Eagles

by Lewis Orde

  She answered neither of his questions, just grateful to hold him, unwilling to let go even when he dropped his arms. Finally she said: ‘I had to see you, Rollie. I just had to.’

  ‘How did you get out of the house?’

  ‘I ran. Straight through the front door before anyone could stop me and into a passing taxi.’ As she clung to him he could feel her slender body trembling. ‘Rollie, there is terrible trouble. A terrible thing has happened.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said gently. After what he’d just been through at the funeral, what else could be so terrible?

  ‘You know there is a certain time of the month for a woman?’ Catarina looked into his eyes, found strength there. ‘Rollie, I’m always punctual, like your Big Ben. Now I’ve missed my period twice. I’m already a week late for this month.’

  ‘Are you telling me you’re pregnant?’

  ‘Yes. Are you angry with me?’

  ‘Angry?’ A burst of delighted laughter echoed through the office. ‘I’m not angry – I’m ecstatic! That’s wonderful news, the best possible news I could have heard!’ He kissed her, held on to her until her nervous trembling subsided. Nature . . . a life for every death! Only an hour ago he’d mourned at Monty Adler’s funeral, now Catarina had filled his heart with joy.

  ‘What will we do?’

  ‘We’ll get married, of course. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll confront your father together. When we tell him that we want to get married – that we’re going to get married, we’ll see how well his objections stand up to that!’

  Catarina paled at the prospect. ‘If my father ever learns I’m pregnant, he’ll be like a madman.’

  ‘He won’t have to know.’

  ‘But what will happen when the baby is born less than nine months after our wedding? My father can count.’

  ‘He’ll be so delighted to have a grandchild it’ll never even enter his mind.’ Roland gripped Catarina’s hand and pulled her toward the door. A minute later they were sitting in the Jaguar, heading toward the center of London. Roland steered with his right hand, alternating his left between the gearshift and Catarina’s belly. A baby! His baby! More than nine years had passed without a family, with nothing to cushion him but work . . . the army and now the factory. But a baby – and a wife – would be enough to make him forget about work. If he could once again enjoy that security and love, to give it as well as receive it, he would be perfectly happy with a job as a . . . as a bus driver, damn it!

  Catarina sat pensively as he drove. She didn’t have the heart to deflate Roland’s happiness by arguing that her father would never allow such a marriage. And if the ambassador should ever guess that she had slept with Roland, was pregnant by him . . . Roland was clearly convinced that her father’s objections would be no defense against their love and determination to marry. She was afraid for both of them that he was badly mistaken . . .

  Wilton Crescent was packed with parked cars. Roland double-parked the Jaguar, opened the passenger door and helped Catarina out. As they walked toward the house, the front door flew open and Juan Menendez came running out. He grabbed Catarina by the arm and tried to rip her from Roland’s grasp. Catarina screamed. Roland let go of her hand, took hold of Juan by the lapels of his jacket and lifted him high off the ground, forcing him against the black, pointed railings that surrounded the house.

  ‘If you ever lay a hand on your sister again, I’ll impale you,’ he whispered in Juan’s ear.

  ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘Where is your father?’

  ‘In the embassy.’

  ‘Go get him. Bring him to your home.’ Roland released his hold. Juan dropped to the ground, glared at his sister who stood in the middle of the road watching, then jogged toward the embassy. Roland turned back to Catarina, took her hand and led her toward the front door, which had been left open. Maria Menendez, who had witnessed the incident with Juan, stood inside, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. When Catarina entered the house Señora Menendez threw her arms around her, asking her why she had run away. She didn’t seem to notice Roland behind her.

  Ambassador Menendez arrived out of breath less than two minutes later after excusing himself from a meeting with a delegation from the British War Ministry, arranging the sale of surplus war hardware to Argentina.

  ‘Catarina! How dare you leave here without my permission? And you!’ Menendez turned toward Roland. ‘What insolence allows you to show your face in my home?’

  Roland locked eyes with the ambassador, neither willing to yield. ‘Sir, your daughter and I wish to be married. We have come to ask your blessing.’

