by Lewis Orde
Michael shrugged. ‘Get a housekeeper and find something to take up his time, I suppose. There’s only so much I can do for him. I know the wound’s still fresh, but I talked to him about joining one of these clubs. You know the kind of thing, for widows, widowers. Maybe he’ll find someone else, but I doubt it. Not the best way of life, is it? I’m worried about him. His sight’s going—’
‘I noticed he was wearing glasses at the funeral.’
‘Been wearing them for a year or so now, not that they help very much. And something seems to be bothering him. He becomes very quiet and pensive. No, depressed is a better word for it. Even when my mother was alive he had these bouts. She couldn’t get through to him. He’d just sit there, all alone, staring into space as if he could see something that we couldn’t. Acts a bit strangely sometimes, like with you at the funeral. I still can’t figure out that look he gave you.’
‘What look?’ Roland remembered the intense gaze, the firm grip of Albert’s hand.
‘Maybe it was just my imagination – I’ve got so used to him acting strangely.’ Michael shook his head, dismissing the thought. ‘When will you be back from Paris?’
‘A couple of days. I might stretch it into the weekend, though, and come back on Monday.’ That would mean he’d miss seeing his children this weekend, but he knew they wouldn’t mind this one time.
‘You lucky devil.’ Michael grinned and punched Roland playfully on the shoulder. ‘This mademoiselle must be something really special.’
Roland just smiled back.
Chapter Five
During the next four months, Roland managed to find an excuse to spend at least one night a week in the French capital. With the exception of that first time, Roland found weekend trips to Paris impossible. That was his only time to be with his children, and the only way around the situation would be to take them with him. That, of course, was out of the question. Richard and Carol were still too young, and Katherine, as mature as she might be at thirteen, couldn’t be relied on to keep such an important secret . . . which was the way Roland wanted his relationship with Sharon, at least for the moment. Even Miriam and Claude Lazarus were unaware of Sharon’s trysts with Roland.
For his thirty-ninth birthday, Sharon gave him a gold Longines watch, as promised. He wore it whenever he traveled to Paris, but when he returned to London he always replaced it with what he called his three-horse watch which Catarina had given him. And when close friends remarked on the change that had come over him – the ten pounds he’d gained, the more contented demeanor – Roland simply smiled. Only Michael Adler knew the reason for the change, but he had no idea who the woman was.
In the early part of 1964, Roland attended Janet’s wedding to Ralph Morrison. He even offered to give away the bride, since both of her parents were dead. Janet took him up on it, and Roland walked her down the aisle of the Presbyterian church in Hampstead where Morrison attended regularly. Understanding the position Roland had in Janet’s life, Morrison spoke at length with him before the wedding. He and Janet had decided to continue living in the house Roland had bought in St John’s Wood, but Morrison wanted it understood that he alone would be responsible for supporting the family. Roland agreed . . . in part. If Morrison felt duty-bound to support Richard and Carol, Roland wouldn’t stand in his way; they were Janet’s children as much as his own. But Roland drew the line where Katherine was concerned. She lived with Janet only so she would have a semblance of normal family life. And though she would remain a member of the family – subject to the same rules as the other children – Roland wouldn’t allow her to be supported by Morrison. That was Roland’s responsibility, his privilege alone.
At about the same time as the wedding, Roland decided to move from the Regent’s Park apartment he’d lived in for fourteen years. With all the memories the apartment held for him, moving would be a dramatic wrench, but he felt it was time . . . Since he’d been a child growing up in Margate, he’d never lived in a house with a garden, a staircase leading up to bedrooms instead of having everything on one level. He also felt ready to leave the bustle of central London, wanting to be somewhere more convenient to the airport for the regular trips to Paris.
After much searching, Roland settled on Stanmore, a small but affluent northwest London suburb which still prided itself – snobbishly, so Roland thought – on being a village. In truth, it was little more, a compact shopping area where even the big names hadn’t yet managed to penetrate, then a long hill leading up to Stanmore Common. Roland chose a sprawling, old-fashioned five-bedroom house located opposite the common at the very top of the hill. Soon after, he hired a firm of builders to gut the house from the inside out and renovate it completely.
