by Lewis Orde
‘Then this is your bag, sir.’ He thrust the briefcase at Juan who, despite himself, reached out for it with both hands, letting go of Catarina. From the corner of his eye Goldstein saw Roland working his way toward her along the ticket counter.
‘I didn’t come here by taxi!’ Juan repeated, angry now, wondering why he was holding this unfamiliar briefcase. How on earth could it have his initials on it? ‘Here – you found it, you keep it!’ He shoved the briefcase at Goldstein’s chest.
Goldstein pushed it right back. ‘What’s the matter with it? Why don’t you want it back? Why did you leave it in my cab?’ Goldstein shouted the questions loudly enough so that a crowd began to press in, forming a circle around him and Juan. ‘What’s in the bag, a bomb?’
A shocked gasp erupted from the crowd at such a dramatic possibility. At the same time Roland’s hand snaked out from the crowd, grabbed Catarina by the wrist and dragged her into the mass of people. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this!’ Goldstein yelled, red in the face. ‘Let’s find a policeman and get him to open it!’
‘For the very last time, I did not come here in your taxi and this is not my bag!’ Juan shouted back. ‘I came with my sister in a limousine from the Argentinian Embassy! My father is the ambassador!’
Goldstein gazed over the heads of the crowd, spotted Roland and Catarina rushing through the terminal door toward the Jaguar. ‘What sister?’
‘Here!’ Juan spun around and his mouth dropped open in shock. Catarina was nowhere in sight. All he could see were the people watching him. ‘Where is she? Where is my sister?’
‘The girl who was standing with you?’ a stewardess asked.
‘That’s right! In the brown coat!’
‘She left with a man while you were arguing with the cab driver.’
Juan swung back to confront Goldstein, but he was no longer there. He had slipped to the other side of the crowd and was walking quickly toward the taxi stand. Juan was left holding a leather briefcase with his initials stamped on it. Close to tears, he realized too late that he’d been outwitted. He opened the case and pulled out a single white envelope. He ripped it open to find a map of Madrid along with a greeting card.
‘Bon Voyage,’ it read.
‘Police!’ Juan screamed as he tore up the card and map and threw them to the floor. ‘Police!’
*
Roland and Catarina ran the full distance to the Jaguar. He opened the passenger door, pushed her inside, jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. With a squeal of tires he sped from the airport, heading back toward London. In the rearview mirror he could barely see Alf Goldstein running toward the taxi stand. Roland grinned.
‘My baggage is on its way to Madrid and I am not,’ Catarina said joyfully. ‘You are marvelous, Rollie. You and your cab driver friend.’ She leaned across the car and kissed Roland on the cheek. He responded by wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to him.
‘Shall we name our first child after him?’ He ran his hand across her belly, certain he could feel life there.
‘Not if it’s a girl.’
‘You’re right. Alf’s a funny name for a girl.’ He laughed and hugged her again, steering with one hand.
‘Are we going to Scotland right now? I only have the clothes I’m wearing.’
‘No, not for a few days.’ After his conversation with the maid, Roland had changed his mind about going to Scotland right away. The abduction from Juan would create havoc; he wanted to let the heat die down before he acted. ‘You’re going to lie low for a while, Catarina, and I’m going to continue working just as usual.’
‘Where will I stay? Not with you, surely? That’s the first place my father will look.’
‘Not with me, although I’d love you to.’ That was another subject he’d considered carefully. He wanted Catarina with people he knew and trusted, but at the same time he didn’t want her staying with anyone Menendez might suspect. That ruled out both Sally Roberts and Simon Aronson. So Roland had gone to Alf Goldstein.
By midday, Catarina was comfortably esconced on the top floor of Goldstein’s rambling three-story house in the North London section of Stoke Newington. Goldstein’s wife Sara, a plump, red-haired matronly woman, explained that the top floor was usually let out as a furnished apartment; now it was empty, and Catarina could use it for as long as she wanted. The Goldsteins and their two young sons shared three bedrooms on the second floor; on the ground floor were the living room, dining room and kitchen.
