by Lewis Orde
‘There’s been a raid on our shares. The forty percent on the market has been bought at well above market price.’
‘How does that affect our negotiations?’ Kassler’s tone remained polite, though there was a trace of suspicion in it, as if he suspected Albert was trying to drive his selling price up.
‘I don’t know. The problem is that my son Michael, who holds ten percent of the shares, has thrown in his lot with the man who has bought up the forty percent.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he doesn’t want to see those two branch stores sold. He’s got this family loyalty idea, doesn’t want them to—’
‘To go to a German, is that it?’ Kassler’s laugh echoed in the earpiece and Albert was grateful for the reason Kassler had offered. It sounded so much better than admitting – or even thinking – that Michael didn’t trust his own father’s business decisions. ‘Who is this man who has taken such a sudden interest in Adler’s?’
‘His name’s Eagles.’ Just speaking the name was distasteful to Albert. ‘Roland Eagles. He owns a string of electrical shops and a restaurant in Knightsbridge. We dealt with him years ago. Just once, though. That was all we needed to learn what an unscrupulous rogue he was. We’ve never dealt with him since.’
‘Eagles?’ The same bewilderment that hit Roland when Michael had mentioned Kassler’s name now assailed the German. During a lifetime one met many people, forgot their names as quickly as they were out of sight. But some names, possibly because of the role that person played in one’s life, refused to disappear. Roland Eagles was such a name. ‘How old is this Eagles? Would he be in his middle to late thirties?’
‘Something like that,’ Albert answered without thinking. What importance was his age?
‘Very tall, with a round face?’ Kassler stared at the wall of his office in Stuttgart, picturing a man in a British Army captain’s uniform, a Webley revolver held in a shaking hand. ‘Blue eyes?’
‘That’s him . . . why?’ The question crept out as Albert abruptly realized the significance of Kassler’s questions. Did the German know him? And then a bizarre thought: was Kassler in this thing with Roland and Michael, delaying the sale of the two branch stores until the company finally went into liquidation? No, that was ridiculous. All the shares that Roland had bought would collapse. He would take a beating.
‘If it’s the same man I’m thinking of, we met a long time ago. At Bergen-Belsen.’ Kassler ran his eyes over the calendar on his desk, then rang for his secretary. ‘Mr Adler I will fly to London this afternoon. I’ll be staying at the Connaught. Please be kind enough to telephone me there after dinner and let me know how I can contact this Roland Eagles. Perhaps between us we can arrive at a solution to this puzzle.’ Kassler hung up and instructed his secretary to make the necessary arrangements.
That evening, Kassler was settled at the Connaught. He had eaten and now waited for Albert’s phone call. During the flight to London he’d been considering his options. Of course he was apprehensive that this unforeseen event might interfere with his planned takeover of the two branch stores. But it seemed there was also a chance for him to meet again with Roland Eagles. Surely there could be only one Roland Eagles, with features matching those he had described to Albert. Sharp as well – he had even managed to persuade Albert’s son to join forces with him. Yes, Kassler looked forward to meeting Roland again.
The telephone rang. Kassler jotted down the information Albert gave him, then called Roland’s home in Regent’s Park. A woman answered, the heavy Scottish brogue difficult for Kassler to understand at first. ‘May I speak to Mr Eagles, please?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Elsie Partridge answered. ‘May I take a message?’
‘This concerns a rather urgent matter. Perhaps you could tell me where I might reach him.’
The housekeeper was uncertain whether to give Janet’s number in Chelsea. ‘If you tell me where you’re staying, sir, I’ll have Mr Eagles contact you.’
Kassler smiled to himself; this woman, whoever she was, knew her job. ‘Please tell him it is Heinrich Kassler and I am staying at the Connaught.’
‘I’ll do that, sir.’ The housekeeper immediately phoned Janet’s house; Roland answered. ‘Mr Eagles, there was a gentleman asking for you a couple of minutes ago. A Mr Heinrich Kassler.’ She managed to mispronounce both names but Roland knew, with a flush of excitement, who it was.
