by Lewis Orde
The two women were still waiting in front of the house. Sharon dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief while her mother tried to comfort her. Simon, eager to smooth over the troubled moment, took his daughter in his arms, kissed her. ‘A little misunderstanding,’ he whispered. ‘Roland and I have straightened it out.’
Roland kissed Nadine . . . ‘Just don’t expect me to call you mother,’ he said to the petite blonde woman. ‘Put your happy face on, we’re going to tell everyone the good news.’ Roland put his arm around Sharon and together the group returned to the house.
After the announcement Roland had the butler bring out bottles of Dom Perignon from the wine cellar; then boxes of Davidoff cigars were passed around. Roland took one, lit it; normally he preferred cigarettes, but this was an occasion for a cigar, wasn’t it? He walked grandly around the house, accepting the congratulations of his friends. This was how the day was supposed to turn out – the confrontation with Simon had been forgotten already. But when Roland reached Sally, she pulled him off to one side.
‘Do you know what the hell you’re doing, Roland?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ he removed the cigar from his mouth, set it down in a crystal ashtray.
‘I asked you if you know what you’re getting into? You’re taking a wounded bird under your wing, and believe me you’re not much of a therapist for that kind of injury.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ he snapped, momentarily losing his good humor. ‘Not you as well!’
‘As well as whom?’
‘Simon. It took me fifteen minutes to convince him that it was the right thing do.’
‘That’s because it might not be.’
‘Of course it is. Sharon loves me . . . and I love her. It’s as simple as that. What else do you need for a marriage?’ He looked past Sally at Mellish, who was busily pouring himself another glass of champagne. And what about you, Sally? he felt like asking. Is your marriage so sweet and rosy that you don’t even know where your husband wanders off to in the middle of the night when he thinks you’re not there?
‘Roland, you need more than love in a marriage. You need commitment, understanding.’
Roland’s eyes sought out Janet. She had told him the same thing. Only this time it was different. Sharon wasn’t pregnant; Roland didn’t feel compelled to marry her. He just wanted to – was that such a crime?
‘We’ll see, Sally,’ he said, picking up the cigar and moving on to other people. ‘We’ll see.’ He needed to hear congratulations again, not warnings of doom. He spotted Katherine standing at the rear bay window, gazing at the garden.
‘What do you think, Kathy?’
‘About you getting married? I love the idea.’
‘You do? Bless you!’ He picked her up and whirled her around in his arms. This was the kind of reaction he wanted to hear. When Katherine agreed with him, he knew it was right. A gut feeling, just as Sharon had said at the airport in Paris. A gut feeling – so descriptive of when you just knew that something was right. Or wrong . . . ‘Do you want to live with us, Kathy? There are some wonderful schools around here. Stables. You’ll be able to ride to your heart’s content.’
‘What about Richard and Carol?’
‘They’re Janet’s children as well as mine. It would be wrong to think of taking them away from their mother. But you . . . you’re different. You’re all mine.’
Katherine let her eyes roam around the room, taking in the guests, the waitresses, the uniformed butler. It all seemed such a contrast to the home she knew with Janet and Ralph Morrison. Although Janet and Morrison shared no blood ties with her they were good, kind people, and Katherine loved them as dearly as if they were family. But how could they compare with her own father?
‘Will I see you often? Or will you always be away, running off somewhere at a moment’s notice?’
‘Oh, my little grown-up Kathy . . .’ Roland laughed and hugged his daughter fondly. ‘Of course you’ll see me often. I’ll be living here with you.’
‘This is an awfully large house to feel alone in.’
‘How can you possibly feel lonely with so many people?’
‘You can feel lonely in a crowded room.’
Roland understood exactly what his daughter meant – that holiday weekend at Christopher Mellish’s farm in Somerset, when Roland was caught up in the Adler’s deal – and the icy gaze she’d given him as she sat on the horse. ‘I promise you, Kathy, this time it’s for good.’ He called Sharon over to tell her the news. ‘We’ll have a family even before we start . . . Katherine’s going to live with us.’