  Maria Menendez burst into a fit of crying. Juan stood rigidly at his father’s side. ‘Never,’ Menendez said, his voice level and without emotion. ‘You will never marry my daughter.’

  ‘Sir, I regret to hear that because Catarina and I will be married whether you see fit to give your blessing or not.’ In that moment, Roland knew that he’d done what he’d tried to avoid – driven a wedge between Catarina and her family. Menendez looked as if he would explode as Roland tried to retract some of the bitterness his announcement had caused. ‘Would you stand in the way of your daughter’s happiness, sir?’

  ‘My daughter is far too young to know what will bring her happiness. And you – a gambler, an owner of a petty business that has to sell its merchandise in a street market – are certainly not it.’

  ‘Father!’ Catarina cried out. ‘We are in love with each other. You cannot stop us.’

  ‘I cannot? You are under the age of consent. That is all I need to stop this madness.’ He turned back to Roland, studied the sheepskin coat that was showing signs of wear, the shoes that were still muddy from the morning’s trip to the cemetery. ‘Let me explain it very simply to you, Mr Eagles. The Menendez family is a very old and very proud family.’ He paused to let the words sink in. ‘A very old and very proud Catholic family.’

  Roland felt his stomach tighten. He knew exactly where the ambassador was heading, and he was glad Menendez had chosen this route. Now the cards were on the table. He no longer felt compelled to show a respect he didn’t feel.

  ‘Then we’re a fine match, sir. Because I also come from a very old and very proud family – a very old and very proud Jewish family.’ There, he had said it, publicly and defiantly stated a heritage he had once never given a second thought to. Love had made his father deny it, now Roland was accepting it again – for love.

  ‘Perhaps I should make myself even clearer to you, Mr Eagles. It is not the custom in my family to marry Jews.’

  Roland glanced at Juan, saw the ambassador’s son smirking. Suddenly he wished he’d impaled him on the railings when he had the chance . . . Not since the war had Roland felt such hatred. Bergen-Belsen and all the other camps hadn’t meant a damned thing after all. Maybe the bigotry was veiled now, but it was still there. ‘Nor is it the custom in my family, sir, to marry people from a nation which grants refuge to Nazi war criminals who are willing to pay handsomely for their safety.’ He watched Menendez’s face turn crimson, his eyes bulge in shocked fury. ‘But in your daughter’s case, I am willing to make an exception.’

  ‘Get out!’ Menendez hissed. He motioned for Juan to escort Roland from the house. Juan hesitated, remembering only too well what had happened in the street.

  ‘With or without your blessing, sir, Catarina and I will be wed.’

  Refusing to grace such disrespect with a response, Menendez swung on his heel and walked away. No one had ever spoken to him in such a manner. At home, in Argentina, he could use his friends in high circles – yes, those friends who had made themselves even wealthier by assisting Nazi refugees – to pay back such impudence. But here, in Britain, he was ruled by other laws.

  Juan finally made a move in his direction, but Roland held up his hand. ‘I’m leaving. Save yourself the bother.’ He turned to Catarina and managed to give her a reassuring smile. ‘Try not to worry. In a month we’ll be married and all t
his will have passed.’ With that he turned and left.

  Sitting in the Jaguar, listening to the purr of the engine, Roland calmed himself down enough to think lucidly. He would be damned before he would let Menendez – or Juan – stand in his way. Or any of them. He wanted to marry Catarina and she wanted to marry him. It was as simple as that. Nothing would stop them from having each other. And there was a way. Sally Roberts had unknowingly suggested it to him when she’d joked about putting a ladder against Catarina’s window. They would elope. But first, Roland needed to learn the legal ramifications before he took on Menendez in a head-on clash.

  Simon Aronson was in a meeting when Roland arrived at Aronson Freres, insistent on seeing his partner on an urgent legal matter. Five minutes later Simon emerged, wondering what the emergency could be. He did little to hide his astonishment when Roland explained that he wanted to elope with Catarina.