Even with the builders working around the clock seven days a week, the renovation process took two months, during which Roland maintained his regular routine of weekly trips to Paris to be with Sharon. Each time he returned to London, though, he had Alf Goldstein drive him back to Regent Street through Stanmore so he could view the progress. He was becoming impatient to move in, the same way he felt about any project once it was started. He hated hanging around, especially this time because he intended to bring Sharon to London, marry her and raise another family – one that wouldn’t be destroyed by a freak accident or by the unwillingness of a woman to compromise.
By mid-April Roland was ready to leave the Regent’s Park apartment and begin living in Stanmore. While the movers cleared his furniture out, he wandered idly through the park, appreciating a rare warm spring day. He stopped beneath an oak tree and fingered the bark. The initials he had cut out fourteen years earlier were no longer visible. Bark had grown back to cover them, just as it hid the broken blade of the small penknife he had used. It was just as well; now was not the time to be hindered by awkward, tearful memories.
*
The first weekend in his new home, with the help of a butler and maid he’d hired, Roland threw a housewarming party. Seventy people crowded the house, sitting down to lunch in the huge living space that had been created by knocking down the wall that joined the living room to the dining room. Under the supervision of the butler, waitresses tripped down to the wine cellar that had been constructed in the basement. Roland barely had time to eat, wandering from one table to the next, mingling with his guests.
‘When do you spring the big surprise?’ Sally Roberts asked when he stopped by her table.
‘Surprise? What surprise?’
‘You always use parties to spring surprises, Roland Eagles. Why should today be any different?’
He looked from Sally to Christopher Mellish and wondered, as he often had, what happened that night they’d gone to Kendall’s together and Roland found out hours later that Mellish hadn’t yet arrived home. Mellish had never mentioned it, but Roland knew from his own subtle inquiries that he hadn’t returned to the club. Was he, too playing the away game, as Roland had once asked Simon about Graham Sharp? If so, what did Roland owe Sally? Was it his business to tell her?
‘You’ll see the surprise later on,’ he promised Sally before walking to the table where Simon Aronson sat with Nadine, Michael Adler, and an attractive brunette Michael had brought to the party.
‘A beautiful house, Roland. May you enjoy many happy years in it,’ Simon said.
‘Thank you. I’m glad you and Nadine could be here today.’
‘We’ve been looking forward to it ever since you sent out the invitation. We don’t see enough of each other anymore.’
‘I think that will be changing soon enough.’ Roland glanced at Michael and saw a sharp glimmer of understanding in his friend’s eyes.
As dessert was served, Roland walked past Alf Goldstein, who was sitting with his wife, and tapped him on the shoulder. Goldstein dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin, stood up and excused himself.
‘I just called the airport and the flight’s due in twenty minutes.’
‘I’ll bring her right back.’ Goldstein left the house and climbed into R
oland’s Bentley. Traffic was light and he reached the airport fifteen minutes after the estimated time of arrival of the Air France flight bringing Sharon from Paris. He hurried into the terminal, checked the arrivals board and stood by the gate, holding a small placard with her name printed on it.
Sharon came through ten minutes after, wearing the full-length sable coat Roland had given her the previous week and carrying one small valise. Her eyes shone when she saw the sign with her name on it. Goldstein took the valise and led her out to the Bentley, trying to remember the last time he’d seen her. At her wedding, probably, and then only fleetingly. He hadn’t been an invited guest, just a driver for Roland and Katherine.
‘Are my parents at Roland’s new house?’ Sharon asked, as the Bentley glided through the town of Hayes, next to the airport.
‘They were enjoying dessert when I last saw them. I had to leave mine in the middle,’ Goldstein added with a trace of regret.
