Eagles

by Lewis Orde

  ‘Thanks for letting me know, Simon. I appreciate it.’ He put down the receiver and looked at Michael. ‘I think your father’s getting worried. He’s trying to see what I’ve got to hide. Let’s check and see if questions have been asked elsewhere.’ Roland telephoned his bank. Yes, there had been inquiries about him there, from a man named Johnson purporting to represent another bank. His brokerage house; yes, again, from the same Mr Johnson. Even his tailor, from a police officer named Jarvis. Roland debated how far back this investigator would go. How deeply would he dig? All the way back to Margate?

  ‘Let’s go have some lunch,’ he suggested to Michael. ‘We can continue talking at Eldridge’s.’

  ‘Are you paying?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Roland clapped Michael on the shoulder. ‘I’m taking the money from one pocket and putting it in another.’

  *

  As Michael and Roland lunched at Eldridge’s, Derek Hawkins stood jammed uncomfortably in a telephone booth in Margate, talking with Albert. He thumbed through his notebook, reading out facts and figures as he had once done in court, pausing between sentences to let the information sink in, letting the jury reach its own conclusions.

  ‘Apparently Roland Eagles left school under rather abrupt circumstances, Mr Adler. The day his parents, sister and brother were killed in an air raid was his last day at school. He never returned. Two days later, on his sixteenth birthday, he lied about his age to enlist in the army.’

  Lied about his age to enlist in the army . . . that was worse than useless, Albert thought. Nothing like the kind of information he needed for a smear campaign. That was the act of a hero, not of a man who couldn’t be trusted. Joined the army at sixteen. And five years later he’d met Kassler at Bergen-Belsen, of all places. Came within a second of killing him, according to what the German had told Albert.

  Albert had met with Kassler that morning, assured him that nothing would be allowed to interfere with their negotiations for the two branch stores. Now Kassler was on his way back to Germany and Albert was not at all certain he could keep his promise. Roland’s threatened legal proceedings would tie up the future of the stores indefinitely. In the meantime, Michael – his own son, for God’s sake – was working on the other directors.

  ‘Isn’t there anything else you can tell me, Mr Hawkins?’ Albert asked the investigator. ‘I could have found that out myself by telephoning around.’

  Hawkins refused to be rushed. Judges resplendent in wigs and robes had never made him quicken his pace when testifying on the witness stand, and he wasn’t about to let this nervous department store owner change a lifetime habit. ‘He does, of course, have these two children out of wedlock by a Miss Janet Taylor of Twelve—’

  ‘Yes, I know all about that. Give me something I can use against him, not a load of drivel fit for a gossip columnist.’

  Hawkins looked through the notebook again. ‘You might be interested in this, then, Mr Adler. While I was in Margate, going through birth records, I came across this piece of information . . .’

  As Albert listened, he felt his heart give a savage jump. ‘Thank you, Mr Hawkins, you’ve been very helpful.’ He put down the receiver, wiped away the sheen of sweat from across his forehead and called for his secretary to come in.

  ‘Will you please locate Mr Michael for me?’

  ‘He . . . Are you all right, Mr Albert?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘You look very pale.’

  ‘I’m fine. Will you please find my son?’

  ‘He went out a couple of hours ago, a lunch appointment.’

  With Roland Eagles, of course – hatching up more dirty tricks. ‘Have him come in the moment he returns.’

  ‘Of course. Are you sure you feel all right?’

  ‘I’m positive.’ He stood up from his desk and walked over to the window. The door closed softly as the secretary left and Albert stared down at Regent Street.

  All his life he had dreamed of having this office, and all his life his family had conspired to keep him from it. Now they had achieved their ultimate goal – driving him from the building completely.

  *

  Roland parted company with Michael at Eldridge’s just after two-thirty. Instead of having Goldstein take him back to Wembley he returned to Regent’s Park. This was Katherine’s last day of summer vacation and he wanted to spend some of it with her. He still hadn’t recovered from the way she had glared at him from the horse at Christopher Mellish’s farm, and God alone knew how much time he would have to be with her in the next few weeks, once the battle for Adler’s really got under way.

