Arthur Hailey - In High Places

Arthur Hailey
In High Places

How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! 0 Jonathan, thou wastslain in thy high places.
The Lament of David

Part1

December23rd

Onthe afternoon and early evening of December 23rd, three events occurred,seemingly unconnected and, in distance, three thousand miles apart. One was atelephone call, over closely guarded circuits, from the President of the UnitedStates to the Prime Minister of Canada; the conversation lasted almost an hourand was sombre. The second event was an official reception at the Ottawaresidence of Her Majesty's Governor General; the third, the berthing of a ship atVancouver on the Canadian West coast.

Thetelephone call came first. It originated in the President's study of the WhiteHouse and was taken by the Prime Minister in his East Block office onParliament Hill.

Nextwas the berthing of the ship. It was the Motor Vessel Vastervik, 10,000 tons,Liberian registry, its master Captain Sigurd Jaabeck, a Norwegian. It made fastat La Pointe Pier, on the south and city side of Burrard Inlet Harbour at threeo'clock.

Justan hour later in Ottawa where, because of a three-hour time difference it wasalready evening, the early reception guests began arriving at Government House.The reception was a smallish one: an annual pre-Christmas affair theirExcellencies gave cabinet members and their wives.

Onlytwo of the party guests - the Prime Minister and his Secretary of State forExternal Affairs - had knowledge of the US President's call. Not one of theguests had ever heard of the MV Vastervik, nor in the scheme of things was itlikely that they would.

Andyet, irrevocably and inextricably, the three occurrences were destined tointertwine, like planets and their nebulae whose orbits, in strange mysteriousfashion, impinge and share a moment's scintillation.

Part2

ThePrime Minister
Chapter 1

The Ottawa night was crisp and cold, with clouding skies holding promise ofsnow before morning. The nation's capital -- so the experts said - was in for awhite Christmas.

Inthe rear of a black, chauffeur-driven Oldsmobile, Margaret Howden, wife of thePrime Minister of Canada, touched her husband's hand. 'Jamie,' she said, 'youlook tired.'

TheRight Honourable James McCallum Howden, PC, LLB, QC, MP, had closed his eyes,relaxing in the car's warmth. Now he opened them. 'Not really.' He hated toadmit to tiredness at any time. 'Just unwinding a little. The past forty-eighthours...' He checked himself, glancing towards the chauffeur's broad back. Theglass between was raised, but even so it paid to be cautious.

Alight from outside touched the glass and he could see his own reflection: theheavy, hawklike face, eagle-beak nose and jutting chin.

Besidehim, his wife said amusedly, 'Stop looking at yourself or you'll develop ...what's that psychiatry thing?'

'Narcissism.'Her husband smiled, his heavy-lidded eyes crinkling. 'But I've had it foryears. In politics it's an occupational norm.'

Therewas a pause, then they were serious again.

'Something'shappened, hasn't it?' Margaret said softly. 'Something important.' She hadturned towards him, her face troubled, and preoccupied as he was, he couldperceive the classic shapeliness of her features. Margaret was still a lovelywoman, he thought, and heads had always turned when they came into a roomtogether.

'Yes,'he acknowledged. For an instant he was tempted to confide in Margaret; to tellher everything that had occurred so swiftly, beginning with the secrettelephone call from the White House, coming across the border two days earlier;the second call this afternoon. Then he decided: this was not the time.

Besidehim Margaret said, 'There have been so many things lately, and so few momentswe've had alone.' 'I know.' He reached out and held her hand. As if the gesturehad unleashed words held back: 'Is it worth it all? Haven't you done enough?'Margaret Howden spoke quickly, aware of the journey's shortness, knowing thatit was a few minutes drive only between their own house and the GovernorGeneral's residence. In a minute or two more this moment of warmth andcloseness would be gone. 'We've been married forty-two years, Jamie, and mostof that time I've had just a part of you. There isn't all that much of lifethat's left.'

'Ithasn't been easy for you, has it?' He spoke quietly, genuinely. Margaret'swords had moved him.

'No;not always.' There was a note of uncertainty. It was an entangled subject,something they spoke of rarely.

'Therewill be time, I promise you. If other things...' He stopped, remembering theimponderables about the future which the past two days had brought.

'Whatother things?'

'There'sone more task. Perhaps the biggest I've had.'

Shewithdrew her hand. 'Why does it have to be you?'

Itwas impossible to answer. Even to Margaret, privy to so many of his thoughts,he could never mouth his innermost conviction: because there is no one else;no other with my stature, with intellect and foresight to make the greatdecisions soon to come.

'Whyyou?' Margaret said again.

Theyhad entered the grounds of Government House. Rubber crunched on gravel. In thedarkness, parkland rolled away on either side.

Momentarilyhe had a sharp sense of guilt about his relationship with Margaret. She hadalways accepted political life loyally, even though never enjoying it as he didhimself. But he had long sensed her hope that one day he would abandon politicsso that they could become closer again, as in the early years.

Onthe other hand he had been a good husband. There had been no other woman in hislife ... except for the one occasion years before: the love affair that hadbegun, and had lasted almost a year until he had ended it resolutely, beforehis marriage could be imperilled. But sometimes guilt nudged him there ...nervousness, too, that Margaret should ever learn the truth.

'We'lltalk tonight,' he said placatingly. 'When we get back.'

Thecar stopped and the near-side door was opened. A Mountie in scarlet dressuniform saluted smartly as the Prime Minister and his wife alighted. JamesHowden smiled an acknowledgement, shook hands with the policeman, andintroduced Margaret. It was the sort of thing Howden always did gracefully andwithout condescension. At the same time he was well aware that the Mountiewould talk about the incident afterwards, and it was surprising how far theripples could extend from a simple gesture of that kind.

Asthey entered Government House an aide-de-camp -- a youngish lieutenant of theRoyal Canadian Navy - stepped smartly forward. The aide's gold-trimmed dressuniform looked uncomfortably tight; probably, Howden thought, the result of toomuch time at a desk in Ottawa and too little at sea. Officers had to wait theirturn for sea duty now that the Navy was just a token force - in some ways ajoke, though a costly one for taxpayers.

Theywere led from the high pillared entrance hall up a rich red-carpeted marblestairway, through a wide, tapestried corridor and into the Long Drawing Roomwhere small receptions such as tonight's were usually held. A big, elongated,shoe-box shaped room, high ceilinged, with crossbeams plastered over, it hadthe intimacy of a hotel lobby, though with rather more comfort. So far,however, the invitingly grouped chairs and settees, upholstered in soft shadesof turquoise and daffodil yellow, were unoccupied, the sixty or so guestsstanding, chatting in informal knots. From above their heads, a full-length portraitof the Queen stared unsmilingly across the room at window draperies, now drawn,of rich gold brocade. At the far end, festooned lights on a decorated Christmastree flashed on and off. The buzz of conversation lessened perceptibly as thePrime Minister and his wife entered, Margaret Howden in a ball gown of palemauve lace, above the gown her shoulders bare.