Sharon feigned sympathy. ‘Oh, you poor man. But your sacrifice is for a worthy cause.’ She thought Roland’s idea for springing the news on her parents was wonderful. A new house . . . a party already in progress . . . and then the announcement of their marriage.
Goldstein laughed. ‘I know, my waistline.’ He patted the bulge which spread above his belt.
‘Who else is there?’
‘Pick a name. Everyone Roland knows, does that help you?’
‘Janet?’
Goldstein nodded. ‘With her husband and the three children.’
‘How is Katherine?’
Goldstein’s face softened. ‘Beautiful.’ Goldstein continued to carry an extra soft spot for Katherine; he supposed it was the same for everyone who’d shared with Roland the experiences of the romance with Catarina and all that had followed.
‘Does she get on well with Janet’s new husband?’
‘He’d better get on well with her. Otherwise he’ll have me to answer to . . . after Roland finishes with him.’
‘Roland is fortunate to have such friends.’
They reached the house and Goldstein pulled the Bentley into the circular driveway, grateful that no one else had turned up and stolen his place. Cars lined the hill; there wasn’t a spare spot within fifty yards. God only knew what the neighbors thought. ‘Stay here, Roland’s orders,’ he told Sharon. He got out of the car and walked quickly into the house to find Roland. ‘Your delivery’s waiting outside.’
‘Thanks.’ Roland went searching for Simon and Nadine. He found them talking to Sally and Mellish. ‘May I interrupt, please? Simon, Nadine . . . there’s something I’d like you to see.’
‘Where?’
‘Outside.’
‘It is a surprise!’ Sally called out. ‘Can we all come?’
‘Not now. Later.’ He took Simon and Nadine by the arm, guided them to the front. ‘In the Bentley.’
Simon started forward as the passenger door swung open. ‘Sharon, I thought—’
‘You thought I was still in Paris! I know!’ She ran forward and hugged her parents. ‘But you didn’t know I had also been invited to this party, did you?’ She stood in front of Roland, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Pleased to see me, darling?’
‘What do you think?’ Roland returned the kiss and embraced her warmly.
Simon turned to watch them, confused, fingers stroking the short beard that was now liberally sprinkled with gray. ‘I don’t understand. You haven’t seen—’
Roland released Sharon and turned to face Simon and Nadine. ‘We have been seeing each other, Simon. Very frequently. In Paris. And we’ve decided to get married.’ Even as he said the words, Roland was struck by the novelty of the situation. Sharon was the first woman he’d ever considered marrying who was not pregnant. And Simon and Nadine would be the first parents who would bless the union. Or so he thought . . .
Simon’s face collapsed. ‘You can’t be serious, of course.’
Roland’s whole demeanor changed as he felt his anger spring to the surface. ‘Of course we’re serious! Why do you think I bought this house, Simon? For your grandchildren!’
‘No, Roland.’ Simon shook his head very slowly. ‘This can never be. Never!’
‘For God’s sake, why not?’ Roland held out his hand to stop Sharon from rushing to her father; he didn’t want tearful recriminations right now, he wanted reason. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Come with me.’ Simon began to walk toward the road, turned right and started down the long hill leading toward the village. Roland went after him, brain seething with confusion.
‘Just what the hell is wrong with me marrying your daughter, Simon? Are you against it because of religious grounds?’ After all these years was he destined to learn that Simon was a bigot too? Was he on the same despicable level as Roland’s own father’s family? He turned back and looked toward the house. Sharon and Nadine were in each other’s arms; he couldn’t be certain but he could swear that Sharon was crying. Some party this was turning out to be! Some joyful announcement!
‘Don’t be stupid, please.’ Simon stopped and turned to face Roland. ‘I don’t care about religious differences – they are too minor to even concern me. I only care about Sharon. Do you realize what you would do to her? Do you understand the agony you would put her through?’
‘Agony? What are you talking about?’