‘Where’s he staying?’
‘At the Connaught.’
Roland put down the receiver and turned to Janet, his face alight. ‘Things are happening.’
‘About Adler’s?’
‘The man they were going to sell the two stores to just called my apartment. He’s come over from Germany and is staying at the Connaught.’
‘Are you going to see him now?’
‘If he’ll see me, and I think that’s what he wants.’ Roland’s fingers were already spinning the dial.
Janet reached out quickly and pressed down the receiver rest. ‘My God, Roland! Can’t it wait until morning? Do you have to phone him right now?’
‘I wasn’t calling him. I was calling Alf Goldstein.’
‘Are you going to drag him away from his family as well? You haven’t got an ounce of consideration in your body for other people, have you?’
Roland removed her hand gently from the receiver rest. ‘If I didn’t call Alf right now, he’d never forgive me. This man Heinrich Kassler, who’s trying to buy those two branch stores . . .’ While he dialed Goldstein’s number and waited for the telephone to be answered, he explained about Bergen-Belsen and their first meeting with Kassler. ‘Alf, can you pick me up from Janet’s house and run me to the Connaught? I’m going to see Heinrich Kassler. That’s right, Kassler. He’s the one who’s trying to buy the two Adler’s stores. My mounting a raid on the shares has brought him out into the open.’
Goldstein said he would be at the house in thirty minutes; he wanted to see the German again as much as Roland did. Then Roland phoned Kassler at the Connaught.
‘This is Roland Eagles. It seems our paths are destined to cross again.’
‘Indeed,’ Kassler replied. ‘I had quite a shock when your name entered into my conversation with Albert Adler.’
‘It was nothing to the shock I received when your name came up when I was talking to Albert’s son, Michael.’
‘We have split a family in our quest for allies.’
‘It would seem that way. But I have a feeling that you’re quite willing to discuss it; wasn’t that why you called me?’
‘Of course. And I also wanted to meet you again. I believe we ended our last encounter on that note.’
‘We did indeed. I’ll be at the Connaught in half an hour or so.’
‘I look forward to seeing you.’
‘What will you do?’ Janet wanted to know after Roland had hung up. ‘Swap war stories? Reminisce a little?’
Some of the excitement drained out of Roland in the face of Janet’s coolness. ‘I just want him to back off from buying those two stores, that’s all. If I can do it nicely, play on an old tie, I will. Otherwise I’ll tell him straight out that we’ll block his purchase with an injunction.’
‘But you can’t tell him that tomorrow, can you? It has to be now. What do I do about that?’ Janet pointed to the dining room table, set for a late dinner. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that you said good night to the children before you rushed off.’
‘Janet, please don’t start. Not now. You know how important this is to me. I’ve taken an enormous chance by buying all these shares. I could lose everything if we don’t get control of Adler’s.’
‘You know something, Roland? You’re a very strange man. You’re convinced that family life is the be-all and end-all, yet you shun it whenever an important deal comes up. After three years of almost living with you, I’m still not sure I understand you.’
He wondered how much truth was in her words . . . If Catarina were still
alive, if he were still married to her, would he be rushing out like this? Or would he leave whatever business he had until the following day so that he could share dinner with her, spend a quiet evening with her? Even begrudge a man like Kassler – with all the importance this meeting held – the time away from Catarina? No, there was more to it than that. Much more. He recalled the promise he had once made to Nicanor Menendez, that when he was the ambassador’s age he would be worth twice the fifty million pounds the Argentinian was worth. And he recalled another promise, made much earlier to himself: to meet his father’s family as an equal. Tonight was all part of realizing those promises.
When Goldstein rang the bell, Roland kissed Janet and promised he would be home as soon as possible. Then he climbed into Goldstein’s car for the trip to the Connaught.
