by Lewis Orde
‘Don’t waste your pity,’ Sally Roberts said as she joined him. ‘If the roles had been reversed, they wouldn’t have felt a damned thing for you.’
‘Thank God we’ll never know.’
‘There’s a rumor going around that Menendez has asked to be recalled, wants to resign,’ Sally said.
‘I can’t blame him for that when you consider the hopes he first came to London with – now look what he’s got.’
Two reporters planted themselves in front of Roland, bombarded him with questions. He ignored them completely, instead turned away to look for Alf Goldstein. He finally located him in the crowd and waved him over.
‘Alf, drive me home, please. I’d like to be with my daughter.’
‘I’ll bring the cab around.’
Roland waited, one arm around Sally, the other on Simon’s shoulder. An important part of his life had just ended.
1970
After playing for more than an hour, the orchestra at Claridge’s took a break, setting down their instruments as two waiters wheeled a massive, multi-tiered wedding cake into the center of the dance floor.
Roland stood next to Heinrich Kassler, two middle-aged men alone with their thoughts while they watched Katherine and Franz clasp the silver handle of the cake knife and slice into the bottom tier. Cameras flashed around them, recording the moment.
‘If you still have any doubts about whether or not they’re married, this should surely clear them,’ Heinrich Kassler murmured. ‘Come . . .’ He grasped Roland’s elbow gently and guided him toward one of the tables that were set for tea. ‘We can watch from a sitting position just as well as from a standing position.’
‘In a moment,’ Roland answered as he pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket. ‘I have to see someone first.’
‘Time to pay the piper?’
Roland smiled. ‘The privilege of the bride’s father, and in this instance, Heinrich, it is truly a privilege.’ He left Kassler and walked toward the banquet manager who stood just inside the ballroom entrance. The two men entered an office where Roland wrote out a check to cover the evening’s festivities. By the time he’d returned to the ballroom, the guests were seated. Waiters glided from table to table, passing around pieces of the wedding cake. Roland surveyed the scene from the entrance, then walked slowly across the dance floor toward the cake stand. Only a section of the bottom tier remained, with the sculpted figures of the bride and groom set inside. Roland picked up the figures, held them gently. For a moment he forgot his surroundings as memories came flooding back. He could find them everywhere, even in something as common as a piece of wedding cake. He picked up a piece of the white icing and tasted it thoughtfully. The sweet flavor was also a memory, reminding him of another cake – one smaller and less ornate than this, with candles decorating it instead of the figures of a bride and groom. Katherine had been smaller, too, the party itself on a much more modest scale.
Yet it had been just as important to Roland as this one because it marked yet another milestone in his life – not only had it been the first celebration of any kind since Catarina’s death and the dramatic custody battle, it marked the time when he finally faced the fact that even without Catarina, life had to continue on a normal basis . . . if only for his daughter’s sake.
1957–1970
Chapter One
Roland’s lifestyle took an abrupt turn with the arrival of his young daughter. As the infant grew into a toddler, then a little girl, Roland divided his time between developing his business and raising his child, using every free moment to play with her, reading books, reveling in nearly every passing stage.
The business he had built with Simon continued to thrive, and the small group of electrical shops with which they had started expanded to a chain of over forty. In 1954 they opened a second factory in Leicester to handle the demand for their kitchen appliances. During the times Roland was away either at the office in Wembley or on the road managing the stores, Katherine remained at home, cared for by Elsie Partridge, who had become a permanent member of the Eagles household. Life resumed a sense of normalcy for Roland and Katherine in all respects but one – despite assurance to the contrary from specialists he’d taken Katherine to, Roland could not shake the fear that Katherine may have inherited her mother’s physical deficiency, and that she, too, would be fated for a short life.
