Eagles

by Lewis Orde

  After two weeks, Roland and Catarina drove into Edinburgh to post formal notice at the Chief Registrar’s Office of their intention to marry. At last they were coming out into the open . . . After today there would be no more rumors of their whereabouts, the entire country would know where they were.

  Before entering the office they decided to make the most of their day in Edinburgh by walking along Princes Street, window-shopping, certain that no one would recognize them.

  ‘Look, Rollie!’ Catarina suddenly cried out, pointing across the street to a department store. ‘Let’s go in and see if they have any of your merchandise.’

  The sight of the Adler’s store on Princes Street jerked Roland back to the previous month. Since Catarina had appeared in his office on the day of Monty Adler’s funeral, he hadn’t had time to think of anything but his own predicament. Hand in hand the pair ran across the busy street and entered the store. Smaller than its London counterpart, the Edinburgh Adler’s was in the middle of its January sale. Bargain hunters thronged the aisles and crowded the counters, tossing clothing aside as they searched for a certain size, burrowing through china, pestering the harried salesclerks. Roland and Catarina joined in happily, losing themselves in the bustle. After two weeks of secrecy, the mayhem in Adler’s was like oxygen to a drowning man.

  Then Roland froze as a hand fell on his shoulder and a voice said quietly, ‘I could make a fortune by calling up a few newspapers right now.’

  Cursing himself for their impulsiveness, Roland swung around to look into the grinning face of Michael Adler. He should have known how exposed they would be . . . why hadn’t they just gone to the Registrar’s Office, done what they had to do and left?

  Michael’s grin faded as he recognized the panic in Roland’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I’m enjoying the chase as much as everyone else. The beard threw me for a minute, but your height’s a giveaway for anyone who knows you.’ He turned to Catarina. ‘And this, I take it, is the young lady the entire world’s dying to find.’

  Roland made the introductions, and Michael invited them to an office in the back of the store where he locked the door. Away from the sales floor he asked what they were doing in Edinburgh, and Roland explained they were on their way to the Registrar’s Office. ‘Ten minutes after you leave every newspaper in the country will have a reporter on his way here,’ Michael warned.

  ‘We know. And we’ll be on our way out of Edinburgh in an anonymous black car.’

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Sure – don’t breathe a word about seeing us.’

  ‘I promise I won’t. Say, while you’re in the store did you look through our bridal department?’ he said, kidding them. ‘My last few days here before I get transferred back to London, so I’m trying to increase the sales figures.’

  ‘How’s your father?’ Roland asked, more out of courtesy than genuine interest.

  ‘He’s getting over my grandfather’s death but he’s going to need a lot of help with the stores. A few key people left after that business with you. Can’t say I blame them,’ he added quickly, in case Roland should feel he was being reproached. ‘It could be rough sailing for a while and I want to give him whatever help I can.’

  ‘Does he mention me at all?’

  ‘Not in a very generous manner, I’m afraid. He still believes my grandfather’s death was all your fault; he can’t see – or refuses to see – that what he did started it. He’s hoping you’ll get your just desserts over this business with Catarina’s father.’

  ‘Of course he would,’ Roland said in a tone that neither Catarina nor Michael understood. ‘What about yourself?’

  ‘Me? I only wish the best for the two of you. In fact, if I had a bottle of champagne here I’d open it right now and drink to your health.’

  ‘Thanks. I believe you would.’ Roland checked his watch; it was time to be going. ‘Let’s keep in touch when you get back to London. Maybe between us we’ll be able to change your father’s opinion.’

  Roland and Catarina left Adler’s for the short trip back to the Registrar’s Office. They parked the Austin as close as possible to the entrance, feeling like a couple of bank robbers preparing for fast escape. Inside, they followed directions until they found themselves in front of a young, red-haired clerk.

  ‘We want to post notice of intention to marry,’ Roland told him. He felt Catarina squeeze his hand as he spoke; now it was official.

  The clerk gave them no more than a passing glance before searching for the necessary forms. ‘Names?’

