The Best Laid Plans (24 page)

“Awright, awright, awright, if you’ll stop yer yammerin’ and give me a wee bit of peace and quiet, I’ll come. But don’t push yer fortune and challenge my good nature or there’ll be more blood on the board tonight,” he said, sighing. He stood up and shuffled after me like Eeyore off his medication.

We headed out into the hall and down to the central north-south corridor, running from the Peace Tower at the south end to two knobless, wooden doors at the north end. We turned left and approached the two doors, I walking with purpose, Angus slowing. Just as I was about to walk right into the beautifully carved wood (with the theme song from “Get Smart” echoing in my head), they silently parted, and we both entered my favourite place on Parliament Hill.

I stood aside and let Angus pass into the three-tiered wooden glory of the Library of Parliament. An alabaster statue of Queen Victoria towered over us in the centre of the circular library. A handful of staff laboured under her benevolent gaze. I fell silent and listened for Angus’s reaction. I was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath at the sight of three levels of ornate, wooden shelves, which circled the perimeter of the room, and the arched windows in the domed, sky-lit ceiling. I’d entered that place dozens, even hundreds, of times and always felt a slight wobble in my knees as I passed over the threshold. As I anticipated, Angus was similarly moved.

“Consider yourself forgiven. It takes the breath clean away,” he whispered, craning his neck and slowly rotating on the spot just in front of the beautifully carved counter sheltering the Dewey Decimal disciples who worked behind it. The head librarian gave me a wink, gathered Angus in her wake, and took him on a brief but engaging tour designed to entrance even the most seasoned bibliophile. Angus was duly enthralled. I could hear his endless stream of questions as I took my traditional place in the shadow of Laurier’s bust as I waited for Angus. Ten minutes later, I cleared my throat to gain the eyes of the head librarian. She escorted Angus to the door where I met them.

“Thanks so much, Lucille. I knew Angus would enjoy this place as I always have. I’m sure he’ll be back, but it’s time for his swearing in, and we shouldn’t keep the Clerk waiting,” I noted.

Angus thanked her as politely as his gruff manner permitted, and we passed back through the incongruous automatic sliding doors as if leaving the bridge of the starship
Enterprise
and not a pristine library constructed in the late 1800s.

“I’ve always felt at peace in there,” I remarked as we strode down the hall towards the Clerk’s office.

“Aye, it’s a fine room, it is,” Angus replied. “And I can go in there whenever the spirit moves me?”

“Whenever you please,” I confirmed.

Someone I didn’t recognize emerged from the Clerk’s office as we approached. The mace lapel pin indicated she was a newly elected MP. We said hello as she passed and then slipped through the door she held open for us.

“Professor McLintock, I presume,” said the Clerk of the House of Commons.

She was dressed in full regalia and with a sweep of her hand, waved us into a small ceremonial reception room from a bygone era, the centerpiece of which was a fireplace with logs blazing in its hearth.

“Aye, that is I,” replied Angus as he extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you; congratulations on your election. You’ve caused quite a stir in the country,” she commented with a gentle smile.

“As you may know, I had no intention of stirrin’ anythin’. In fact, you might say I’m here under false pretences,” Angus responded.

“Ah yes, but the people have spoken, and here you are.”

“Well, a few of them have spoken, but I fear the vast majority in Cumberland-Prescott might rather I were somewhere else.”

She looked my way for the first time. “Hello, Daniel. How are you?”

We’d worked together over the years, particularly on the procedures in the House around the Throne Speech and budgets.

“I’m fine, Anne-Marie. A little taken aback by what has transpired, but that’s politics,” I answered.

“Well, it’s nice to have you back. Now, why don’t we proceed with the swearing in as we have eight more MPs to go before quitting time.”

The House of Commons photographer positioned Angus in front of the fireplace, facing the Clerk.

“Did you bring your own Bible, Professor McLintock?” she asked.

“No, I tend towards agnostic,” Angus commented.