‘Remember, you mustn’t leave the house,’ Roland reminded Catarina. ‘I’m sure your picture’s going to be in the newspapers, and someone on the street might recognize you. I’ll get messages to you because I can’t take a chance on calling you directly. Be patient.’
‘I can’t be patient for very long, Rollie. Please make it happen quickly.’
‘I will.’ He looked at his watch, the one Catarina had given him. Juan would have returned to the embassy long ago; by now the search must have started. ‘Catarina, telephone your father and tell him you’re all right. It won’t make him any less furious,’ he added when he saw Catarina’s surprise, ‘but he has the right to know that you’re safe. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . when he sees we’re this determined he might soften.’
Catarina went to the telephone and dialed the number of the embassy. When she identified herself she was put straight through to her father. ‘Papa, it’s Catarina—’
‘Where are you?’ Menendez roared. ‘Are you with that fortune hunter?’
‘Papa, will you please listen to me?’
‘I will listen to you only when you come home! When you have learned respect for your parents again!’ With that, Menendez slammed down the receiver.
Catarina turned to Roland, white-faced and shaking. ‘I heard him,’ Roland said, holding her. ‘He’ll come around, don’t worry. When he has time to think it over, he’ll act more sensibly.’ Roland only wished he could believe his own words.
‘I hope so, Rollie, but I know my father better than you do. He sees this as an insult; it will take him a long time to recover from it.’
‘But he will, that’s all that matters.’ He kissed her, thanked Goldstein’s wife for her help and left the house.
Roland didn’t bother returning to the factory since it was just a few days short of the new year and business was slack. Instead he went home to Regent’s Park, stopping once to telephone Sally Roberts and bring her up to date.
Once in his apartment he settled down in an easy chair with a book and waited for the action to begin.
He didn’t have to wait long. Five minutes after he’d arrived, the telephone rang. ‘Where is my daughter?’ Ambassador Menendez roared into the phone.
‘I have no idea, sir.’ Roland guessed the ambassador had been calling every few minutes.
‘You were at the airport this morning! You took her from Juan!’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. If Catarina left Juan, it was her own doing.’ He cut off the next explosion by gently replacing the receiver. Who would call next? Menendez again? Or would he bring in his big guns? Roland had no doubt that the ambassador would use every means at his disposal, every ounce of influence he had. Not only was the man concerned for his daughter but he had his own reputation to consider . . . he was being made to look like a fool, unable to control his own daughter.
Although there were no more phone calls that afternoon, there was a series of visitors. First the police came to question Roland about his knowledge of Catarina’s disappearance. In answer to their queries he gave them a carefully worked out statement: ‘Catarina has run away from her family of her own free will. We are very much in love and plan to be married. Ideally we will marry with the Menendez family’s blessing, but if they see fit to withhold it, we will marry without it.’ The police left, convinced that there was little they could do; this wasn’t a case of kidnapping as Menendez insisted it was; it was a lovers’ entanglem
ent that he would have to work out with his daughter.
Next came government officials, who pressed Roland harder for answers in their attempt to placate the ambassador. Surely, they explained, Roland could see that he was harming Britain’s relations with Argentina. There was a big arms deal in the balance, and the ambassador was using it for leverage. Why not return Catarina to her family, they suggested, then Roland could sort out his differences smoothly with the ambassador? Blank-faced, Roland repeated the statement he’d given the police. He had no interest in arms deals. ‘Indeed,’ he told one junior minister who arrived with bowler hat in hand, as unctuous as any civil servant could be, ‘if I can thwart the supply of weapons to a nation which harbors Nazi war criminals, then my romance with Catarina will pay additional dividends!’
At this the junior minister’s ingratiating manner was dropped suddenly; he became threatening, belligerent. ‘Just because the police don’t think a crime’s been committed doesn’t mean you’re home scot-free, Eagles! We can still make life damned difficult for you and your snot-nosed little company.’