  Roland took a deep breath to steady his nerves. ‘Roland Jeremy Eagles.’

  ‘I never knew your middle name was Jeremy,’ Catarina whispered.

  Roland hardly heard her. He was too busy watching the clerk whose apparent boredom was suddenly replaced by a keen interest. ‘And Catarina Luisa Maria Menendez.’

  The clerk’s pen splattered black ink across the forms as he pressed too hard. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. The couple who were the subject of an intense hunt were standing right in front of him! How could he keep them there? The question nagged as he completed the forms . . . if he could only keep them there for just a few minutes. ‘Could you wait a moment, please, sir? I just have to check that these are made out correctly. New regulations came into effect in the New Year.’

  Roland gave the man a tight-lipped smile and nodded. He waited . . . but only until the clerk had left his position. Then he grabbed hold of Catarina and they raced from the office. By the time the clerk returned, having made phone calls to three newspapers, they were in their car heading back towards Peebles.

  ‘By now your father’s going to know that we’ve surfaced,’ Roland said as they reached the outskirts of Peebles. ‘That army of detectives he’s hired will converge on Edinburgh, followed by about a hundred newspeople. How does it feel to be wanted?’

  ‘Just as long as you still want me, that’s all I care about.’

  ‘How are the headaches?’

  ‘Gone. Those pills worked. But when we return to London I’ll make an appointment to see an optician. How will I look with glasses?’

  ‘Like a schoolteacher,’ Roland joked. ‘A very desirable schoolteacher.’ He stared through the windshield. Off to the side of the road was a car and Roland could swear the man standing next to it, looking anxiously down the road to Edinburgh, was Jack Johnston. He slowed down as he neared and the man began to wave frantically. Roland pulled over.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You can’t go back to the Bonnie Prince. I left there five minutes ago and the place was crawling with reporters.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I just came out to try to warn you. They turned up about fifteen minutes ago . . . with pictures of you and your girlfriend. I ran up to your rooms, stuffed your clothes in your case and brought it with me.’

  Roland saw the panic in Catarina’s face and tried to think. The clerk at the Registrar’s Office! He had expected him to contact the press, but how had they reached the Bonnie Prince? Wait – he forced his mind to be calm . . . Menendez’s people and the press had tried all the hotels and guest houses across the country. Hotel owners would have been too willing to tip them off for a reward. But they hadn’t tried public houses, with those one or two rooms reserved for travelers. That’s what they must be doing now, checking all the public houses, showing photographs. Someone would be sure to mention the strange couple seen around the Bonnie Prince. Damn! They had to find somewhere else to stay.

  ‘Thanks for warning me.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Back to Edinburgh.’

  ‘They’ll be as thick as mud on the ground there. You’ll never get away.’

  ‘I think I will.’ Roland threw the suitcase into the Austin, turned the car around and headed back to Edinburgh. Michael Adler had said he was all for Roland and Catarina . . . Well, now he was going to get the chance to show how much he supported them.
>
  Roland telephoned Adler’s from the first public phone booth he spotted once they reached Edinburgh. Michael Adler was surprised to hear from Roland again so soon, but when Roland explained what had happened he immediately offered to help. ‘You and Catarina can use my apartment. Just stay put there for as long as necessary.’

  ‘Where will you stay?’

  ‘I can get a room at a hotel . . . the North British or something. Meet me at the service entrance to the store and I’ll get you to the apartment. It’s not far.’

  Half an hour later they were in Michael Adler’s apartment, off Princes Street, watching Michael pack some clothes to take with him.

  ‘I’ll bring you food, whatever you need. Just don’t stick your heads outside the door.’

  ‘We won’t. Not until we’re able to get married.’

  ‘Are you going to need a best man?’

  ‘If you’re offering, the answer’s yes. And if you’re not offering, we’ll conscript you.’

  ‘Good enough. I’ll be in touch.’

  *

  In London, Ambassador Menendez received the news of the marriage application from a Daily Mirror reporter. ‘I have nothing to say!’ he yelled at the reporter before slamming down the receiver.