“Well, you can use this one. It belonged to Wilfrid Laurier. We use John A. Macdonald’s for Conservative members,” she offered, handing Angus a well-worn, black, leather-bound edition.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“The oath you’re about to take is required under the Parliament of Canada Act. You may not enter the House of Commons before taking it. Please hold the Bible in your left hand, raise your right hand, and read the oath.”

She held up a five-by-seven card, embossed with the official imprimatur of the House of Commons. Angus did as she directed while the trigger-happy photographer flashed away.

“I, Duncan Angus McLintock, do swear that I will be faithful
and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs, and Successors. So help me God.”

“Congratulations, Professor McLintock, you are now officially a Member of the House of Commons of the Parliament of Canada,” the Clerk intoned.

“Saints preserve us,” Angus remarked in a doleful sigh.

I turned to the photographer for the first time. “When can we have access to the shots?” I asked. “We’re going to need them soon for our first householder.”

“They’re digital, so I’ll e-mail them to you when we’re finished with the other MPs,” he responded. “You’ll have them by the end of the day.”

“Perfect,” I said and provided him with my e-mail address.

We were almost to the door when Angus piped up again. “Just before we take our leave, I reckon I should learn what I can about the procedures of the House before I’m in the thick of it. What would you recommend?” he asked the Clerk.

She was ready for the question and handed Angus a slim volume published by the Queen’s Printers right in Centre Block.

“These are the Standing Orders that govern all that happens in the House. They define everything you ought to know about procedure from how question period works, to how many days we debate the Throne Speech. It is a clear and invaluable resource drafted to be accessible to the layperson or, in this case, a neophyte Member of Parliament. You may, of course, always call me or my staff with any queries you may have,” she replied.

“I thank you.”

Angus bowed slightly, and we stepped back out into the corridor.

“Let’s make one more stop before heading back to the office,” I proposed.

Angus seemed distracted but followed me, nevertheless. When he surfaced from his reverie, we were standing in front of the open
main doors of the House of Commons. The guards on duty noted Angus’s lapel pin and stood aside.

“After you,” I said. “I can only go to the arch.”

Angus walked in and stood on the green carpet, surveying the heart of Parliament. As I’d hoped, his standing there had the desired impact. The room is extraordinary in its design, power, and history. Even a visitor from another planet would know matters of great import unfolded in that chamber.

I watched as Angus took it all in. Although the seats had not yet been assigned, Angus seemed thrilled just to stand there. Eventually, he retreated and rejoined me.

“I still cannae believe I’ve a seat in that place. It’s all a wee bit overwhelmin’. Humblin’, in fact,” he whispered.

“Indeed,” was all I said.

We returned to our office where Angus broke out a new bottle of Lagavulin. He poured himself a generous measure and leaned back in his chair with his feet on the bare desktop. I sat in one of the 40-year-old guest chairs in front of him. The sun shone through the window behind, crowning his head in a beatific halo. His cranial corona made the wayward strands of his frizzled hair look as if they were on fire.

“All right, you’d better tell me what’s goin’ on now that they’ve let me in here,” he sighed as he downed half of his single malt in one gulp.

I leaned forward towards him, resting my elbows on my knees. “Okay, here’s the deal. Like every other MP, the House of Commons provides you with a budget to run this office as well as your constituency office in Cumberland. The allocation is rather paltry and really only permits the hiring of two Parliament Hill staff and two constit staff.” I stopped to make sure he was with me. He seemed to be. “I’ve already taken the liberty of hiring Camille Boudreau to help manage this office. The Leader’s staff sent her over. She used to work over there but left when they no
longer had room for her. I think you’ll like her. I’m not certain she’s an intellectual powerhouse, but on our budget, we should be happy with anyone who can read, write, and tie their own shoelaces. She starts next week.”

He nodded.

“As for your constituency office, I’ve secured a small but adequate storefront space just off Riverfront Road. The price was right. After the landlord heard it was for your constituency office, he gave us a real deal – seems your honest and heartfelt little monologue on election night struck a chord with him. Anyway, Muriel is going to help us get it set up and will work afternoons when she’s feeling up to it. She’s also going to hire a full-time office manager to keep the trains running on time. The two Petes, who canvassed for you almost every day of the campaign, which should actually earn them the Order of Canada, are going to work part-time, their engineering studies permitting.”

