In High Places Read Free Page B

better?'
    'Eloise and I live in a state of armed neutrality,' Richardson answered matter-of-factly. 'But it has advantages.'
    Howden could guess the kind of advantages Richardson meant, and once more he had an irrational jealousy at the thought of the party director and Milly alone together. Aloud, he said, 'I'm sorry.'
    'It's surprising what you can get used to,' Richardson said. 'At least Eloise and I know where we stand, and that's separately. Anything else, chief?'
    'No,' Howden said, 'nothing else. I'll go and talk to Arthur now.'
    He returned from the library to the Long Drawing Room, the hum of conversation moving out to meet him. The atmosphere was freer now; drinks and supper, which was almost over, had contributed to an air of relaxation. He avoided several groups whose members looked up expectantly as he passed, smiling and moving on.
    Arthur Lexington was standing on the fringe of a laughing cluster of people watching the Finance Minister, Stuart Cawston, do minor conjuring tricks - a pastime with which, once in a while, he relieved the tedium during breaks in cabinet meetings. 'Watch this dollar,' Cawston was saying. 'I shall now make it disappear.'
    'Hell!' someone said predictably, 'that's no trick; you do it all the time.' The Governor General, among the small audience, joined in the mild laughter.
    The Prime Minister touched Lexington's arm and for the second time took the External Affairs Minister aside. He explained the purport of what the party director had said and the need for a press announcement before morning. Typically, Lexington asked no unnecessary questions. Nodding his agreement, 'I'll call at the embassy and talk to Angry,' he said, 'then start some of my own people working.' He chuckled. 'Always gives me a sense of importance to keep others out of bed.'
    'Now then you two! No affairs of state tonight.' It was Natalie Griffiths. She touched their shoulders lightly.
    Arthur Lexington turned, beaming. 'Not even an itsy-bitsy world crisis?'
    'Not even that. Besides, I've a crisis in the kitchen. That's much more important.' The Governor General's wife moved towards her husband. She said in a distressed whisper, not meant to be overheard but carrying clearly to those nearby, 'Of all things, Sheldon, we've no cognac.'
    'That's impossible!'
    'Shush! I don't know how it happened, but it has.'
    'We'll have to get an emergency supply.'
    'Charles has phoned the air force mess. They're rushing some over.'
    'My God!' There was a plaintiveness to His Excellency's voice. 'Can't we ever entertain without something going wrong?'
    Arthur Lexington murmured, 'I suppose I must drink my coffee neat.' He glanced at the fresh glass of grape juice which a few minutes earlier had been brought to James Howden. 'You don't have to worry. They've probably got gallons of that.'
    The Governor General was muttering angrily, 'I'll have someone's scalp for this.'
    'Now, Sheldon' - still the whispers, host and hostess oblivious of their amused audience - 'it's just one of those things, and you know how careful one has to be with the help.'
    'Blast the help!'
    Natalie Griffiths said patiently, 'I thought you ought to know. But let me deal with it, dear.'
    "Oh, very well.' His Excellency smiled - a mixture of resignation and affection - and together they returned to their original place by the fire.
    'Sic (transit gloria . The voice which launched a thousand aeroplanes may not now rebuke the scullery maid.' It had been said with an edge and a shade too loudly. The Prime Minister frowned.
    The speaker was Harvey Warrender, Minister of Citizenship and Immigration. He stood beside them now, a tall, pudgily built figure with thinning hair and a bass, booming voice. His manner was habitually didactic - a hangover, perhaps, from the years he had spent as a college professor, before entering politics.
    'Steady, Harvey,' Arthur Lexington said. That's royalty you're treading on.'
    'Sometimes,' Warrender responded, his voice lower, 'I resent