  ‘You are incredible, Roland! First you cause a fight at a funeral this morning, now you drag me out of an important meeting to ask about eloping. I didn’t bargain for any of these distractions when I became your partner.’

  ‘Are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘If I said no, would that be reason to dissolve our partnership? Of course I’ll help you. Come into my office.’ While Roland sat impatiently, Simon sorted through legal volumes. ‘Scotland,’ he said at last. ‘Scottish marriage laws are different from those in England—’

  ‘Gretna Green and the village blacksmith?’

  Simon shook his head and smiled. ‘Those days are gone. Nonetheless, there is a lower age of consent in Scotland. You’ll have to establish residence there for two weeks and post formal notice of your intention to marry. That’s all. But you’d better make certain you stay one step ahead of Catarina’s father. He isn’t going to take this lying down.’

  ‘Thanks for your help.’ Roland got up and was heading toward the door when Simon called him back.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting one minor detail, Roland? You just told me you took Catarina back to her family – now how do you plan to get her away again?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’ In fact, Roland didn’t have the slightest idea. How would he even get in touch with Catarina to let her know his plan? If only he’d known about this before Catarina had turned up at the factory. They could have driven to Scotland that morning . . . Now that she was back in their grip, God only knew what they would do to thwart him.

  *

  Ambassador Menendez didn’t return to the embassy after Roland had left; as far as he was concerned the delegation from the British War Ministry could cool their heels while he attended to more important matters.

  He busied himself on the telephone, making an international call to Madrid. He should have acted earlier, he cursed himself, after that incident in the street market. Even before that . . . He should have sent Catarina away at the very first sign that she might be interested in this Roland Eagles.

  Menendez’s connection was finally made. After speaking at length he hung up the phone, satisfied. Perhaps he had moved late, but he had moved positively. After learning that Catarina was in her room he called for his wife and son.

  ‘I’ve just made arrangements for Catarina to stay in Madrid. Juan, tomorrow morning you will escort her there. She will stay for as long as necessary – even until we leave London and return to Argentina. I do not want her to ever see that man again, nor do I want to hear his name spoken in my presence.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure as well as my duty to protect our family honor,’ Juan replied.

  Menendez ran his hands through his thick hair, relieved. ‘Just be sure she doesn’t slip away from you.’

  Juan waited until his father had returned to the embassy, then knocked on the door of Catarina’s room. When he entered she was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. ‘What do you want?’ she asked tonelessly.

  ‘Pack your cases.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are going away tomorrow. To Spain.’

  ‘No!’ She swung around to face him, hoping that he was teasing her.

  ‘Yes . . . not no. Say good-bye to London and to your Roland, your Jewish golddigger.’ The anxiety he saw on her face made him smile.

  ‘Laugh if you want to, Juan, but Roland and I will be together.’

  ‘Forget him, Catarina. In a week he will have forgotten all about you. He’ll have another little rich girl sitting in his fancy car, and she might not be as fortunate as you to have such a caring family.’

  Catarina bit her lip and returned to staring at the wall. She refused to give Juan the satisfaction of seeing her cry, even if the headache she had was getting severe enough to force tears to her eyes.

  *

  Roland’s telephone rang at ten o’clock that night. He grabbed it, hoping it would be Catarina. Instead, it was a woman named Anita Alvarez. Roland had never heard of her.

  ‘You might remember me, Mr Eagles,’ the woman said in broken English, ‘if I told you that I wore a black dress and a white apron. I work as a maid at the home of Ambassador Menendez.’

  ‘Catarina asked you to call me?’ Roland asked excitedly. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘The family is planning to send her to Spain tomorrow,’ the woman replied. Roland’s heart plummetted as she continued talking. ‘Did you write that down, Mr Eagles?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry – did I write what down?’

  ‘The flight number from London Airport. It leaves at ten minutes past eleven.’