“Ah yes, the two Petes. I’d like to examine the structural engineerin’ of their hair. The way they make it stand straight out from their heads seems to play fast and loose with Newton’s truths,” Angus observed.

I resisted the temptation to remind Angus that his own hair broke a few laws of its own. “Well, I’m sure they’d share their technique with you,” I said. “We’re actually very lucky to have them still on board. We can’t pay them very much, but they agreed, anyway.”

“Aye, I’ll be sure to thank them. Without their tireless campaignin’, I might well be havin’ a nap right now or tinkerin’ in my workshop, and that would be horrible,” he spat in a tone I can only describe by using a new word I created for my own private use:
sarcaustic
.

I must confess I was shocked by how small our budget was. I’d grown accustomed to the more generous allocations made to the office of the Leader of the Opposition. Now, I’d have to scrimp
and save and actually pay attention to how much money we spent. Not a bad thing, I suppose, since it was public money.

“In addition to your salary of about $150,000, you’ll also receive a housing allowance that will go straight into your pocket, assuming you’re going to live in Cumberland and commute to Ottawa every day,” I explained.

“Send the housin’ allowance back,” Angus commanded.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can ye not hear me? Send the housin’ allowance back from whence it came. I don’t need it. I won’t be usin’ it. And so it doesna’ belong to me. Send it back.”

I should not have been surprised. I decided it would be a waste of time to pursue this further and made a mental note to call the House of Commons operations staff to see about reversing the housing allowance. While I wouldn’t want Angus to know, I decided I’d quietly pass along this little public-minded gesture to a reporter or two in the gallery. It was good fodder for the McLintock myth-making machine.

“Thy will be done,” I replied. “I trust you’re happy to let me manage the staffing of both offices and that you don’t feel the need to meet them first.”

“Well, the horse is already out of that barn now, isn’t it? That bein’ said, I’ve neither the knowledge nor the inclination to be of much use on that front. That’s why I’ve you,” he declared. “How did you talk Muriel into puttin’ in time in the Cumberland office?”

“I didn’t have to ask her. She offered. In fact, it took me quite some time to convince her that she should be paid for her time. We’ll get far more out of having her on staff than we could ever hope to give her in return,” I observed. “If there were a Liberal volunteer hall of fame, she’d be a charter inductee.”

“Aye, she’s quite a lass. She called earlier on, and we had another nice chat. She was giving me pointers on the appropriate conduct of an MP.”

“Was she looking for me?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Yer name never came up,” he said. “By the way, what in blazes is a householder?”

“Four times each year, the House of Commons pays for a mailing to all of your constituents to keep them informed of your tireless and constructive efforts on their behalf. We call that news letter a
householder
. I’m big on photos because that’s what constituents remember. Plus, the more photos, the less writing for us to do,” I informed him. “Lindsay has already started to map out your first householder. I figure we’ll send it out in about a month when your honeymoon with the voters may start to wane. When your profile is as high and as positive as it is right now, you can only go in one direction from there.”

“Sounds like a brag sheet intended to serve to MPs’ egos. I don’t want ours to look like all the others. Let’s really make ours useful, not a photo album,” Angus directed.

“We’ll sit down with Lindsay next week and kick around some ideas,” I suggested. “It’s late. I’ll drive us home, we’ll have some dinner, and then, I’ll do my best to redeem my shoddy chess playing of late.”

Angus downed what little remained of his Lagavulin and rose. “As grand a plan as ever I’ve heard,” he answered.

I’d snagged a parking spot just to the west of Centre Block – another perk of past service. Though he tried to conceal it, I could tell Angus was pleased when several House of Commons’ staff said “good night, sir” as we walked to the car. My cell phone rang as we reached the parking lot. It was Bradley Stanton, who’d resumed his role as chief of staff to the Leader of the Opposition following the election.

“Addison, are you still on the Hill?” he asked.

“Angus and I are just in the parking lot, why?”