Kassler was waiting just inside the lobby when Roland entered the hotel. For a moment the two men stood facing each other, as if unable to believe that fate had brought them together again. Then the German stepped forward and clasped Roland around the shoulders. ‘Anywhere, anytime, I would have recognized you.’
‘You as well,’ Roland said. It was a lie, though. He would have walked straight past Kassler on the street without the faintest hint of recognition. The blond hair had become stringy, the blue eyes had lost their luster, the once erect frame was now stooped over. Somewhere between Bergen-Belsen and the Connaught, Heinrich Kassler had aged tremendously. ‘You remember Alf Goldstein, don’t you?’
Kassler’s eyes turned to Goldstein, who stood next to Roland. ‘Of course, your interpreter – after you refused to permit me to speak English.’ Momentarily the blue eyes sparkled. ‘I don’t want to hear my language coming out of your bloody filthy Nazi mouth.’
Roland blushed at the memory. ‘The heat of the moment, you understand.’
‘Of course.’ Kassler shook Goldstein’s hand before leading the two men into the lounge. ‘Now we are on opposite sides again, eh?’
‘But with the same result. My side will be victorious.’
Kassler shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps. But after a separation of fifteen years must we talk business first? What has happened to you in all that time?’ Kassler signaled for a waiter, ordered drinks. ‘You own a chain of electrical stores and a reputable restaurant, I’m told.’
‘Who gave you that information – Albert Adler?’
Kassler nodded. ‘He was helping me to size up my opposition. You’ve done very well for yourself.’
‘Not as well as you, apparently. A company with a grandiose name like Kassler Industries sounds almost forbidding.’
‘I’ve been most fortunate. I had help from the Americans. My father’s factory somehow escaped the bombs and it was in the Americans’ interest to assist me in putting it back into operation. Engineering, though, never interested me as it did my father. He was a man who could create anything with his hands, while I prefer to use my brain. I expanded into retail, small shops at first that sold anything you could possibly think of. Then, when I was strong enough, I enlarged the operation into department stores. There are Kassler stores now in Bonn, Cologne, Stuttgart, Frankfurt and Munich.’
‘And soon you intend to have them in Manchester and Edinburgh?’
‘I hope so . . . just as I intend to be represented in other European cities.’
‘And who said Germany lost the war?’ Goldstein muttered as the waiter returned with the drinks. Roland glanced sharply at him, but Kassler hadn’t heard the remark.
‘Are you married, Roland?’ the German asked.
‘I was. My wife died.’ He reached into his wallet and produced photographs of Katherine, Richard and Carol.
‘Beautiful children,’ Kassler said looking at the photo. ‘To your children.’ He raised his glass in the air and drank a toast, then brought out a photograph of his own. ‘I have only one child, a boy named Franz. I married shortly after the end of the war.’
Roland took the photograph and studied it with Goldstein. A tall, thin blond boy of about fourteen posing very formally in short trousers and hiking boots. ‘And your wife?’
‘We are divorced. Franz lives with her just outside Stuttgart. He spends one weekend a month with me, when my work schedule permits.’
‘Is success that important to you, to forego seeing your son?’
‘Success, Roland, is all that matters. Seeing what you have done since we last met, I would think you would appreciate that.’ Kassler returned the photograph to his wallet and finished his drink. ‘What about Adler’s? I’m positive we can work this out quite amicably.’
‘Of course we can,’ Roland agreed pleasantly. ‘Drop out of the fight.’
‘I didn’t come over here to do that. Albert Adler tells me you and his son now control fifty percent of the equity.’
‘Only for the time being. Once we start on the other directors we’ll control even more.’
Kassler considered Roland’s confident statement. Albert seemed quite certain that none of his fellow directors would throw in with Roland and Michael Adler. That left a stalemate, which was of little use to anyone. Kassler thought what a pity it was that the company’s articles of incorporation didn’t stipulate that a director couldn’t sell his shares without the approval of the board. That would have taken care of the son’s ten percent and Roland would now only hold forty. But it was a family company, formed in the days when the founder must have acted like a tin god; such practices that were normal today were never even considered then. ‘Roland, perhaps you and I could come to an arrangement of our own?’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘You and me, join forces. We’ll take those two stores. Expanding into Britain is one thing for Kassler Industries. Finding the management to make them profitable is another entirely. And there, you have the expertise.’