  ‘Want to go to the cartoon theater on Baker Street for an hour?’ he asked her. The idea had come to him in a flash, and Katherine accepted instantly. Roland couldn’t even remember the last time he’d taken his daughter to a film, and they sat through the hour-long show of Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, and Tom and Jerry holding hands and laughing.

  ‘Why didn’t we do this before?’ Katherine asked as they were driven back to the apartment. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘I just had the time and I was in the neighborhood. Besides, I haven’t seen cartoons since I was your age. I’d forgotten how much fun they are.’

  ‘Maybe you should see them more often, then you’ll be happier more often.’

  ‘I am happy. Why shouldn’t I be happy when I’ve got you and Richard and Carol?’

  ‘Then why don’t you spend more time with us?’

  Roland felt too deflated by the question to even think of an answer. After dropping Katherine off he went on to Wembley. When he arrived at the office, he found a message waiting from Michael to call him immediately.

  ‘Michael, what’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s my father.’

  Roland went numb. Was something wrong with Albert . . . a heart attack brought on by the excitement, the pressure? That was all Roland needed . . . ‘What about him?’ he asked fearfully.

  ‘I don’t understand it. He called me into his office right after I got back and told me he would sell me his twenty-five percent at today’s closing price.’

  If Michael thought the news would startle Roland, he was doomed to disappointment. ‘Did he give you any reason why?’ Roland asked calmly.

  ‘Just that he’s been thinking about retiring, and perhaps right now is a good time. He’s sixty-three, you know.’

  ‘What about the other directors?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to them yet, but with us having seventy-five percent it makes it kind of obvious what they’ll do now. They’ll sell their shares as well and get out. But, Christ, Roland, what a turnaround!’ Michael’s exuberance got the better of him. He and Roland had achieved their objective without the aggravation of a drawn-out family battle. ‘My father met with Kassler this morning – do you think that could have had something to do with it? Maybe Kassler told him to back off – you know, in return for what you did for him?’

  ‘Anything’s possible.’ Like hell it is, Roland thought. Kassler would never have backed off so willingly. The German was made of steel, and he wanted those two stores badly. Maybe he figured Albert wasn’t strong enough to battle his own son. But that wasn’t it. Roland knew the real reason, and he couldn’t resist a smile . . . a smile that reflected his feeling of triumph, satisfaction and justice finally being done. ‘I’ll get together with you tomorrow, Michael. We’ve got a ton of things to do. We have to select a new board for one thing, and I’ll arrange to sell the electrical shops and Eldridge’s into Adler’s so I can recoup the money for the shares. Before this year’s out, I want Adler’s well on the way to regaining the reputation it had when old Monty ran it.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Michael . . .’ A thought registered in Roland’s mind, a trace of sympathy for the vanquished. ‘Should I meet with your father, give bygones a chance to be bygones?’

  ‘I already thought of that, mentioned it to him.’

  ‘What did he say?’
<
br />   Michael took a deep, audible breath. ‘He never wants to hear your name again, let alone see you.’

  Roland was not the least bit surprised.

  *

  Heinrich Kassler telephoned Roland the following day after he learned of Albert’s sudden stepping-down. ‘To the victor go the spoils, eh, Roland?’

  ‘And the problems.’ Roland was glad for the call. He’d been debating whether to contact Kassler, but didn’t want to seem like he was gloating. The German had solved the dilemma.

  ‘If you ever find you want to sell those two stores, please give me first refusal,’ Kassler said.

  ‘Thanks, but I doubt that we’ll ever come to that. No hard feelings, I trust?’

  Kassler’s laugh boomed in Roland’s ear. ‘None at all, Roland. Your ally was well chosen. And who knows – we may meet on another battlefield at another time. Perhaps I will be the fortunate contestant the next time.’