‘Coming from a snot-nosed civil servant like you, I find that hardly surprising,’ Roland replied. ‘Would you care to repeat that statement for the News of the World? I’ll get one of their reporters on the telephone for you. The Ministry won’t even have to pay for the call.’
The junior minister jammed his bowler hat onto his head and stormed from the apartment as Roland, laughing, closed the door behind him.
The press was last to arrive. Flashbulbs popped in Roland’s face each time he opened the door as anxious reporters fired questions at him. In the end he tired even of giving his prepared statement and simply answered, ‘No comment.’ By late that evening he thought – in fact hoped – the worst was over.
*
Only one journalist was destined for success. At nine-thirty that night Sally Roberts drove to Stoke Newington. Alf Goldstein opened the door and showed her into the living room where Catarina sat playing rummy with his wife while the children slept upstairs.
The Goldsteins left Sally and Catarina alone for the Mercury’s exclusive interview with the eloping heiress. Sally felt that she had more than a professional interest in the story. Not only had she been a friend of Roland’s for two years; it was she who had originally introduced the lovers.
‘Have you considered that your father might disinherit you?’
‘Yes, but I don’t upset myself by worrying about it. If my father wishes to react in that manner, that is his privilege. As long as Roland and I are together nothing else matters. All the money in the world can’t change that.’
Sally’s pencil skipped across the page as she took notes. ‘Did you really think he would rescue you the way he did?’
Catarina smiled as she recalled the events of that morning. ‘I was surprised myself how he did it, but I knew he would. Roland is my knight in shining armor. What else can I say?’
‘Catarina, are you prepared, if necessary, to go through life without ever seeing your family again?’
Catarina’s dark eyes went soft as she considered the question. ‘I pray that it never comes to that. I pray my father will change. But if that is my father’s wish I will have to accept it. My father feels that I have an obligation to marry a man of whom he approves. I believe it is wrong for any father to feel that way. The only obligation I have is to my own happiness. If any obligation exists at all, it is that of a father to his child. I am grateful to my father for everything he has given me, but as I’ve said, the obligation is of him to me.’
Sally snapped her notebook shut. She would use one of the photographs taken at the ambassador’s ball at Claridge’s. Run the story on the front page of the Mercury. All the other newspapers would have the story, sure; but she would be the only one to run an interview with Catarina.
‘Sally, I have to ask you something now.’ Catarina’s question cut abruptly into Sally’s thoughts. ‘Were you in love with Roland?’
‘Me?’ Sally laughed. ‘I was in like with him.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘If I was in love with him, I’d have never put the two of you together. Does that make it any clearer?’
Catarina got up from the chair and kissed Sally on the cheek. ‘Thank you for everything.’
*
Roland was listening to a play on the radio when the telephone rang. It was Sally calling from Fleet Street to say she’d just finished her interview with Catarina. ‘God alone knows what she sees in you, Eagles. She’s prepared to lose her inheritance, everything for you. I’m damned sure I wouldn’t, if it were me.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘Calm and confident. Just waiting for you to spirit her up to Scotland to tie the knot. What on earth are you waiting for?’
‘I want to let the heat die down first.’ He looked around as he heard the doorbell. ‘Hang on a moment, Sally – there’s another one of your colleagues trying to bash the front door in.’
‘Don’t tell him anything.’
‘Relax, you’ve got it all.’ He placed the receiver on the table and took the stairs two at a time. There were no journalists outside when he opened the front door, only the solitary figure of Juan Menendez, wearing the same blue coat he’d worn at the airport that morning.
‘Bastard!’ Juan spat out. His wildly swung fist missed Roland’s face completely and smashed into the doorframe. He doubled over in pain, clutching his bloodied hand.
Roland grabbed hold of Juan’s coat lapels and dragged him close. When he smelled the alcohol on his breath he let go and Juan collapsed in a sobbing heap on the ground. Roland dragged him inside, closed the door and raced upstairs. ‘Sally, that was Catarina’s brother. He’s downstairs, drunk, with a broken hand where he clobbered the door instead of me.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Call Menendez to pick up his son.’
