by Lewis Orde
A week after Katherine had the cast removed, Roland received the piece of mail he’d been dreading . . . summons to appear with Katherine at juvenile court to answer a handful of charges stemming from the accident. Instead of going to Regent Street that morning, he had Alf take him to Aronson Freres. Simon knew all about the accident, although he was unaware of the reasons behind Katherine’s dramatic nighttime drive. Roland had thought it better not to tell him; and Sharon, as Roland had guessed, had never made any mention of it.
‘What do I do about this?’ Roland asked Simon, showing him the summons.
‘Quite a collection, I must say.’ He glanced through the charges, lips moving as he read silently. ‘I am grateful, Roland, that you didn’t press Sharon to say she’d given Katherine permission to use the car. It might have saved one charge for Katherine, but in Sharon’s present state the trouble it might have caused would have been catastrophic.’
Simon’s calmness, his concern for his own daughter, irked Roland. ‘It was all because of Sharon that Katherine ran away that night.’
‘Ran away?’
‘That wasn’t some spoiled brat taking the family car for a joyride, Simon. That was my daughter running away—’ He stopped suddenly, aware of what he was saying. ‘Maybe I should have mentioned this to you earlier, but there’s been hell going on between Sharon and Katherine. Ever since Katherine came to live with us.’
‘What kind of hell? Sharon never said a word—’
‘They’ve been fighting with each other.’
‘With you as the prize?’ Simon guessed. ‘Is that why Katherine has gone back to the Morrisons’?’
‘That’s where she was trying to get to that night.’
‘I see,’ Simon was surprised; he’d been given no inkling of any trouble with his daughter. ‘What will happen after this?’ He waved the summons. ‘After Katherine recovers? After Sharon has the baby? Wait a minute . . .’ He studied the summons again. ‘Surely this is for the week Sharon is expecting?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you plan to go to court that week? I can get a postponement.’
‘I’ll go.’ Roland didn’t want the trial postponed, he wanted it over and done with. If he put it off, Katherine would see it as another capitulation to Sharon, and Roland couldn’t afford that. He’d never win her back.
‘You will? But your wife—’ Simon sat up straight in his chair, fixed Roland with a steady gaze. ‘Roland I have to ask you a very pointed question – who are you placing first here? Your daughter or your wife?’
‘Don’t you mean your daughter or my daughter?’
‘If you wish. Who do you place first?’
Ever since the accident . . . no, even before that, when he’d first sensed that something was wrong between Sharon and Katherine, Roland had asked himself the same question. And he kept running away from the answer, fearing that one day he would have to make a cutting choice: Sharon’s possessiveness that threatened to cut him off from everyone he loved? Or a freer life where he could enjoy those people he loved, all of them?
Simon waited patiently for an answer, sensing Roland’s turmoil. Finally he spoke. ‘Roland, soon you will have to make a choice, and you will have to choose Sharon above all else. I warned you about the responsibilities of marrying her. You accepted them.’
‘Can we concern ourselves with more immediate matters right now? Like that summons.’
Simon continued to gaze steadily at Roland, undecided whether to continue the conversation about Sharon. Finally he looked down at the sheet of paper. ‘We will have Katherine plead guilty, with mitigating circumstances.’
‘And have all that trouble at home brought out into the open?’
‘Perhaps it should be brought more into the open. We might all be better off.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, we. I’m just as concerned about this unfortunate business with Katherine as you are, although I think our reasons differ. My main concern above all else is Sharon. I won’t stand by and see her hurt again.’
‘I’m not hurting her.’
‘If you ignore her in favor of Katherine you surely will be.’
‘She’s not being hurt because she’s being ignored. She thinks she’s being hurt because I want to have a normal relationship with the rest of my family!’ Roland shot back.
‘Then you must compromise.’
‘Why can’t Sharon compromise?’
‘Because she’s been through enough already.’
‘And I haven’t? Is that what you’re saying?’