‘Isn’t she happy with Janet and Ralph? Is something wrong there?’
Roland glanced oddly at Sharon, unable to understand the reason behind such a comment. ‘It’s nothing to do with being happy there. She’ll be happier here, with me, her father.’
‘That’s fine, Roland. I just thought that it might be unwise to break up a good situation.’
Roland relaxed, comprehending now. Everyone was so damned concerned about Katherine’s welfare, seeing her shifted from one place to another. ‘It’s only unwise to leave a good situation for a bad one; it’s never unwise to exchange a good situation for an even better one. Now let’s get on with the celebration.’
Following a sit-down dinner, the party eventually broke up just after ten o’clock that night. Katherine left with Janet and Ralph Morrison, then Roland saw Sharon and her parents to Simon’s car. He couldn’t hope to have Sharon stay the night with him, not when Simon and Nadine knew she was in London. He would have to be patient . . . a few more trips to Paris while all the details were ironed out, then Sharon would be with him permanently.
Simon helped Nadine into the car, then climbed into the driver’s seat while Roland held the rear door open for Sharon.
‘This has been a very special day for us, hasn’t it?’
She responded by kissing him, then looked deeply into his eyes.
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asked before getting into the car.
‘Just try and keep me away. I’ll phone you first thing in the morning. We can have lunch in town. I’ll cancel whatever appointments I’ve got.’ He bent down to kiss her again, half in and half out of the car. She held his left hand, her fingers feeling for his jacket sleeve. Only when he realized what she was doing did he allow himself an indulgent smile. ‘I’m wearing your Longines, see?’ He pulled back his sleeve to show the watch she’d given him.
‘I just wanted to make sure,’ she said, laughing.
He kissed her a final time, closed the door and slapped his hand on the roof of the car as a signal to Simon. The car moved off and Roland stood on the curb, watching the red lights disappear down the hill. As he walked back into the house, he laughed to himself about the watch. Sharon really was keeping tabs on him. A touch of jealousy, perhaps? Or was it the insecurity Simon had mentioned? Roland couldn’t blame her, not after what she’d been through with Graham. But surely she couldn’t feel threatened by a memory . . .
Inside the house he found the waitresses busily cleaning up while the butler stood to the side, hands clasped behind his back, supervising. The only remaining guests were Sally and Christopher Mellish. Roland joined them, noticing the one remaining bottle of Dom Perignon that Mellish had managed to find.
‘Join me?’ Mellish invited.
‘Why not? I’m still celebrating.’
Mellish poured for himself, Sally and Roland, then lifted his own glass high into the air. ‘To marriage, old man . . . may it never erode friendships.’
‘Strange toast,’ Roland replied, but he drank to it all the same. ‘What’s it supposed to mean?’
‘Well, I doubt if we’ll be seeing much of you down at Kendall’s anymore. You’ve got that crazy look in your eyes . . . babies, dirty nappies . . .’
‘Diapers,’ Roland responded automatically, feeling a twinge of sentimentality when he remembered hearing the word Catarina had used.
‘Whatever . . . it’
s all there in your baby blues. All the comforts of home and family.’
‘Some of us are meant to be that way, right, Sally?’
‘And some of us aren’t.’ She brushed her long auburn hair back and as she did so Roland noticed for the first time the gray at the roots. He’d never realized that she had gray to cover, never realized that she should even be getting older. ‘Just remember what I said earlier, Roland. About, Sharon.’
‘I will. I’ll tie a knot in my handkerchief to remind me.’
‘Coming to Kendall’s later on, old sport?’ Mellish asked. ‘One of your last flings before you tie the other kind of knot?’ He burst out with his high-pitched laugh at his own joke.
‘Not tonight, Christopher. I’ve got a few things I want to do around here.’
‘Shame. I was looking forward to winning some money from you.’
‘Anytime you want an unsigned, useless check, I’ll be glad to oblige.’