  ‘What was that about?’ Maria Menendez asked, concerned about the flushed appearance of her husband’s face.

  ‘Catarina and Eagles are in Edinburgh. They’ve applied for a marriage license. I’m putting a stop to this immediately.’ He told his wife to prepare for the overnight train ride to the Scottish city. While she packed a case, Menendez instructed an aide to locate the best lawyer in Edinburgh and arrange to retain him.

  The following day, settled in Edinburgh’s North British Hotel, Menendez met with the lawyer and sought an injunction to prevent a marriage certificate being issued to Roland and Catarina. After leaving the lawyer, the ambassador and his wife went downstairs to eat. They were immediately mobbed by a group of reporters anxious for them to comment on their daughter’s elopement and what plans the ambassador had. Menendez and his wife responded by leaving the restaurant, grateful for the courtesy of a tall, well-built young man who held open the restaurant door for them, then delayed the reporters long enough for the Menendezes to make their escape.

  Back in his suite, Menendez locked the doors and leaned against them, breathing heavily. He wished now that he had never been given the position of Ambassador to the Court of St James. But in his most grotesque nightmares could he have ever imagined the appointment turning out like this?

  And downstairs, Michael Adler left the restaurant with a broad smile on his face. Surely, he thought, relating this episode would brighten Roland and Catarina’s temporary confinement.

  *

  Ambassador Menendez’s legal maneuver came as no surprise to Roland. He had been expecting it, an obvious move, and he had Simon Aronson all ready to leave London and travel up to Edinburgh to act on Roland’s behalf and give notice of an appeal.

  Before Simon could leave for Edinburgh, however, Catarina offered a proposal of her own. Her father, her entire family, had suffered enough already. Dragging the case through the courts – although she was as certain as Roland that they would win and be allowed to marry – would only drive an even greater wedge between herself and her parents. She wanted to try one last personal approach.

  Roland encouraged her. Regardless of some of the remarks Catarina had made about her father, Roland knew she needed her family’s support, and hoped this last effort would somehow salvage their relationship.

  That afternoon, while Menendez and his wife sat in their hotel suite besieged by reporters, the telephone rang. The ambassador regarded it suspiciously. Another journalist? More aggravation? Finally, and against his better judgment, he answered it.

  ‘Papa, it is Catarina.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Menendez saw his wife staring at him, wide-eyed with hope.

  ‘I’m with Roland. Are you and Mama well?’ She held tightly onto Roland’s hand as they sat in the living room of Michael Adler’s flat, less than four hundred yards from the North British Hotel.

  ‘We’re both worried sick about you.’

  ‘There is no need to worry, Papa. I am perfectly all right. May I speak to Mama?’

  Menendez passed the receiver to his wife. ‘Catarina, why are you doing this to us?’

  ‘Mama, I want to marry Roland. I am going to marry him. We will appeal against what Papa has done and we will win. But I don’t want it to be like this, our family set against each other.’

  ‘It is your father, Catarina. You know how he feels.’

  ‘Mama, I have something to tell you. Inside of me, right now, is your grandchild.’ A gasp came from the other end of the line, and Catarina fought back tears as she pictured her mother’s shock and dismay. If only she could have avoided this, but there was no other way. Only by admitting everything could she hope to make her parents understand. She glanced at Roland and found support in his eyes. ‘My child will have no grandparents on my husband’s side, Mama; they are dead. Do you wish for my child to have no grandparents on my side as well?’

  ‘I will talk to your father again.’

  ‘You will talk to me again about what?’ Menendez shouted at his wife. ‘My answer is well known already. There is no need for further talk.’

  Maria Menendez clamped a hand over the mouthpiece. Be blunt, she told herself. ‘Catarina is pregnant.’

  Menendez felt behind him for a chair, dropped into it, deflated. ‘I knew it . . . I knew it all the time. I just didn’t want to believe it could be so.’

  ‘Are you going to speak to her?’