Roland didn’t even need time to think over the proposition before rejecting it. ‘Sorry, Heinrich. I want all or nothing, and I intend to have all.’
Kassler’s eyes hardened. He had flown to London to meet with Roland. To renew a sentimental tie, yes – but the overriding reason was to evaluate his opponent, learn how tough he was. The offer to work together was a final gambit on Kassler’s part, an admission that he respected the Englishman and would rather join forces than fight him head-on. But Roland had turned down the offer out of hand; he hadn’t even given Kassler the courtesy of considering it.
Kassler’s life was ruled by his business. Its success was the yardstick he used to measure his own worth as a man. And, like Roland, he hated to lose. ‘Do you believe your alliance with the son is as powerful as my alliance with the father, Roland?’
‘At the very least.’
‘Then may the best man win.’
*
Early the following morning, Derek Hawkins stepped off the train in Margate and considered where to begin his investigation in Roland’s home town. Hawkins had spent the previous day in London, telephoning Roland’s stockbroker, his bank, visiting anyone he thought might offer a lead that he could take back to Albert. At times Hawkins pretended to be working for a bank, other times for a newspaper. Occasionally he pretended nothing at all, just letting his gruff, officious manner fool people into believing he was a police officer.
So far he had learned nothing that he felt Albert could use. He knew that Roland having had two children by a woman he wasn’t married to wasn’t the kind of dirt Albert was looking for . . . he would have to dig deeper. Hence Margate.
A look through the town records gave Hawkins his start. He visited the school which Roland had attended. Spott-Mandray had retired, and the teachers who remained remembered Roland only vaguely from twenty years earlier. He was a chess champion, excelled in all subjects. School records indicated that he’d left quite suddenly. That tied in with what Hawkins knew already about Roland’s family being killed in an air raid; following that he’d run off to join the army.
He returned to the town records, painstakingly copied down everything he c
ould find. If he couldn’t satisfy Albert with any genuine smears, at least he could impress him with the amount of ground he’d covered.
*
While Hawkins was digging in Margate, Roland was at his old office in Wembley which Simon allowed him to use until the Adler’s business was sorted out. After that he would either move into the store’s executive offices or find a new headquarters for the Eagles Group.
Michael Adler was with Roland, listening attentively, as he was briefed on the previous night’s meeting with Heinrich Kassler.
‘I thought coincidences like this only happened in books,’ Michael said when told of the past relationship between the two men. ‘Think of the favor you could have done us all if you’d just shot him when you first met him. We wouldn’t have this mess now.’
‘There is no mess. We’ll start legal proceedings immediately to block any sale of the stores. Then we’ll persuade the directors to sell their share of the equity. It’s all cut and dried.’
‘Easier said than done. Not one of them is budging. They’re sticking to my father come hell or high water.’ Michael had approached each of the directors, only to receive a series of rebuffs. The damned fools were so shortsighted they couldn’t see that holding onto their shares would only harm them. They were too frightened of being kicked out once Roland had the power to change the board. But at least they would be kicked out with a fair price for the shares they held.
Roland’s secretary rang through. ‘Mr Aronson’s on the line for you.’
‘Thank you. Simon, what can I do for you?’ For a dreadful moment Roland feared something might be wrong with Sharon. An emotional relapse, a breakdown; he couldn’t even begin to think what it might be.
‘Someone is poking their noses into your business, Roland. I thought you should know.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘I had a telephone call yesterday. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I realize it could be very serious. A man named Jenkins who claimed to be from the business page of the Evening News. He wanted to know why we had split up, was there any problem? Strange questions. I’ve checked with the News; they have no reporter by that name.’
