Eagles

by Lewis Orde

  Franz looked startled at the suggestion. ‘We . . . we had never thought of that, sir.’

  ‘Well start thinking about it now. If you two are so serious about each other you should do what’s proper and right, the same as your mother and I did, Kathy. Besides, if I’m to be blessed with grandchildren, I would like it to be while I’m still fit enough to push a carriage. And I would like to have a son-in-law as well!’

  *

  Heinrich Kassler flew to London the moment his son telephoned him with the news. He wanted the wedding to be in Germany. Roland argued it should take place in London. They then sat and laughed when they realized how like typical in-laws they were acting already.

  ‘According to protocol, the bride’s family pays for the wedding. Therefore, it is the privilege of the bride to choose the location,’ Roland said. ‘Besides, Franz is working in London now. He’ll stay with the Eagles Group, or do you have other ideas?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. If you wish him to continue in your company, that’s perfectly acceptable to me. How is he faring?’

  ‘Very well. He’ll be a valuable asset to the operations side. He’s got the German mind for detail, figures at his fingertips.’

  ‘Good. I’m pleased that he learned something at university, other than how to demonstrate.’

  ‘Katherine did mention there had been some trouble.’

  Kassler’s face softened and he shook his head. ‘Youth was the trouble. He was young and wanted to change the world; political ideals got the better of him. I hope that marriage and a career will mature him.’

  ‘Didn’t such ideals get the better of us when we were young?’ Roland asked, feeling Kassler was being unjustly hard on his son. ‘Me at sixteen, running off to single-handedly fight an entire nation. You, who could have had anyone believe you were a fanatical Nazi.’

  ‘That was different, Roland; that was in a time of war. We weren’t students trying to put ourselves on the front pages of newspapers while our parents paid for that privilege. We were earnest in doing what we thought best for our countries.’

  ‘Thank God we were,’ Roland added. ‘There’ll never be another generation like us, will there?’

  Kassler sighed sadly. ‘We were the very last. Ah, what a time that was.’ He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, stubby fingers drumming against the tabletop. Roland could swear he was playing a march.

  He thought of Goldstein and found himself agreeing with his old friend. There was never any getting away from it with the Germans. He hoped that Katherine had caught Franz in time.

  *

  Roland booked Claridge’s for the wedding, wanting to be reminded of Catarina on this one occasion. His first wife might have been dead for twenty years but at Claridge’s – at her daughter’s wedding – her spirit would be alive.

  Next, Roland worked on his guest list. He included Simon and Nadine Aronson, hoping they would come. And at the very bottom of the list, like a postscript, he wrote the name of Nicanor Menendez. Twenty years had a way of healing all rifts. Despite the fact that the ambassador had brushed past Roland the last time they had met, Roland still felt pity for him as he did on the day of the custody trial. To Roland, Menendez was like a loose thread in his life and he wanted to make it up – just as he wanted to put things right with Albert Adler. Roland wrote down the old man’s name, then stared at it while he considered everything the name meant to him. Finally he crossed it out; he wasn’t yet ready for that particular reconciliation.

  By return mail, Simon and Nadine accepted the invitation to Katherine’s wedding. Roland took that as an omen and waited eagerly for the weeks to pass, for Menendez’s response to arrive. When it did, he could feel only disappointment. The former ambassador had simply crossed out the ‘will-be-able-to-attend’ section of the reply card, a brusque stroke with a thick black pen. No message of regret, no words of congratulations for his granddaughter.

  Twenty years made no difference at all to him, Roland concluded sadly. He was still as bitter as he’d been on that day outside the court. Katherine was fated to never know her grandparents. But she would have a husband who loved her. The closer Roland became to Franz Kassler, the more he liked and respected the young man. Never mind the blue-eyed blondness that Goldstein read so much into, Roland was genuinely fond of his future son-in-law. He was intelligent, respectful, ambitious. Most importantly, it was obvious that he loved Katherine as much as Roland had loved her mother.