When she reached school age, Roland enrolled her in an exclusive private school with the understanding that the staff was not to allow her to participate in any strenuous activity. She played under the strictest supervision, and during competitive games was forced to remain on the sidelines, a frustrated spectator. When the other children were given riding lessons, Katherine could only watch, hearing what fun it was through her friends. Roland had seen too many jockeys unseated, and he refused to risk having his daughter fall – how could he forget that it was only a mild bump on the head that had led to Catarina’s death? For Katherine, being refused permission to ride was the final disappointment, and Roland quickly learned that the only trait his daughter had inherited from Catarina was the same fiery temper. In childish fury she screamed that her father didn’t want her to have any fun, she wanted a new father – one who would allow her to ride ponies and play like the other children.
But her protests fell on deaf ears. Roland had weighed her momentary unhappiness against the possible tragedy he was trying to prevent, and decided the risk wasn’t worth it. She’ll understand when she gets a little older, Roland thought . . . or at least he hoped she would.
At the start of school Katherine’s new routine was set: each morning she was dropped off by Alf Goldstein, who had decided, following the custody battle, to work for Roland. Each afternoon he would pick her up, often taking her to the park when Roland was away. He became like a favorite uncle to Katherine, and the relationship was even more strongly cemented when he risked – but only after making her solemnly promise not to tell her father – treating her to pony rides at Regent’s Park Zoo.
Roland’s overly protective attitude toward his daughter was not unnoticed by his friends. Like Alf Goldstein, Sally Roberts had also taken a special interest in Katherine, and only hoped that Roland would come to his senses and see that the wall he’d built could only hurt her. Neither Alf nor Sally could convince him of it. Simon and Michael Adler joined in, trying to make him see that his attitude wasn’t based on reality, but the tragic loss of his wife. Again, neither man could make an impression and Roland continued with his obsessive overprotection of her. It wasn’t until the late spring of 1957 that Roland’s rigid attitude was finally jarred loose. The unlikely occasion was the wedding of Simon’s older daughter, Sharon.
It was a wedding match made to order for the city’s gossip columnists: the beautiful daughter of a wealthy banker marrying Graham Sharp, the twenty-five-year old owner of the most fashionable hairdressing salon in London. Models and actresses flocked to him and news of their patronage drew more customers than Graham and his seven stylists could handle.
Sharon had met Graham when he worked at another West End salon. They dated for three months before she accepted his marriage proposal. At that time – as Graham had anticipated – Simon stepped in, offering to finance a salon for his future son-in-law. Since he had no savings to speak of – most of his money went to clothes and flashy cars – he accepted readily, taking his own faithful clientele with him.
Before the wedding Roland had only met Graham a few times, but it was often enough for him to form a strong opinion – from what Roland could see, Graham was nothing more than a sharp-witted opportunist trying to make the most of his current popularity. Roland wondered whether Simon felt the same, or was he blinded by his concern for his daughter’s happiness? What particularly annoyed Roland was the way Graham acted whenever they met. Aware of the schoolgirl infatuation Sharon once had for Roland, Graham seemed to go out of his way to gloat, as if Sharon had chosen him over Roland. Even on the night before the wedding during dinner at Simo
n’s house, Graham couldn’t resist the opportunity to make a cutting remark. ‘Guess the best man won, eh?’ Roland used all the self-control he had to resist punching him in the mouth.
The next day, with thoughts of Graham pushed aside, Roland decided he would enjoy the wedding, and it was then that he took a long overdue look at himself.
Not because of the wedding itself, but the fact that six-year-old Katherine was a bridesmaid in the ceremony. Demurely dressed in a long white dress – and missing one front tooth – she nearly upset the decorum of the procession when, coming down the aisle, she bathed the entire congregation with a mischievous, snaggled-toothed grin. It was then that Roland realized that his young daughter was reveling in the attention she received from the charmed guests, enjoying the sensation of playing to an audience. Sharon, strikingly elegant in her bridal dress, looked stunning as she stood beneath the wedding canopy with her new husband and both sets of parents. So did Miriam, her younger sister, who was matron of honor. Married six months earlier and living in Paris with her French husband, Miriam had shed the pudginess Roland had always associated with her; she took after Nadine, small and vibrantly energetic. But all through the service the guests kept turning their heads to steal a quick peek at the adorable towhead with the lopsided grin. Roland couldn’t remember ever seeing Katherine so happy, and he finally realized what all his friends had known all along: Katherine needed room to blossom.