Mellish groaned and took Sally’s arm. ‘That’s it, old sport, kick the poor man when he’s down. I guess I’ll just have to find another sucker then.’
Roland saw them out, watched them drive away, then closed the door and rested his back against it. The party was over, and suddenly the house seemed totally empty.
‘Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?’ the butler asked, appearing next to Roland’s side.
‘Fine, thanks. You all did an excellent job.’
‘Thank you, sir. If it’s convenient now, I have to arrange for some purchases tomorrow morning.’
Roland went to a bureau, pulled out a checkbook and signed three blank checks. ‘Will that be sufficient?’
‘More than adequate, sir. Good night.’
‘Good night.’
By midnight the house was quiet. Roland sat in an armchair by the front window, looking across the road at the darkened square. Every so often a car’s lights flashed past and his vision dimmed momentarily. He sat thinking, imagined Katherine cantering across the square – if the cricket club would let her! – trotting down one of the village’s side roads, her back straight, reins held gently but firmly . . . while Sharon busied herself in the kitchen, around the house, creating a proper family environment. For Roland it was a vision that bred pure contentment. That’s what had been missing in Regent’s Park, he thought. Luxury by itself meant nothing. You had to have people with whom to share it; people you felt for, people you loved. Soon, Roland thought, he would have such a life.
An hour passed and he continued to sit by the window. The cars went by less frequently now. He knew he should feel sleepy. It had been a hectic day, but his mind was alert, his body tense. He stood up and walked around, noticed the box of cigars still sitting on the table. He lit one and sat down again, surrounded by the aromatic smoke. Perhaps Mellish was right, he should go out, make the most of one of his last days as a bachelor, of being . . . uncluttered . . . the word popped into his mind, the same word he had used to describe these people with whom he had remained close.
He picked up the telephone, dialed the number of the local taxi service. A taxi arrived fifteen minutes later to take him to the West End. He entered the foyer of Kendall’s, looking forward to seeing Mellish. This was better than sitting alone at home, gazing out at the square. How many times could he imagine Katherine sitting astride a horse before the novelty wore off such an image? As he signed the register he checked through the preceding names. There was Mellish’s, on the previous page. Anticipating a battle over the backgammon board, Roland entered the club.
Mellish was nowhere to be seen, though. Roland asked around and learned that Sally’s husband had been in for no more than ten minutes. He had played a few hands of blackjack, lost, then left. Roland was undecided what to do. Should he stay and play now that he was here? Or try and find out where Mellish had gone? Again he told himself it was none of his business, but some persistent inner force prodded him to find out. He left Kendall’s and began walking the short distance to Curzon Street where Mellish and Sally lived. Once there, he saw no sign of Mellish’s Aston Martin which was normally parked in the street, but there was a light on in the front room of the apartment. Feeling oddly foolish, Roland went up the steps and knocked on the door.
Sally opened it immediately and Roland was vaguely disturbed that she hadn’t even bothered to find out who it was first.
‘Sleepwalking?’ Sally asked, showing no surprise at seeing Roland.
‘I just got fed up with my own company at home. I took a taxi here thinking I’d go to Kendall’s. Did Christopher go?’
Sally nodded. ‘He’s probably passing off some unsigned checks right now. Are you coming in, or are you going down to join him?’
Roland was in a quandary. Should he tell Sally the truth, that he’d already been to Kendall’s and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her husband? Or should he continue playing it the way he was now? For God’s sake, he thought, isn’t there anyone with a sound marriage – a normal, civilized relationship?’
‘You won’t be keeping me up if you come in,’ Sally said. ‘I was going over some figures for our next budget meeting.’
‘I’ll let you get on with it. This is one of my last opportunities to lose some money without having someone telling me what I’m doing wrong.’.
‘That’s a fine attitude to take into a marriage with someone as delicate as Sharon. I hope you’re joking.’