‘Can I use it in my story?’
‘I can’t believe you’re even asking.’ He hung up and dialed the Menendez home. The ambassador answered.
‘Ambassador Menendez, your son is at my home.’
‘I don’t want my son! Where is my daughter?’
‘You’d better pick up your son first. He’s drunk and he just assaulted me. Are you going to collect him or should I call the police to do the job?’
‘I’ll be there.’
Roland waited downstairs until an embassy limousine pulled up quietly. Menendez and the chauffeur got out; between them they carried Juan into the car. ‘You’ll pay for this, Eagles. I’m going to ruin you. By the time I’m finished Catarina will hate the sight of you after everything you’ve put her through.’
‘Good night, sir,’ Roland said politely and closed the door.
On the way to the factory the next day, Roland stopped to buy all the morning newspapers. The lead story on the front pages of all the tabloids was the disappearance of the Argentinian heiress. Pictures of her and Roland were everywhere.
When he reached the factory the staff gave him a standing ovation. Gruffly, but unable to resist a grin, he told them to return to work.
At ten o’clock the first edition of the Mercury came out. Pictures of Roland and Catarina were on the front page, along with Sally’s bylined interview, plus a sidebar on Juan Menendez assaulting Roland. After reading the story, Roland decided that Sally had got her money’s worth.
At lunchtime, Roland drove into town to meet with Simon Aronson and discuss future plans. They agreed that Roland and Catarina should leave for Scotland in two days, on New Year’s. ‘You might be better off if you didn’t use your own car,’ Simon pointed out. ‘It is rather distinctive. Believe me, aside from Menendez, every reporter worth his salt will be turning the country upside down to find you two, and that green Jaguar will only make their job easier.’
‘I’ve already found that out,’ Roland replied. ‘I’m sure I picked a shadow when I left home this morning. A black Vauxhall followed me almos
t to the factory. And when I came here I’m sure I spotted the same car.’ He knew he shouldn’t be surprised that Menendez had ordered a tail on him . . . obviously if they were going to elope, they’d have to meet sooner or later.
‘Then be very cautious,’ Simon advised. ‘You’ve already gotten through the most difficult part. Getting to Scotland and establishing your residence should be nothing compared with what you’ve managed so far. Just be certain you aren’t careless.’
‘We won’t be.’
*
The moment the story appeared in the papers, Ambassador Menendez found his well-ordered life in total disarray. Hounded by journalists, he was unable to cope with his official duties and delegated minor matters to his staff.
His wife and son offered little comfort, between Juan’s drunken attack on Roland and Maria Menendez begging her husband to reconsider his opposition to their marriage. The woman clearly was more concerned with losing a daughter than gaining a thoroughly unprepossessing son-in-law.
But as head of his family and a top official of his government, Menendez wasn’t about to bow to anyone. He resolved to retaliate, hitting back at Roland through the same medium that was pillorying him. He held a press conference at the embassy and threatened to cut his daughter off without a single penny. That was what they wanted to hear, these journalists who reveled in a high-ranking official’s personal crisis. He would not disappoint them.
‘When my daughter is penniless we shall see how much this fortune hunter loves her. We will learn exactly how much he cares for her when she can’t afford to cater to his expensive tastes.’
From the many journalists who clamored for attention, Menendez selected an auburn-haired woman in a dark green coat to speak. ‘Aren’t you being just a trifle unfair, Ambassador Menendez? Roland Eagles is not exactly a pauper.’
‘How would you know?’
Before his question could be answered, the other journalists turned toward her. ‘Come on, Sally!’ one of her colleagues yelled. ‘Tell us where she’s hiding!’
Menendez felt his face flush with anger when he realized who the woman was. He pushed his way through the crowd until he was face-to-face with Sally. ‘You know where my daughter is! I demand that you tell me immediately!’ Some of the other journalists encouraged the ambassador for confronting her, but Sally stood her ground. ‘I’m not at liberty to give you that information.’
