the private cabin, with Elliot Prowse gone and his own recent anger shelved for the time being, James Howden basked contentedly in the mental glow of a triumphal homecoming, even though, for the moment, his success in Washington could be shared only with an inner few.

Peering from the window, Margaret observed, 'There seems quite a crowd on the observation deck. Do you think they're waiting for us?

Releasing his own seat belt, he leaned forward across Margaret. It was true, he saw at once; several hundred people, most with heavy overcoats and scarves protecting them from the cold, were tightly packed against the guard rail and behind. Even while they watched, others arrived to swell the numbers.

'It's entirely possible,' he said expansively. 'After all, the Prime Minister of Canada does have a certain status, you know.'

Margaret's expression was non-committal. 'I hope we can get through it all quickly,' she said. 'I'm a little tired.'

'Well, it shouldn't be too long, but I expect I'll have to say a few words.' His mind toyed with phrases: ... extremely successful talks (he could say that much without being premature) ... an announcement on practical achievements within the next few weeks ... striving for closer, cordial (better not say intimate) relations between our two countries ... happy to renew my own long-standing friendship with the President...

Something on those lines, he decided, should suit the occasion well.

The engines were stopped, fuselage door opened, and a stairway wheeled in. As the others aboard waited politely, James Howden and Margaret were the first out.

The sun was shining patchily and a chilling north wind gusted across the airport.

As they paused, sheltered partially from the wind, on the platform above the stairs it occurred to Howden that the crowd, no more than a hundred yards away, was strangely quiet.

Stuart Cawston trotted up to meet them, his hand outstretched, 'Greetings!' he beamed, 'and welcome home on behalf of us all.'

'Goodness!' Margaret exclaimed. 'We were only away three days.'

'It's just that it seemed longer,' Cawston assured her. 'We missed you.'

As Smiling Stu's hand clasped Howden's he murmured, 'A wonderful, wonderful outcome. You've done a great service for the country.'

Moving down the stairway, with Margaret ahead, Howden inquired softly, 'You've talked with Lucien Perrault?' -

The Finance Minister nodded. 'Just as you instructed by phone. I informed Perrault, but no one else.'

'Good!' Howden said approvingly. They began to walk towards the airport buildings. 'We'll hold a full Cabinet tomorrow, and meanwhile I'd like to talk with you, Perrault, and one or two others tonight. It had better be in my office,'

Margaret protested, 'Must it really be tonight, Jamie? We're both tired and I did so hope it could be a quiet evening.'

'There'll be other quiet evenings,' her husband replied with a trace of impatience.

'Perhaps you could drop over to our place, Margaret,' Cawston suggested. 'I'm sure Daisy would be pleased.'

'Thank you, Stu,' Margaret shook her head. 'I think not tonight.'

Now they were halfway to the terminal building. Behind them, others were descending from the aeroplane.

Once more the Prime Minister was conscious of the silent, watching crowd. He observed curiously, 'They're unusually quiet, aren't they?'

A frown crossed Cawston's face. 'I'm told the natives aren't friendly.' He added: 'It's an organized demonstration, it seems. They came in buses.'

At that, as if the words were a signal, the storm broke.

The catcalls and boos came first, intensely fierce, as if pent up and suddenly released. Then there were shouts, with words audible like 'Scrooge!' 'Dictator!' 'Heartless Bastard!' 'We'll get you out!' 'You won't be Prime Minister long!' 'Wait until the next election!'

At the same time, with a kind of ragged precision, the placards went up. Until this moment they had been concealed, but now Howden could read:

IMMIGRATION DEPT:

CANADA'S GESTAPO

LET DUVAL IN,

HE DESERVES A BREAK

CHANGE FIENDISH

IMMIGRATION LAWS

JESUS CHRIST WOULD BE

TURNED AWAY HERE

CANADA NEEDS DUVAL,

NOT HOWDEN

THIS HEARTLESS GOVERNMENT

MUST GO

Tight-lipped he asked Cawston, 'You knew of this?' 'Brian Richardson warned me,' the Finance Minister said unhappily. 'According to him, the whole thing has been bought and paid for by the Opposition. But, frankly, I didn't think it would be this bad.' '

The Prime Minister saw television cameras swing towards the placards and the booing crowd. This scene would be going across the country tonight.

There was nothing else to do but continue on to the terminal doorway as the angry shouts and booing grew louder. James Howden took Margaret's arm and forced a smile. 'Just act as if nothing is happening,' he urged, 'and don't hurry.' 'I'm trying,' Margaret said. 'But it's a bit hard.' The sound of shouting diminished as they entered the terminal building. A group of reporters was waiting, Brian Richardson hovering behind. More TV cameras were focused upon the Prime Minister and Margaret.

As the Howdens halted, a young reporter asked, 'Mr Prime Minister, have you changed your views at all on the Duval immigration case?'

After Washington ... the parley in high places, the President's respect, his own success ... to have this the first question was a final indignity. Experience, wisdom, caution fled as the Prime Minister declared wrathfully, 'No, I have not changed my views, nor is there any likelihood that I shall. What occurred just now - in case you are unaware - was a calculated political demonstration, staged by irresponsible elements.' The reporters' pencils raced as Howden continued, 'These elements - and I need not name them - are using this minor issue in an attempt to divert public attention from the real achievements of the Government in more important areas. Furthermore, I say to you that the Press, by its continued emphasis on this insignificant affair, at a time when grave and great decisions confront our country, is being duped or is irresponsible, and perhaps both.'

He saw Brian Richardson, shake his head urgently. Well, Howden thought, the newspapers had things their own way often enough, and sometimes attack was the best defence. But more moderately, his temper cooling, he continued, 'You gentlemen should remember that I answered questions on this subject, patiently and at length, three days ago. But if you have forgotten, I will emphasize again that the Government intends to abide by the law as embodied in the Immigration Act.'

Someone said quietly, 'You mean you'd leave Duval to rot on the ship?'

The Prime Minister snapped: 'The question does not concern me.'

It was an unfortunate choice of phrase: he had meant that the matter was outside his own jurisdiction. But obstinacy prevented him from changing what was already said.

By evening the quotation had gone from coast to coast. Radio and TV repeated it, and morning paper editors, with minor variations, slugged the story:

Duval: PM 'Unconcerned'

Press, Public 'Irresponsible'