In High Places Read Free

next year.
    Across the hall from the Long Drawing Room a line had formed at the dining-room buffet. It was not surprising; the Government House chef, Alphonse Goubaux, was justly famed for his culinary -.skill. Once there had been a strong rumour ' that the US President's wife was trying to lure Chef Goubaux from Ottawa to Washington. Until the report was quashed there had been all the makings of an international incident.
    Howden felt Margaret touch his arm, and they moved with the others. 'Natalie's boasting about the lobster in aspic; she claims it must be tasted to be believed.'
    'Tell me when I bite on it, dear,' he said, and smiled. It was an old joke between them. James Howden took scant interest in food and, unless reminded, sometimes missed meals entirely. At other times he ate with his mind preoccupied, and occasionally in the past, when Margaret had prepared special delicacies, he had consumed them with no idea afterwards what he had eaten. Early in their married life Margaret had been moved to anger and tears by her husband's disinterest in cooking, which she loved, but had long since switched to amused resignation.
    Glancing at the well-stocked buffet, where an attentive waiter held two plates in readiness, Howden observed, 'It looks impressive. What is it all?'
    Pleased with the distinction of serving the Prime Minister, the waiter rattled off the name of each dish: beluga Malossol caviar, oysters Malpeque, pate maison , lobster aspic, Winnipeg smoked gold-eye, foie gras Mignonette , cold roast prime ribs, galantine of capon, hickory-smoked turkey, Virginia ham.
    'Thank you,' Howden said. 'Just give me a little beef, well done, and some salad.'
    As the man's face fell, Margaret whispered, 'Jamie!' and the Prime Minister added hastily, 'And also some of whatever it was my wife was recommending.'
    As they turned from the table the naval aide reappeared. 'Excuse me, sir. His Excellency's compliments, and Miss Freedeman is telephoning you.'
    Howden put down his untouched plate. 'Very well.'
    'Must you go now, Jamie?' There was annoyance in Margaret's tone.
    He nodded. 'Milly wouldn't call if it could wait.'
    'The call is put through to the library, sir.' After bowing to Margaret the aide preceded him.
    A few minutes later: 'Milly,' he said into the phone, 'I made a promise that this would be important.'
    His personal secretary's soft contralto voice answered, 'It is, I think.'
    Sometimes he liked to talk just for the sake of hearing Milly speak. He asked, 'Where are you?'
    'At the office; I came back. Brian is here with me. That's why I called.'
    He had an irrational flash of jealousy at the thought of Milly Freedeman alone with someone else ... Milly who had shared with him, years before, the liaison he had remembered with a trace of guilt tonight. At the time their affair had been passionate and all-consuming, but when it ended, as he had known from the beginning it must, both had resumed their separate lives as if closing and locking a door between two rooms which continued to adjoin. Neither had ever spoken of that singular, special time again. But occasionally, as at this moment, the sight or sound of Milly could thrill him anew, as if he were once again young and eager, the years falling away ... But afterwards, always, nervousness would supervene: the nervousness of one who - in public life - could not afford to have the chink in his armour penetrated.
    'All right, Milly,' the Prime Minister instructed. 'Let me talk to Brian.'
    There was a pause, and the sound of the telephone changing hands. Then a strong male voice declared crisply, 'There's been a press leak in Washington, chief. A Canadian reporter ' down there has found out you're expected in town to meet the Big Wheel. We need a statement out of Ottawa. Otherwise, if the news comes from Washington, it could look as if you're being sent for.'
    Brian Richardson, the energetic forty-year-old director and national organizer of the party, seldom wasted words.