  ‘What should I speak to her about? Should I congratulate her because she has become pregnant without getting married first?’

  ‘Nicanor, you can’t stop them from marrying. This legal procedure is only a delaying tactic. Make your peace with Catarina while you can. Even if you are too proud to bend, I want a grandchild to hold.’

  ‘Even one with Jewish blood running through his veins?’

  ‘What difference does it make? Can any of us look back four centuries and say positively we have only Catholic blood in ours?’

  Menendez stared sullenly at the carpet. He was tired, despondent. This trouble with his daughter had drained him completely. She was his favorite child and she had disappointed him. Yet, if he didn’t accept this peace offering he knew he would lose her forever. She was as proud, as stubborn as he was. ‘Give me the telephone.’

  Señora Menendez couldn’t hide her faint smile of relief as she handed the receiver to her husband. ‘Catarina, your mother and I are deeply shocked by your news, but you leave us with no choice. You have our blessing.’ Without another word he handed the phone back to his wife.

  ‘When will the wedding be?’ Maria Menendez asked.

  ‘Not for another week. Oh, Mama, I am so happy!’

  ‘So am I, Catarina, so am I. Where will you be married?’

  ‘Roland and I haven’t made up our minds yet. We’ll decide at the last minute, to avoid all the reporters.’

  ‘Will you tell us?’

  ‘No, Mama. It will just be Roland and me.’

  ‘I see.’ Maria Menendez struggled to keep her voice even as she felt the tears in her eyes. Although she would miss her only daughter’s wedding she consoled herself by thinking of the child Catarina was carrying. A grandchild would make up for so much. ‘Good luck, Catarina. To you and to Roland.’

  ‘Thank you, Mama.’ Catarina hung up and turned to Roland. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she clung to him. Her heart ached for the pain she knew her mother must be feeling; her father, too. Their daughter pregnant before marriage. But there was no other way her father would have consented – she had to tell them.

  ‘They’ll come around,’ Roland whispered. ‘Once your parents bounce their grandchild on their knees, they’ll come around.’

  *

  Roland and Catarina were married a week later in
a simple civil ceremony. Aside from the registrar, only three other people were present: Michael Adler, Sally Roberts, who had traveled up from London after Roland had given her the date, and a local freelance photographer Sally had hired.

  Roland wore a dark gray suit with a white carnation in the buttonhole; his beard was gone, the disguise no longer necessary. Catarina’s dress was the same one she’d worn the day they had run away. Sally had managed to get a bouquet for the bride, and now the couple stood nervously in front of the registrar as he read the words that would make them man and wife.

  ‘The ring . . .?’

  Roland gazed blankly into the man’s face, then turned to Michael. Ring? In all the pandemonium of the past few weeks neither Roland nor Catarina had given it a thought. Michael looked just as bemused.

  ‘The ring, please,’ the registrar repeated, unable to understand the dazed expressions on the faces of the wedding party.

  Suddenly Roland’s blankness changed to a smile. He slipped his mother’s wedding ring from the small finger of his right hand and held it up; a finer, more deserving use he could never find for this particular memento. From his middle finger he took his father’s wedding ring and passed it to Catarina. Under the registrar’s watchful eye, they exchanged them.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  The bride and groom kissed before they signed the register and prepared to leave. On the steps of the office Sally took over, arranging Roland and Catarina in various poses, instructing the photographer about the shots she wanted.

  ‘How could you forget the ring, you idiot?’ she whispered in Roland’s ear as she kissed him on the cheek. ‘And how could you let him forget?’ she asked Catarina.

  ‘Who had time to worry about a ring?’ Catarina said, hugging Roland’s arm happily.

  Sally’s final act was to supervise the photographer as he unloaded his camera. Like a hawk she had watched him take eight shots with the bulky press camera and she wanted to make damned certain that he handed over eight pieces of exposed film. She was taking no chances on even one picture getting into the hands of another newspaper. The Mercury, and Sally, had worked too hard on this assignment to share the results.