Arthur Lexington said dubiously, 'I'd like to think about that. Prime Minister, if you don't mind.'
'Of course, Arthur; whatever you decide.' Obviously, Howden thought, the subject must be handled cautiously, if at all.
Lexington paused beside a telephone on the polished centre table. Half-smiling, he inquired, 'Shall we call for coffee before our date with destiny?'
Chapter 2
Across the swathe of White House lawn dividing them, the President called out cheerfully in his strong, bluff voice to the group of focusing, jostling photographers.
'You men must have shot enough film for a double feature.' Then to the Prime Minister at his side: 'What do you think, Jim? Shall we go inside and begin work?'
'It's a pity, Mr President,' James Howden said. After the chill Ottawa winter, he had enjoyed the warmth and sunshine. 'But I suppose we'd better.' He nodded agreeably to the short, broad-shouldered man with the angular, bony features and sharp, determined jaw. The outdoor session which both of them had just had with the White House press corps had pleased Howden greatly. Throughout, the President had deferred courteously to the Prime Minister, saying little, and turning reporters' questions towards Howden so that the latter would be the one quoted today and tomorrow in press, TV, and radio. And afterwards, when they had strolled together on the south lawn of the White House for the benefit of photographers and TV cameras, the President had carefully manoeuvred James Howden nearest the battery of lenses. The result of such consideration, Howden thought – a rare experience for a Canadian in Washington – could contribute a good deal to his own status back home.
He felt the President's massive, big-fingered hand grasp his arm, steering, and the two of them moved towards the Executive Mansion steps. The other man's face, under the untidy thatch of grey-flecked hair with its abbreviated cowlick, was relaxed and agreeable. 'How'd it be, Jim…' – it was the easy Midwestern twang used so effectively in the televised Fireside Talks – 'How'd it be if we dropped the Mr President business?' A deep chuckle. 'You know my first name, I imagine.'
Genuinely pleased, Howden replied, 'I'd be honoured, Tyler.' In a segment of his mind he wondered if it would be possible to leak this intimate relationship to the Press. In Canada it would give the lie to some of his critics who were always carping that the Howden government lacked influence in Washington. Of course, he recognized that most of the courtesies today and yesterday had stemmed from Canada's strong bargaining position – which he intended to uphold. But that was no reason for not being pleased, or making political hay whenever one could.
As they strolled across the lawn, the ground soft beneath their feet, James Howden said, 'There hasn't been an opportunity before to congratulate you personally on your re-election.'
'Why, thank you, Jim!' Again the pawlike hand, this time clapped firmly on the Prime Minister's shoulder. 'Yes, it was a wonderful election. I'm proud to say I have the largest popular vote a United States President has ever received. And we swept Congress, as you know. That's something else again -no President has ever enjoyed stronger support than I have right at this moment in the House and Senate. I can tell you confidently there isn't any legislation I want that I can't get passed. Oh, I make a few concessions here and there for the sake of it, but nothing to matter. It's a unique situation.'
'Unique for you, perhaps,' Howden said. He decided some good-natured needling would do no harm. 'But, of course, with our own parliamentary system the party in power can always have the legislation it wants.'
'True! True! And don't think there haven't been times when I – and some of my predecessors – have envied you. The miracle about our constitution, you know, is that it works at all.' The President's voice ranged lustily on. 'The trouble was, the Founding Fathers were so damned anxious to cut loose from everything British that they threw out the best things along with the bad. But one makes the best of what one has, whether it's the body political or the body personal.'
With the last words they had reached the wide, balustraded Steps leading under the curved and colonnaded South Portico. Preceding his guest, the President leaped upward two steps at a time and, not to be outdone, James Howden followed at the same pace.
But at the halfway mark the Prime Minister stopped, short of breath and perspiring. His dark blue worsted suit, ideal in Ottawa, was uncomfortably heavy in the warm Washington sunshine. He wished he had brought one of his lightweight suits, but on looking them over none had seemed quite good enough for this occasion. The President was reported to be meticulous about dress and sometimes changed suits several times a day. But then, the US Chief Executive was not subject to the personal money worries of a Canadian Prime Minister.
The thought reminded Howden briefly that he had not yet broken the news to Margaret of just how serious their own financial position had become. The man from Montreal Trust had made it clear: unless they stopped eroding the few thousands of capital remaining, his resources on retirement would be equal to the wages of a minor artisan. Of course, it would never really come to that: the Rockefeller Foundation and others could be appealed to – Rockefeller had granted Mackenzie King a hundred thousand dollars on the day of the veteran Prime Minister's retirement – but the thought of actively seeking an American handout, however generous, was still humiliating.
A few steps up the President had stopped. He said contritely, 'Do forgive me. I'm always forgetting, and doing that to people.'
