In High Places Read Online Free PDF Page B

later the missionaries and traders, plying their legendary route westward to the Great Lakes and the fur-rich North. And beyond the river lay the distant Quebec shoreline, storied and historic, witness to many changes : much that had come, and much that would one day end.
    In Ottawa, James Howden always thought, it was difficult not to have a sense of history. Especially now that the city -once beautiful and then commercially despoiled - was fast becoming green again: tree-thronged and laced with manicured parkways, thanks to the National Capital Commission. True the government buildings were largely characterless, bearing the stamp of what a critic had called 'the limp hand of bureaucratic art'. But even so there was a natural ruggedness about them, and given time, with natural beauty restored, Ottawa might one day equal Washington as a capital and perhaps surpass it.
    Behind him beneath the wide, curved staircase, one of two gilt telephones on an Adam side table chimed softly twice. It was the American Ambassador.
    'Hullo, Angry,' James Howden said. 'I hear that your people let the cat out.'
    The Hon Phillip Angrove's Bostonian drawl came back. 'I know. Prime Minister, and I'm damned apologetic. Fortunately, though, it's only the cat's head and we still have a firm grip on the body.'
    Tm relieved to hear it,' Howden said. 'But we must have a joint statement, you know. Arthur's on his way...'
    'He's right here with me now,' the ambassador rejoined. 'As soon as we've downed a couple we'll get on with it, sir. Do you want to approve the statement yourself?'
    'No,' Howden said. 'I'll leave it to you and Arthur.'
    They talked for a few minutes more, then the Prime Minister replaced the gilt telephone.
    Margaret had gone ahead into the big comfortable living-room with its chintz-covered sofas. Empire armchairs, and muted grey drapes. A log fire was burning brightly. She had put on a Kostelanetz recording of Tchaikovsky which played softly. It was the Howdens' favourite kind of music; the heavier classics seldom appealed to them. A few minutes later a maid brought in coffee with a piled plate of sandwiches. At a gesture from Margaret the girl offered the sandwiches to Howden and he took one absently.
    When the maid had gone he untied his white tie, loosened the stiff collar, then joined Margaret by the fire. He sank gratefully into a deep overstuffed chair, hooked a footstool nearer, and lifted both feet on to it. With a deep sigh: 'This is the life,' he said. 'You, me ... no one else ...' He lowered his chin and out of habit stroked the tip of his nose.
    Margaret smiled faintly. 'We should try it more often, Jamie.'
    'We will; we really will,' he said earnestly. Then, his tone changing, 'I've some news. We'll be going to Washington quite soon. I thought you'd like to know.'
    Pouring from a Sheffield coffee service his wife looked up. 'It's rather sudden, isn't it?'
    'Yes,' he answered. 'But some pretty important things have come up. I have to talk with the President.'
    'Well,' Margaret said, 'fortunately I've a new dress.' She paused thoughtfully. 'Now I must buy some shoes and I'll need a matching bag; gloves too.' A worried look crossed her face. 'There'll be time, won't there?'
    'Just about,' he said, then laughed at the incongruity.
    Margaret said decisively, 'I'll go to Montreal for a day's shopping right after the holiday. You can always get so much more there than in Ottawa. By the way, how are we for money?'
    He frowned, 'It isn't too good; we're overdrawn at the bank. We shall have to cash some more bonds, I expect.'
    'Again?' Margaret seemed worried. 'We haven't many left.'
    'No. But you go ahead.' He regarded his wife affectionately. 'One shopping trip won't make all that difference.'
    'Well... if you're sure.'
    'I'm sure.'
    But the only thing he was really sure of, Howden thought, was that no one would sue the Prime Minister for slow payment. Shortage of money for their personal needs was a constant source of worry.