  That was all Roland needed to know.

  1970–1974

  Chapter One

  The only guests to leave the wedding celebration early were Ralph Morrison and Janet. Both of Roland’s younger children, Richard, now twelve, and ten-year-old Carol – who had acted as pageboy and bridesmaid for their older half-sister – were practically asleep on their feet. Carol was being carried in Morrison’s arms while Richard trailed behind Janet, barely keeping up. Roland kissed each of them tenderly, regretful that he’d been unable to play a more direct role in their lives. Still, he was happy that Janet had married a decent man who treated the children as kindly as if they were his own. How had Katherine once described Ralph Morrison? Roland tried to recall as he watched Janet say good-bye to his daughter, a long, affectionate hug and kiss between the bride and the woman who had been her nurse and friend. Oh, yes . . . an insurance salesman, something boring like that. Boring, perhaps; but more importantly, kind.

  ‘I still feel as though she’s part of me,’ Janet told Roland as she wiped away a tear:

  ‘You shared a lot with her, the good and the bad.’

  ‘From now on it will only be good.’ Janet kissed Roland, who then shook hands with Morrison and kissed his children a final time.

  After they left Roland looked around for Heinrich Kassler and saw the German sitting alone at a table, a drink in front of him as he watched the dancers on the floor. Roland considered joining him, easing his loneliness. Aside from Roland, Goldstein and his own son, of course, Kassler had hardly spoken to anyone during the entire evening, as if he’d been too occupied with his own thoughts. Business, probably, Roland decided in an uncharitable moment; he’d never known a man who seemed to find so little enjoyment in life, except when it came to business – to coming out ahead of the game. Even then Roland wasn’t certain what pleasure Kassler found in winning; it was more like feeding an obsession.

  He allowed his gaze to wander around the room until he spotted the table shared by Simon and Nadine Aronson and Michael Adler with his wife. Of all Roland’s friends, of all the people he knew, Michael was probably the most stable, the hardest to ruffle. He was the calming influence on the board of the Eagles Group. Even his decision to marry only a few months earlier had been made logically. Roland smiled as he recalled Michael’s words – that by leaving it so late, there was little chance of it having time to go sour. Michael was also the most considerate of Roland’s friends; even tonight he’d gone out of his way to spend time with Simon and Nadine, so that Roland would be free to circulate with his other guests.

  Roland decided to balance that lapse now. He walked over to their table, pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Can you believe it?’ he asked Simon and Nadine. ‘Little Katherine getting married.’

  ‘Children grow up far too quickly, Roland,’ Simon said, nodding. ‘They have no respect for their parents, they push us toward old age.’

  Roland debated whether Simon was thinking of Sharon when he made the remark. It was her problems that had aged the man so. She hadn’t returned to London even once since she and David settled in Paris. When Roland asked about her Simon expressed doubt that she would ever marry again; he was just grateful that she seemed to be living a normal existence.

  ‘You’re not that old, Simon. Nadine’s certainly not.’

  ‘I’m old enough to consider resigning from the bank.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Nadine and I would like to return to Paris. Our family is there. And Sharon needs us. Miriam
and Claude are near her, but they have their own lives to lead. We can give Sharon the time and attention she needs. Isn’t it ironic?’ he asked Roland, with a sad smile. ‘More than thirty years ago we came to London from Paris, and now we’re making plans to return.’

  A waiter appeared at Roland’s elbow, coughed discreetly into his hand to get his attention. ‘Mr Eagles, there’s a gentleman who wishes to speak with you.’

  ‘Where?’ Roland looked around the busy ballroom, glad for the interruption. He found it impossible to reach Simon anymore – and to think they’d been so close . . . Communication was now painfully difficult.

  ‘Outside, sir. He’s not a guest.’

  ‘Excuse me, will you?’ Roland asked Simon and Nadine. He stood up and followed the waiter into the lobby outside the hall. There was only one figure sitting out there, an elderly man with bushy gray eyebrows, a dark raincoat buttoned all the way to his throat. Roland, who prided himself on a memory for faces, couldn’t place him at all.