  ‘Perhaps you will be,’ Roland said, not meaning a word of it. He’d enjoyed taking this round from Kassler and he would do the same if they were to meet again. ‘Have you any other plans for expanding into this country?’

  ‘None at the moment. I was rather counting on picking up the Adler’s stores.’

  ‘If it means anything, I’ll apologize for thwarting you.’

  ‘Ah, don’t be ridiculous. Business is like war, Roland. There has to be a winner and a loser. Besides, my defeat in this particular instance is tempered by having met you again.’

  ‘Thank you. I feel the same way.’

  ‘Auf Wiederhören, Roland. Until the next time.’

  *

  During the drive home that evening, Roland mentioned to Alf Goldstein that Kassler had phoned to offer his congratulations.

  ‘He must have choked on them,’ Goldstein muttered.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? And what about that crack you made at the Connaught . . . you know, who said Germany lost the war?’

  Goldstein’s eyes left the road for an instant, just long enough to fix Roland with a bleak stare. ‘Believe me, I really wanted to meet Kassler again. He was the one good thing we found in that god-awful place. But when I saw him at the Connaught, the first thing that hit me was he looked just like a typical Nazi – the bloated face, pale blue eyes stuck there like a pig’s, bleached straw hair. And on top of that he’s rolling in it.’

  ‘Was that why you hardly said a word that night?’ Roland laughed. ‘Come on, Alf. You’re thinking in terms of stereotypes. Don’t you feel embarrassed talking like this? Especially after the way you mentioned him in your book?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t forget, I helped make him into a hero of sorts, a knight in shining armor coming to the rescue. Now I come face-to-face with him fifteen years later and I’m having second thoughts.’

  ‘Alf, you know what he did at the camp. Forget what he looks like, just accept him for what he really is.’

  ‘I know. But remember what I told you fifteen years ago – that your feelings couldn’t possibly be the same as mine. No matter what Kassler did – how many people he saved – he looks like a bloody Nazi to me.’

  ‘You’ve seen too many war movies, Alf. I told you you’re reacting to a stereotype.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Goldstein agreed as he stopped outside Roland’s building. ‘And then again maybe not.’

  *

  From that day, Roland and Michael were together almost constantly, working until late every night, trying to set Adler’s on the road to recovery. Within the first week, all trace of Albert Adler and the established directors was gone. Roland named Michael managing director and appointed Lawrence Chivers to the board as director of store operations. Feelers were sent out to former buyers who’d left under Albert’s leadership. Management personnel and department heads from each store were brought to London and interviewed at length. And those who Roland and Michael felt weren’t up to par were let go immediately with a month’s pay in lieu of notice. Under the Eagles Group, the three department stores were starting with a clean slate. And Roland settled comfortably into the office where he had once removed his trousers to have them pressed by Monty Adler.

  Within two months, much of the ill feeling that Albert had generated among suppliers had disappeared. Roland’s credit among the chain of electrical shops had always been good; as a one-time manufacturer himself he understood the value of paying bills on time. Now he brought those same attitudes into Adler’s. Outstanding accounts were cleared, and manufacturers who had refused to deal with Albert’s management returned, knowing they would be treated fairly.

  But in the middle of all this change Roland’s relationship with Janet deteriorated drastically. He’d done exactly what she feared he would do when he threw himself into the new venture – it would be to the total exclusion of everything else. One evening, when he turned up three hours late for dinner for the second time that week, claiming he’d been unavoidably detained, she decided to settle the issue.

  ‘Did you and Michael make any important decisions today?’

  ‘We hired a china buyer. Why do you ask?’ Janet usually avoided discussing business because she hated the hold it had on him.

  ‘Because it’s high time you made a decision about yourself. About where I and the children fit into your life.’

  Roland set down his soup spoon. ‘I take it you’ve already got a suggestion on the tip of your tongue.’

  ‘You know me too well. I refused to marry you in the first place because I had the notion it would never last—’

  ‘That was a negative attitude to begin with.’

  ‘Not really. If this arrangement had worked out I would have seriously considered marriage.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it? It’s working fine.’