'I should have known better.' James Howden's heart was pounding; his heavy breathing punctuated the words. 'I expect it was your remark about the body personal.' Like everyone else he was aware of the President's lifelong passion for physical fitness in himself and those around him. A succession of White House aides, including dispirited generals and admirals, staggered exhausted from daily presidential sessions of handball, tennis, or badminton. A frequent complaint from the President's lips was that 'This generation has the bellies of Buddhas and shoulders like bloodhounds' ears.' It was the President, too, who had revived the Theodore Roosevelt pastime of taking country walks in straight lines, going over objects – trees, barns, haystacks – instead of around them. He had even attempted something of the kind in Washington and, remembering, Howden asked, 'How did those local forays of yours go – the A to B idea?'
The other man chortled as they moved together, leisurely, up the stairs. 'I had to quit in the end; got into a few problems. We couldn't scramble over buildings here, except some small ones, so we started going through them wherever a straight line led. Got in some strange places too, including a toilet in the Pentagon – in the door and out the window.' He chuckled reminiscently. 'But one day my brother and I wound up in the Statler Hotel kitchens – walked in the cold room and short of blasting there was no way out.'
Howden laughed. 'Perhaps we'll try it in Ottawa. There are some of the Opposition I'd like to see depart in straight lines -especially if they'd keep on going.'
'Our opponents are sent to try us, Jim.'
'I suppose so,' Howden said. 'But some try harder than others. By the way, I've brought some new rock samples for your collection. Our Mines and Resources people tell me they're unique.'
'Well, thank you,' the President said. 'I'm really most grateful. And please thank your people too.'
From the South Portico's shade they passed into the cool White House interior, then threaded a hallway and corridors to the presidential office on the building's southeast corner. Opening the white-painted single door, the President ushered How-den in.
As usual, on the several occasions he had been here, the Prime Minister was conscious of the room's simplicity. Oval-shaped, with waist-high panelling and plain grey carpeting, its principal furnishings comprised a wide flat-topped desk, set centre, a padded swivel chair in the rear and, behind the chair, twin gold-trimmed banners – the Stars and Stripes and the President's personal flag. Floor-to-ceiling casement windows and a french door to a terrace outside faced a satin-damask sofa occupying most of one wall to the desk's right. At present the sofa was occupied by Arthur Lexington and Admiral Levin Rapoport, the latter a small, scrawny man in a neat brown suit, his hawklike face and incongruously large head seeming to dwarf the remainder of his body. The two men rose as the President and Prime Minister came in.
'Good morning, Arthur,' the President said warmly, offering his hand to Lexington. 'Jim, you know Levin, of course.'
'Yes,' Howden said, 'we've met. How are you. Admiral?'
'Good morning.' Admiral Rapoport nodded curtly and coolly. He seldom did more, notoriously having no patience either for small talk or social functions. The admiral – presidential assistant extraordinaire – had been a notable absentee from the previous evening's state banquet.
As the four men sat down, a tray of drinks was whisked in by a Filipino manservant. Arthur Lexington chose scotch and water, the President a dry sherry. Admiral Rapoport shook his head in refusal and, before James Howden, the man smilingly placed a glass of iced grape juice.
While the drinks were being served Howden watched the admiral covertly, recalling what he had heard of this man who (some said) was now virtually as powerful as the President himself.
Four years earlier Captain Levin Rapoport, USN, had been a regular navy officer on the point of compulsory retirement – compulsory because his superior admirals had twice passed him over for promotion despite a brilliant, highly-publicized career in pioneering underwater firing of intercontinental missiles. The trouble was that almost no one liked Levin Rapoport personally and a surprising number of influential superiors harboured feelings of active hatred. Mostly, the latter stemmed from a long-standing Rapoport habit of being dead right on every major issue affecting naval defence, and afterwards never hesitating to say 'I told you so', singling out by name those who had disagreed with him.
Coupled with this was a massive personal conceit (entirely justified, but unpleasant nonetheless), grossly bad manners, impatience with 'channels' and red tape, and open contempt for those whom Captain Rapoport considered his intellectual inferiors, as most were.
But what the higher navy brass had not foreseen in deciding to retire its controversial genius was the fierce outcry – from Congress and the public – at the prospect of the nation's loss if the Rapoport brain were no longer brooding actively upon its affairs. As one congressman put it succinctly, 'Goddam, we need the bastard.'
Thereupon, prodded sharply both from the Senate and White House, the Navy had climbed down and promoted Cap-rain Rapoport to rear-admiral, thus avoiding his retirement. Two years and two ranks later, following a series of fresh brilliances, Rapoport (a full admiral by now and pricklier than ever) had been whisked by the President from the Navy's orbit to be presidential chief of staff. Within a few weeks, through zeal, speed, and sheer ability, the new appointee was exercising more direct power than predecessors like Harry Hopkins, Sherman Adams, or Ted Sorenson had ever enjoyed.
Since then the list of directed achievements, known and unknown, had been formidable; a self-help overseas aid programme which, though late, was gaining America respect instead of contempt; at home, an agriculture policy which farmers fought savagely, claiming it wouldn't work, but (as Rapoport had said from the beginning would happen) it did; a crash research effort and, for long term, realignment of scientific education and pure research; and in law enforcement a crackdown on industrial fraud at one end of the scale and, at the other, a house-cleaning of labour, with Lufto, the once supreme labour hoodlum, ousted and jailed.