  ‘May I help you, sir?’

  The elderly man rose and looked into Roland’s face. ‘Are you worth one hundred million pounds yet, Mr Eagles?’

  The question, so completely out of context, threw Roland’s mind back down the labyrinth of memories he’d been experiencing that night. ‘Mr Ambassador! This is indeed an unexpected pleasure! Where is Señora Menendez?’

  ‘She was unable to accompany me. She is not well, her heart.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Would you like to meet your granddaughter, sir?’

  ‘I most certainly would.’ Menendez was clearly moved at the prospect. ‘You know, that invitation you sent me—’

  ‘I received your reply that you wouldn’t be able to attend. I understood.’

  ‘My first impulse was to tear it up, to not even reply,’ Menendez continued, as if Roland hadn’t said a word, ‘I thought you were . . . you were making fun of me, mocking me by sending an invitation to my granddaughter’s wedding. I thought you were using it to gloat again about your victory in court over me.’

  ‘That was never my intention, sir. If you recall, after the trial I offered you the opportunity of seeing Katherine whenever you wished—’

  ‘I know, I know. An old man’s stupid, stubborn pride. I could never accept you, and therefore I could never allow myself to believe you would find it in your heart to forgive me.’

  Roland could see that the meeting was going to be an emotional one. It looked like the former ambassador was going to be moved to tears at any moment, and Roland felt he might follow.

  ‘I never intended to come here, never intended to give you the satisfaction of seeing me travel eight thousand miles just because you invited me. And then I began to think about it. My wife told me I should come. Katherine is our only granddaughter—’

  Roland broke into the old man’s rambling speech by helping him to sit down. He told the waiter to stay with him while he returned to the ballroom. Katherine and Franz were standing together just inside the entrance, posing for a photograph. Roland broke in just as the flash went off. ‘Come outside, quickly.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Just come outside. There’s someone I want you both to meet.’

  Half-dragged, half-walking, lifting her long dress with one hand, Katherine followed her father into the foyer, with Franz a step behind. She saw an elderly man sitting on a chair, a waiter hovering beside him. ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered.

  ‘Kathy, I’d like to introduce you to your grandfather.’

  ‘Menendez?’ Katherine gasped. She held out her hand to the Argentinian.

  ‘Your grandfather’s come all the way from Argentina just to see you.’ Roland asked the waiter to bring chairs for Katherine and Franz. Then he nodded politely and returned to the party, looking for Sally; she was entitled to share in this precious piece of news.

  ‘You’ll never guess who’s sitting outside, talking to Katherine and Franz,’ Roland said excitedly. ‘Menendez.’

  ‘He came?’

  ‘Just arrived. Wanted to see Katherine. I didn’t want to drag him in here, with all these people, so I left them outside to say whatever they’ve got to say to each other.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Sally said, and Roland was certain he saw tears begin to well in her eyes. ‘Funny how forgiving you get as you grow older, isn’t it? How’s his son?’

  ‘Juan? I never thought to ask.’

  ‘Better that way. Give me a dance.’

  It was a waltz, and Roland held Sally tightly. All the memories had come home to roost that night, especially with the former ambassador sitting outside the very ballroom where Roland had first met him, had first danced with Catarina . . .

  ‘You’re going to miss Katherine, aren’t you?’ Sally asked.

  ‘I never got to see that much of her during these past few months. She spent all her time with Franz.’

  ‘Doesn’t that big house get lonely, even with the help?’

  ‘I try not to stay in it too long by myself.’

  Sally looked over Roland’s shoulder at Heinrich Kassler, still sitting alone at a table. ‘Just don’t get like him. There’s a man with a problem that’s just eating him up.’

  ‘No problem – just his business.’

  The waltz ended and Roland walked outside to find Katherine and Franz still talking to Menendez. Tears were falling freely down the old man’s face now, and Roland wondered just how deeply he was regretting the pride that had kept him away for the past twenty years. ‘Where are you staying in London, sir?’