  Roland grabbed a pencil, found a piece of paper and asked the woman to repeat the flight number and time of departure. ‘Tell Catarina I’ll be waiting for her. We’ll go to Scotland and be married there. Be sure to tell her that. In Scotland, she won’t need her father’s consent. And thank you for calling.’

  He sat by the telephone after they hung up, running plans through his mind, growing more confident as each new one unfolded. The maid’s call was an omen. By this time tomorrow he and Catarina would be well on their way to Scotland, together at last and forever.

  He picked up the phone and first called Alf Goldstein, then dialed Sally’s number. She had a right to know that the romance of the year had just sprouted wings.

  *

  An embassy car took Catarina and Juan from Wilton Crescent to London Airport the following morning. Throughout the ride Juan continued to taunt his sister, telling her that even now Roland was probably making plans to ingratiate himself with some other wealthy girl if he hadn’t done so already while he was seeing Catarina – creating options for himself, laying off his bets. That was what any gambler would do, Juan told his sister. Roland was no different.

  Catarina tried to close her ears to her brother’s spiteful gibes. She knew her message had gotten through to him. Roland had promised to be waiting for her, ready to take her up to Scotland where they could be married. She knew nothing about the difference between English and Scottish law, but if Roland said it was so, then it must be. Still, even if he were waiting for her, how would she get away? And how could he have made plans at such short notice?

  She kept looking out of the car window for the familiar lines and color of the Jaguar XK-120. Would he be at the airport already? Or had his message meant that he would be waiting for her in Madrid? No, it couldn’t be. In Madrid, surrounded by her father’s friends in Franco’s government, escape would be even more difficult. Roland could end up in jail, or worse. He had to be waiting at the airport. Her heart quickened as a dark green sports car drew alongside, then slowed again when she realized it wasn’t the Jaguar she wanted to see.

  He had to be there! she kept repeating to herself. She couldn’t even consider what would happen to her if he weren’t.

  *

  Roland and Alf Goldstein drove to London Airport in a two-car convoy, the Jaguar leading the way at a steady thirty miles an hour. Roland wanted no possibility of being stopped for speeding, no chance of delay.

  They reached the airport just a
fter ten o’clock. Goldstein left his cab at a taxi stand while Roland parked the Jaguar close to the terminal entrance, risking a ticket. They went into the terminal together. Goldstein carried a leather briefcase with the initials J.M. stamped in gold on the flap.

  Away from the ticket counters, out of sight, they waited.

  *

  The embassy car reached the airport at ten-fifteen. The chauffeur helped Juan to carry his and Catarina’s luggage into the terminal. At the counter, Juan told the man to return to the embassy. He produced two Argentinian passports and two sets of tickets for the flight to Paris where they would change for Madrid. As he handed over the documents he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his sister. He was taking no chances now. Not until they were sitting on the plane with their seatbelts on would he dare relax . . .

  *

  ‘There they are,’ Roland said. ‘Make it good.’

  Goldstein nodded. He pulled a tweed cap low over his forehead and gripped the briefcase tightly while he waited for Juan and Catarina to finish at the counter. Their baggage disappeared toward the loading area and they turned to follow the sign pointing to passport control. Goldstein stepped out and walked briskly as he closed the distance between himself and his quarry.

  ‘Excuse me, sir!’ Goldstein’s voice rang through the terminal. ‘You, sir, in the blue coat!’

  Half a dozen men stopped and turned but Goldstein looked only at Juan. ‘That’s right, you! You left this in my cab!’ He waved the briefcase in the air.

  ‘Me?’ Juan pointed to himself, confused as the cab driver approached. ‘I’m afraid there must be some mistake. I didn’t come by taxi.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Goldstein noticed that other passengers were taking an interest in the scene. Good, more confusion. ‘You gave me a pound tip, sir, don’t you remember?’ He looked at Catarina, now wide-eyed as she recognized the man who had brought the roses to the embassy. Juan was holding her by the wrist. Goldstein had to make him let go.

  ‘I tell you there is a mistake.’

  ‘Are your initials J.M.?’

  ‘Yes,’ Juan said uncertainly. ‘Juan Menendez.’