Before the service had finished he decided to make it all up to Katherine. In a few weeks it would be her seventh birthday. He would give her a party that she would remember for the rest of her life. Katherine’s previous birthdays had been simple affairs – an outing to the park, a movie perhaps, presents. Birthdays had always been occasions shared solely between father and daughter. Roland couldn’t bring himself to arrange for a bigger celebration; the child’s birthday was also the anniversary of Catarina’s death. It was time, Roland decided as he watched Graham Sharp break the traditional glass beneath his foot, to change all that.
Katherine was thrilled by the prospect of a big birthday party. She sat down with her father and reeled off a list of schoolfriends she wanted to invite. Roland added the names of his closest friends plus one other – Janet Taylor, the young nurse who had taken care of Katherine for the first two years until she moved on to another position. Janet had always stayed in touch, never forgetting to send a card on Katherine’s birthday or a small gift, stopping at the apartment whenever she happened to be in the neighborhood. This would be a party, Roland decided, not only for Katherine, but for everyone . . .
Roland couldn’t tell who enjoyed the party more – Katherine’s friends or his own guests. Seated on folding chairs around the spacious living room, children and adults watched with equal fascination as a magician popped rabbits out of hats, made white doves appear and disappear. Only once did Roland find himself retreating with thoughts of Catarina, and as he did he glanced quickly at the framed photograph of her that hung above the fireplace. But the sound of laughter quickly snapped him back to the present and he looked from one happy face to another, finally stopping at his own daughter. As he took in the wide smile that split her face, her hands clapped together with delight, he realized that this was what he should have done years ago . . . Catarina would have wanted him to, he understood that now; but it wasn’t too late to change.
As Elsie Partridge carried in a pink and white frosted birthday cake, complete with seven pink candles, Roland sat down next to Janet Taylor, Sally Roberts and Christopher Mellish, the man whom Sally had been dating for almost a year.
‘What time does the pièce de résistance arrive?’ Roland asked.
Mellish – tall, sandy-haired, in his early forties – glanced at his watch. ‘Another ten minutes or so. I told the driver to be here no later than four o’clock.’
‘You’ll look a prize idiot if Katherine doesn’t ask for a pony,’ Janet said, teasing him.
‘She will. She couldn’t possibly want anything else after the way she carried on when I wouldn’t let her take riding lessons. And, I’m damned sure that Alf Goldstein’s been taking her for pony rides after school. I guess everyone knew how to bring up Katherine but me.’
‘Don’t be too critical of yourself,’ Sally said, patting Roland on the knee. ‘You only did what you thought was best, and no one can fault for that.’
‘I suppose so. Still, the pony should make everything right.’
‘Only if she asks for a pony when she makes her birthday wish,’ Janet reminded him.
‘She’d better,’ Roland said. All the adults were in on the secret, and he knew that they, too, would be disappointed if she made a wish for something else. He’d bought the pony through Christopher Mellish, who owned a farm and a small but successful racing stable in the West Country, as well as a very profitable cloth mill in Yorkshire. He’d inherited both from his late father.