‘I took your advice once to help her out of a terrible marriage. Sharon was distraught for what seemed like ages, and Nadine and I feared for her. Thank God she’s recovered. Being in Paris with Miriam and Claude – away from London and the memories it holds – has helped. But have you considered the relapse she would be bound to have if she had to put up with the way you live?’
‘The way I live? Would you please explain to me how I live?’
‘Why did you and Janet break up? Why didn’t you marry her?’
‘Because she wasn’t ready for marriage.’
‘Not to you, perhaps. But she was ready to marry someone else, wasn’t she? It’s you who are not ready for marriage.’ He cut off Roland’s denial with a swift wave of the hand. ‘You aren’t prepared to fully give yourself to a relationship. There will always be a barrier between you and a family, Roland, no matter how much you love them. There will be your business – this ambition of yours to rival the greatest captains of industry the world has ever seen. I’ve witnessed it the whole time I’ve known you. When I first had you at my house, I spent a long time wondering about this ambition. I thought at first it was because of the way you’d lost your family so suddenly, that you needed to substitute power and success for family love. But over the years I’ve seen that it goes even deeper than that—’
‘Do you think it interfered with my relationship with Catarina?’
‘No, but my daughter is not Catarina. Sharon is far more sensitive than Catarina ever was.’ Simon recognized the hostility that blazed in Roland’s blue eyes and sought to change the harshness of his words. He wiped a hand across his eyes; he needed time to think, time to find the right words before he caused offense that could never be repaired. ‘I don’t mean that . . . forgive me, please. Sharon is not as strong as Catarina was. Catarina was resilient. She could bounce back from adversity, you know that. I don’t think Sharon has that same capacity, especially after that terrible experience with Graham.’
‘Simon . . .’ Roland grasped the banker by the shoulders, gazed into his eyes. ‘I’m in love with Sharon, can’t you understand that? Just the way I was with Catarina. Please accept it. Don’t do an Ambassador Menendez on us.’
Simon smiled weakly. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop you. An elopement wouldn’t be necessary this time, you are both well past the age of consent.’
Roland tried to think of something to say, something that would assuage Simon’s concern. He understood his anxiety . . . He would be worried sick as well about a daughter who had barely survived one bad marriage. But such worries in this instance were groundless.
‘Simon, don’t you understand how much I delegate work these days? If I were working full-steam-ahead like you claim, I would never have managed to spend so much time in Paris with Sharon during the past few months.’
‘You were in Paris because you had business there.’ Simon wondered what had gone on between his daughter and Roland in Paris, then he struck the thought from his mind – he didn’t want to know.
‘Girard et Fils doesn’t need me fouling up the works. We appointed management to run the company. My reason for visiting Paris wasn’t work – it was to see Sharon. I have plenty of time to myself now, and I want to share it with Sharon and the family we’ll have together.’
‘Roland, I want to believe you. God knows how much I do. But always there is this feeling that you—’
‘Divide my life up into tidy little sections?’
Simon looked at him, amazed. ‘You took the words right out of my mouth. Did someone . . . did someone else describe you that way?’
‘Janet did. But that was six years ago when you and I were still building our business. You know how hard I was working then. How hard we were both working, breaking our backs to cut corners so we could stay afloat.’
‘Roland, you were working much harder than I was. In fact, you seemed to take a fiendish enjoyment in stretching yourself to the limit.’
‘Maybe I did, but those days are past. I have nothing to prove now, except that I can settle down and raise a family. A conventional family.’ He sensed a softening in Simon’s attitude, sought to capitalize on it. ‘Shall we go back to the house?’ he asked, taking him by the elbow. ‘Before they wonder what’s happened to us?’
‘Roland, promise me you will never relegate Sharon to second place,’ Simon said as they walked back to the house.
‘I promise.’
Simon stared straight ahead and willed himself to believe Roland. It had to be so, because if Roland hurt Sharon – hurt her as she had been hurt before – then Simon would never forgive him, nor would he ever lift a finger to help him again. No matter how much he had liked Roland as both a friend and a business partner, where Sharon was concerned he had to draw the line.