  ‘Maybe it’s working on your terms, Roland, but it’s not working on mine. You spend most of your life in the office, and when you’ve finished – and you feel like seeing me and the children – you come on over. But do you really think it’s fair for me to spend all my time just sitting around, waiting to hear from you . . . wondering if I’m going to? You had a choice to make between your work and me and the children. You seem to have chosen your work.’

  ‘You’re the one who mentioned compartments.’

  ‘Yes, I did, because I knew it would happen this way.’ She ran her hands through her hair, suddenly flustered. ‘Don’t get the idea I’m angry, Roland. I’m not. I’ve just resigned myself to us splitting up, that’s all.’

  ‘What about the children?’

  ‘They’ll stay with me, of course. It’s about time to think of Katherine’s future. She can’t stay with Elsie Partridge forever in that huge apartment – she’s literally a prisoner in luxury.’

  Roland considered how Katherine would react if he broke up with Janet. No if about it – Janet was breaking up with him, and he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t expect to leave her dangling on a string all the time. She had her own life, was entitled to lead it any way she wanted if he couldn’t be involved with her in any meaningful way. But what would Katherine do? She was so close to Janet that they could almost be mother and daughter. ‘Do you want to look after her?’

  ‘I think I should. It’s the only chance she’s got at living a normal life. And once all that’s cleared up, you can arrange a pension for Elsie. Let her go back to Scotland with her last days all paid for.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware she wanted to return to Scotland.’

  ‘Poor Roland . . .’ Janet gave him a smile that was filled with tenderness and sympathy. ‘Once you get wrapped up in one of your schemes, you’re not very aware of anything that’s going on, are you? It’s lucky that Michael’s single, otherwise you’d have his family on your conscience as well. As it is, he’s gone through girlfriends like anyone else goes through pairs of socks; they probably can’t compete with your demands on the poor fellow.’ She reached across the table and grasped Roland’s hand. ‘I do love you, Roland. I just can’t bear to be so dependent on you whe
n your heart’s someplace else. Does that make any kind of sense?’

  ‘I suppose I could always change my habits—’ He broke off, feeling lost. A support was being removed and he was frightened he might fall . . . Janet had always been there when he needed her . . . who would he turn to now?

  ‘Don’t even think of changing,’ Janet told him. ‘You’re the way you are for whatever reasons, and nothing’s going to make you any different. Your children are still your children – you’ll always have them. It’s just that I want something a little more now.’

  ‘Marriage?’

  ‘If the right man came along I’d think about it. But what about marriage, Roland? How would you feel about your children being brought up in a home with a man who wasn’t their father?’

  Roland knew the question was only theoretical at the moment. Nonetheless, he had to give it some thought. ‘Would I get to approve of him first?’

  Janet shook her head. ‘Only I would have to approve of him.’

  ‘Marry someone decent, that’s all I ask. He doesn’t have to be wealthy. I’ll make sure you and the children never want for anything. Just make sure he’s decent.’

  ‘Of course he would be, Roland. You should know me better than that. I’ll use you as a yardstick and remember to change a couple of things – like having him with me every evening, sharing holidays with him, knowing that I’m the most important thing in the world to him.’

  ‘You shouldn’t make comparisons, they can be very misleading.’ To his surprise, Roland found he was enjoying the conversation. Janet’s feelings, her decisions on what she wanted, were out in the open now. He could afford to be more relaxed.

  ‘You should know about comparisons, Roland. Tell me the truth: have you ever stopped comparing me – comparing any women you’ve ever met – with Catarina?’

  ‘No, I guess I haven’t.’ Even as she spoke he couldn’t help thinking of the difference between Janet and Catarina. Catarina would never have stood for him being away all the time, just seeing her when work permitted – she would have greeted him one day with a saucepan aimed at his head! The thought made him smile, and brought an uncomfortable lump to his throat. Ten years – he couldn’t believe she’d been dead that long. It seemed like only yesterday, an entire collection of wistful yesterdays . . .