‘Of course I am.’ He kissed Sally goodnight and retraced his steps to the street. A taxi was passing and Roland hailed it. He would return to Stanmore, force himself to go to sleep. God only knew what Mellish was up to. A woman, probably, while Sally obliviously carried on with life. He wondered what story Mellish would dream up when Sally mentioned that Roland had stopped at the apartment on his way to Kendall’s. Would Mellish lie, claim he’d seen Roland? And then what would Roland say? Should he back him up? Or destroy his cover by telling the truth?
To Roland’s surprise, lights were on when he reached home. Concerned, he let himself in and saw the butler waiting in the open hall, almost unrecognizable in pajamas and robe – Roland was convinced he never removed his uniform, not even for bed. ‘Mrs Mellish telephoned for you a short while ago, sir.’
Sally? ‘Thanks,’ he said, then picked up the receiver and dialed. ‘Sally . . . what’s the matter?’
‘I think I’ve caught you out, Roland. I knew you didn’t have any intention of going to Kendall’s after you left me.’
He tried to think of an excuse why he had returned home, why he hadn’t gone to the club. ‘I just changed my mind, that’s all—’
‘Roland, do me and yourself a favor. Stop worrying about Christopher.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You heard me. You came here after you went to the club, didn’t you? After you found that Christopher wasn’t there.’
‘How—”
‘I was looking out the window when you walked up the street. What were you doing, looking to see if Christopher’s car was there? And then you decided to knock on the door to see if I knew where he was?’
No wonder Sally had opened the door so quickly. She’d watched him coming. ‘I was curious, that’s all. You know, after that last time, when I called you up and Christopher hadn’t got home.’
‘There have been plenty of other times since then, Roland.’
‘Aren’t you concerned?’
‘No, although I suppose I should be grateful that you are. If you really must know, Christopher and I haven’t even slept in the same room for a couple of years.’
‘What kind of a marriage is that?’
‘One of convenience, and don’t sound so horrified. Christopher’s great company. I like him a lot, we get along well. We’re satisfied with that kind of an arrangement, even if it is only a friendship. Like I said, it’s convenient. If I ever need an escort, I have Christopher. And vice-versa.’
‘Your choice. But don’t you even know where he goes?’
‘No, and I’m not sure I want to.
That’s his business. He puts on a little show for me, like asking if you wanted to go to Kendall’s with him tonight. Once he’d found out that you didn’t, he was free to do as he pleased.’
‘He was there for a few minutes, signed the register.’
‘That’s part of the show. He’s considerate enough to believe he’s fooling me, even if he isn’t. Now will you do me a favor and stop worrying about it?’
‘If that’s the way you want it, Sally.’ He hung up and flopped into a chair. He would stop worrying about it for Sally’s sake, all right, but he would concern himself with it for his own. Maybe Sally claimed she wasn’t interested in what Christopher was up to, but Roland certainly was. Whatever it was might hurt Sally, and he wasn’t about to stand by idly while that happened.
His mind leaped forward as he made plans . . . He would get Alf Goldstein to do the work for him. He could follow him, just as he’d spied on the Menendez family. Goldstein was good at that; and if he still had the contacts to organize a proper tailing system, he could do as efficient a job as any detective agency.
Sally was very wrong about it being none of his business, he thought as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. What she didn’t know just might hurt her – and he was going to be prepared for whatever shock he felt was bound to strike . . .
*
Daniel Rushden and Probe magazine reentered Roland’s life with a vengeance a month later. After milking the Christine Keeler-Profumo affair and the fall of the Macmillan government for all it was worth, Rushden sought more familiar targets, and the announcement of Roland’s wedding to Sharon Aronson renewed his interest in his old adversary.
Since the last time Rushden had written an episode of the Vulture Chronicles, Roland had branched out into France – an interesting development, to Rushden’s way of thinking. His new father-in-law and former partner was French, a banker; his brother-in-law, Claude Lazarus, was also French, another banker. Was Eagles setting the groundwork for creating a banking and business dynasty – alliances that could be translated into an oligarchy? He used the notion to write another chapter in the Vulture Chronicles, exposing what he considered were the possible ramifications of the marriage . . .
