He shook his head. 'Not yet. But you go: I'll follow later.'

Partway to the door Margaret paused. On a Sheraton games table was a pile of papers and press clippings sent over from Howden's parliamentary office earlier in the day. She picked up a slim booklet, turning it over.

'You don't really read this sort of thing, Jamie, do you?' There was a title on the cover – Stargazer. Around it were the zodiac signs of astrology.

'Good God, no!' Her husband coloured slightly. 'Well, occasionally I glance at it – just for amusement.'

'But the old lady who used to send these to you – she died, didn't she?'

'I expect someone keeps on sending them.' Howden's voice had a trace of irritability. 'It's hard to get off any mailing list once you're on.'

'But this is a subscription copy,' Margaret persisted. 'Look – it's been renewed; you can tell from the date on the label.'

'Really, Margaret, how do -I know how and when and where it's been renewed? Have you any idea how much mail comes addressed to me in the course of a day? I don't check it all. I don't even see it all. Maybe this is something which someone in the office did without telling me. If it bothers you I'll have it stopped tomorrow.'

Margaret said calmly, 'There's no need to be testy, and it doesn't bother me. I was just curious, and even if you do read it, why make such a fuss? Perhaps it'll tell you how to deal with Harvey Warrender.' She put the book down. 'You're sure you won't come to bed now?'

'I'm sure. I've a lot of planning to do, and not much time.' It was an old experience. 'Goodnight, dear,' she said. Climbing the broad, curving staircase, Margaret wondered how many times in her married life she had spent solitary evenings or gone to bed this way, alone. It was as well, perhaps, that she had never counted them. In recent years, especially, it had become a pattern for James Howden to stay up late, brooding on politics or affairs of state, and usually when he came to bed Margaret was asleep and seldom awoke. It was not the sexual intimacies of bed she missed, she told herself with feminine frankness; those, in any case, had become channelled and organized years before. But companionship at close of day was a warmth a woman cherished. There have been good things about our marriage, Margaret thought, but there has been aloneness too.

The talk of war had left her with a sense of unaccustomed sadness. Inevitability of war, she supposed, was something which men accepted but women never would. Men made war; not women, save with small exceptions. Why? Was it because women were born to pain and suffering, but men must make their own? Suddenly she had a yearning for her children; not to comfort them, but to be comforted. Tears filled her eyes and a temptation seized her to return downstairs; to ask that for just one night, at the hour of sleep, she need not be alone.

Then she told herself: I'm being silly. "Jamie would be kind, but he would never understand.

Briefly after his wife's departure James Howden remained before the fire – a glowing red, the earlier flames diminished -allowing his thoughts to drift along. What Margaret had said was true; talking had been a relief, and some of the things said tonight had been spoken aloud for the first time. But now he must make specific plans, not only for the Washington talks, but for his approach to the country afterwards.

The first essential, of course, was to retain power for himself; it was as if destiny beckoned him. But would others see it the same way? He hoped they would, but it was best to be sure. That was why, even at this time, he must chart a careful, guarded course in domestic policies. For the country's sake, an election victory for his own party in the next few months was vital.

As if in relief for a switch to smaller issues, his mind returned to the incident tonight involving Harvey Warrender. It was the kind of thing which must not occur again. He must have a showdown with Harvey, he decided, preferably tomorrow. One thing he was determined about – there would be no more embarrassment for the Government from the Department of Citizenship and Immigration.

The music had stopped and he crossed to the hi-fi to put on another record. He chose a Mantovani selection called 'Gems Forever'. On the way back he picked up the magazine which Margaret had commented on.

What he had told Margaret had been perfectly true. There was a mass of mail that came into his office and this was a trifling fragment only. Of course, many papers and magazines never reached him, except when there was some reference to himself, or a photograph. But for years now Milly Freedeman had put this particular one among a small selection. He was not aware that he had ever asked her to, but neither had he objected. He supposed, too, that Milly had automatically renewed the subscription whenever it ran out.

Naturally, the whole subject was nonsense – astrology, the occult, and its associated hocus-pocus – but it was interesting to see how gullible others could be. That was solely the basis for his own interest, though it had seemed difficult, somehow, to explain to Margaret.

It had started years before in Medicine Hat when he was becoming established in law and just beginning a political career. He had accepted a free legal-aid case, one of a good many he handled in those days, and the accused had been a white-haired, motherly woman charged with shoplifting. She was so obviously guilty and had a long record of similar offences that there seemed nothing to do but admit the facts and plead for leniency. But the old lady, a Mrs Ada Zeeder, had argued otherwise, her main concern being that the court hearing should be postponed for a week. He had asked why.

She had told him, 'Because the magistrate won't convict me then, silly.' Pressed further, she explained, 'I'm a child born under Sagittarius, dear. Next week is a strong week for all Sagittarians. You'll see.'

To humour the old woman he had had the case stood over and later entered a plea of not guilty. To his great surprise, and following the flimsiest of defences, a normally tough magistrate had dismissed the charge.

After that day in court he had never seen old Mrs Zeeder again, but for years until her death she had written him regularly with advice about his career based on the fact that he, too, she had discovered, was a child of Sagittarius. He had read the letters but paid scant attention, except amusedly, though once or twice had been startled by predictions which seemed to have come true. Later still, the old woman had entered a subscription in his name to the astrology magazine and when her letters finally stopped the copies continued to" come.

Casually he opened the pages to a section headed 'Your Individual Horoscope – December 15th to 30th'. For every day of the two weeks there was a paragraph of advice to the birthdate conscious. Turning to the Sagittarius section for tomorrow, the twenty-fourth, he read:

An important day for decisions and a good opportunity to turn events in your favour. Your ability to persuade others will be most marked and therefore progress which can be accomplished now should not be put off till later. A time of meeting. But beware the small cloud no larger than a man's hand.

It was absurd coincidence, he told himself. Besides, looked at intelligently, the words were vague and could be applied to any circumstance. But he did have decisions to make, and he had been considering a meeting of the cabinet Defence Committee for tomorrow, and it would be necessary for him to persuade others. He speculated on what could be meant by the cloud no larger than a man's hand. Something to do with Harvey Warrender, perhaps. Then he stopped himself. This was ridiculous. He put down the book, dismissing it.