  ‘Here, at Claridge’s’

  ‘But your coat?’

  Through the tears Menendez gave a wistful smile. ‘I had to take a walk first, to pluck up the courage to see you. Even then, I couldn’t simply walk into the ballroom. I had to send a waiter.’

  ‘I understand. How long will you be staying?’

  ‘A few days. This will be my last trip to England, and I’m grateful that the good Lord has given me time to make it. I haven’t been here since my ambassadorship. I always loved this country, and now I would like to take a final look.’

  ‘If there is anything I can do for you while you’re here, sir, please don’t hesitate to call.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

  Through the door to the ballroom, Roland heard the bandleader tell the guests to take their partners for the final waltz. He pulled Katherine aside, whispered in her ear. She smiled and nodded happily.

  ‘Grandfather, will you have the last waltz with me?’

  Menendez seemed startled at the invitation. His face shone, happiness pushed aside his tears. ‘I would be delighted to do so, my child.’ He took off his coat, handed it to Roland and escorted Katherine back to the ballroom. Roland followed and stood watching from the entrance as Katherine and her grandfather started to circle the floor. She was taller than Menendez, a striking comparison between the young woman and her grandfather. Roland saw heads turn, imagined that questions were being asked and he smiled to himself. Who among the guests could possibly guess who Katherine’s partner was for this final waltz?

  ‘Sorry to steal her away from you,’ Roland said to Franz, who stood next to him.

  ‘That’s not theft, its kindness.’

  ‘Thanks for seeing it that way.’ Roland patted his son-in-law on the shoulder. ‘Tell you what, how about doing a kind act for your father? He’s sitting over there like a lost soul.’

  Franz looked across the ballroom at Heinrich Kassler, who had still not moved from the table. ‘Why is it, sir, that I feel closer to you than to my own father?’

  ‘You shouldn’t, because your father and I are very much alike. The only difference is that when we had to choose between work and family, your father made a more extreme choice than I did. I think your father’s wishing he had the opportunity to make that choice again. Why don’t you help him do it?’

  Franz walked slowly toward his father, pulled out a chair and sat down. Roland saw that they be
gan to talk. He had no idea what was being said; he just hoped the bridge was being crossed.

  As the final strains of music died away, Roland looked back at the dance floor. Katherine and Nicanor Menendez stood quite still, holding their waltz position. Then Katherine leaned forward and kissed Menendez on the cheek. Roland captured the picture, filed it away in his mind with other treasured memories – another loose thread tucked neatly into place.

  As the guests left, Katherine, Franz, Roland and Kassler stood by the door to wish everyone goodnight. The bridal couple were in no hurry to leave; they were booked into Claridge’s for the night, and the following morning were scheduled to fly to Portugal to begin their honeymoon.

  Nicanor Menendez was one of the very last to leave, standing alone for the longest time by the edge of the dance floor. He was in the same position Roland remembered him from the night of the ambassador’s ball when he’d regarded Roland with that confused expression, uncertain if the tall, young Englishman had been one of those men included on Catarina’s dance card. Roland walked over to him, waited for the old man to speak.

  ‘Do you worry, as I did, about your daughter, Mr Eagles?’

  ‘Never an hour passes without my thinking about her, sir. I have three other children as well, much younger. Two of them were here earlier.’

  ‘You are a very fortunate man. I had two children. One died, the other uses the power I’ve given him and spares no thought for me.’

  ‘Juan?’

  Menendez nodded sadly. ‘Because of me he is a very wealthy man. But he cares little for me or his mother. That is the gratitude a father receives. I hope your children don’t treat you in the same shabby fashion.’

  Roland almost answered that he doubted very much that they would. He’d never pushed his children, had never dreamed of trying to arrange an advantageous marriage for Katherine, had never tried to live his life through her, as Menendez had done. Instead he said, ‘So do I, sir. When you’re ready, may I see you to your room?’