Roland could never make up his mind about Sally’s relationship with Mellish, whom she’d met while writing an article on the outrageous hats worn each year by attention-seeking women at Royal Ascot. It wasn’t that he disliked the man, in fact the opposite was true. But somehow the racehorse owner seemed a little too slick for Sally. Never married, Mellish was a man who spent most of his time partying and gambling, either on his own horses or on the tables at Monte Carlo, where he traveled frequently. These were perfectly acceptable characteristics in a man Roland might have chosen for his own friend – although since Catarina’s death he hadn’t been racing at all – but he was uncertain that Mellish was suitable for Sally. Mellish’s life revolved too much around pleasure, and Roland felt Sally would be better off with someone who worked more and played less. It was a chauvinistic attitude, he knew, but where Sally was concerned Roland felt he was entitled . . . he cared for her too much to simply ignore the possibility of her being hurt by a man like that. Unable to leave well enough alone, Roland had even tried to arrange a match between Sally and Michael Adler, an idea Sally had rejected immediately. Michael reminded her too much of him, she’d said, a man driven by his work – and she wasn’t certain she wanted to play second fiddle to a job.
At the sound of a loud engine drifting up from the street Roland stood up and walked to the window. A horse box had drawn up outside the building and a man in red hunting coat, white breeches and top hat was leading a chestnut pony down the ramp. Roland turned back and caught Elsie Partridge’s eye. The housekeeper took the cue and picked up a box of matches, lighting the seven candles on the birthday cake.
‘A good hard blow now, Katherine,’ the housekeeper said. ‘All at once, otherwise your wish will never come true.’
Katherine, her long blonde hair tied in braids that fell onto her pale blue dress, sucked in a lungful of air, then blew out the candles in a noisy blast.
‘Make a wish!’ Roland yelled, and the guests joined in encouraging her.
‘I bet she asks for a rag doll instead of a horse,’ Janet whispered to Roland.
‘I bet you dinner tomorrow night she doesn’t. I know my daughter too well.’
‘You’re on.’ Janet grinned at Roland, amazed at the spontaneous challenge but quick enough to take him up on it. She remembered the excitement they’d shared the day they’d gone to get Katherine, running to the cab with the baby pressed tightly against her chest, the police waiting for them when they returned, the arrogance in Roland’s tone as he dealt with them. To a girl of twenty, Roland had seemed an heroic if tragic figure, rescuing his daughter while fighting his own grief. Janet allowed herself to be swept into a world of fantasy where she consoled him, replaced the love he had lost, always yearning for him to approach her for the comfort she knew she could give. But during the two years she’d spent with Katherine and the years that followed, Roland had never shown more than a passing interest, wanting to know how Janet was faring but giving no indication that he wanted to be any closer. Now, Janet could swear to it, everything had changed. It was as if this birthday party somehow represented
a break with the past for Roland, removing an entire mountain of barriers.
In the center of the living room, standing by the cake, Katherine closed her eyes. ‘I want a . . .’
‘Rag doll,’ Janet whispered, and Roland laughed.
‘I want a horse,’ Katherine opened her eyes and looked hopefully at her father.
‘Will a chestnut pony do?’
Katherine nodded happily.
‘Look outside.’
Followed by the other children, Katherine ran to the window, shrieking with delight when she saw the pony and its smartly attired groom. ‘Buttercup!’ she cried. ‘I’m going to call her Buttercup!’ She threw her arms around her father, then raced to the door. A minute later she was downstairs, while in the living room Roland basked in the glory of a well-chosen gift.
‘You, madam, owe me dinner tomorrow night,’ he said to Janet.
‘Do you expect me to take you out, sir, or do you prefer a home-cooked meal?’
While he considered the question, Roland studied the young woman. He had invited Janet to the party for Katherine’s sake, yet now he realized that he wanted her to come for his own benefit as well. Roland had considered asking Janet out during the times she’d come to visit Katherine, but something had always stopped him. Only now did he fully understand what had held him back – the feeling that he would be betraying Catarina’s memory by trying to build a relationship with another woman. But he knew that wasn’t what Catarina would have wanted, for him to go through life like a hermit – just as she wouldn’t have wanted him to smother their daughter because of an obsessive fear that she might be harmed in some way . . .
‘How come no one’s grabbed you yet, Janet?’ he asked impetuously.
‘Do you mean why am I not married? Maybe being a children’s nurse has made me too motherly. That scares some men.’