Simon handed the summons back to Roland. ‘Under these rather trying circumstances, I think it might be better if you seek legal advice from another quarter. I can refer you to some very good lawyers who specialize in juvenile crime.’
Roland snatched the summons from Simon’s hand, senses stinging from the last two words. Juvenile crime! Before they’d been talking about Katherine, trying to decide whatever was best for her. Now Simon had relegated her to the level of a juvenile delinquent!
*
Roland went to the lawyers he used for corporate work, a firm located in the city. He knew it was like using a power hammer to crack open a peanut, but maybe it was better this way. Simon was obviously more interested in how the whole affair would affect his daughter, so his representing Katherine was definitely out. Instead, Roland would respond to the charges with what he considered the most impressive display of legal talent ever to grace a juvenile court.
The firm’s senior partner, Alan Martin, a fleshy, bulbous-nosed man with graying hair who normally handled Roland’s business affairs, seemed surprised at being asked to take such a case. Nonetheless, he agreed to handle it. Roland put him in the picture as clearly as possible, and Martin suggested he could – if not lie outright – at least bend the truth a little. As Simon had suggested, he would have Katherine plead guilty; but, in mitigation, he would explain that she’d been emotionally disturbed by the move to the new house, the new school and her inability to settle. Rather than face up to her father, who had been called to the school regarding her deteriorating performance, she’d sought flight in the middle of the night, wanting to be back in the house where she used to live.
‘The only problem is,’ Martin mused, ‘considering the feeling between you and your daughter, will she go along with this defense?’
‘It’s almost the truth. It just leaves out the trouble she’s had with my wife . . . and with me. I’ll talk to her about it,’ he added, and wondered how effective that would be.
‘In that case, I can quite safely say that she’ll get nothing worse than probation and a fine, not to mention being banned from driving for a few years.’
‘She doesn’t have a driving license now.’
‘The ban will take effect when she comes of age to have a driver’s license.’
Roland left the lawyer’s office feeling relieved – until he thought of Simon. Once before, when Roland had wanted to acquire Adler’s and Simon was caught up in trouble between Sharon and Graham, the two men had come close to breaking apart. Then, they had settled for ending their business association. This time, however, it was far more serious. Simon was now his father-in-law. Would this be when the final, irrevocable break would occur?
*
As Sharon entered the final week of her pregnancy, Roland breathed a sigh of relief. The preceding weeks had been impossible; from now on, things could only improve. Sharon had called in the doctor almost every day with some complaint – her back, her head, her legs. Roland knew the reason, and it wasn’t hypochondria. She wanted to keep Roland in the house, frightened that at this ultimate moment she might lose him. To whom? To Katherine, who was still icily remote from her father, although she had agreed to use the story devised by his lawyer? Or was Sharon even now frightened that she might lose her husband to his work?
Much of the time, Roland was forced to run the business from home, permanently on the telephone to Michael Adler at Regent Street.
And it seemed to Roland that whenever he sat down, receiver in hand, he could hear Sharon’s voice calling to him. She didn’t want the butler or the maid; she always wanted Roland. He would tell Michael to hold on while he saw to her, and each time he returned Michael would have hung up, moved on to more pressing matters.
With a chilling certainty, Roland knew exactly what was going to happen: Sharon would go into labor right before Katherine’s appearance at juvenile court. It could be no other way, as if Sharon were consciously trying to coincide the two events. And she would beg him not to leave her. Plead with him – and then accuse him of favoring Katherine over her . . .
When the time came, Roland wished he could be as uncannily prophetic when he picked horses. He was due in court with Katherine at ten o’clock, and Sharon woke him at five-thirty that morning to say that the baby was on its way. He dressed quickly, picked up the suitcase that had lain packed for almost a week and had the butler telephone for an ambulance.
They reached the hospital at six-fifteen. Sharon clung to Roland’s hand, begging him not to leave her, to stay the entire day. As gently as he could, he explained there was nothing he could do. Nadine would be coming over from South Kensington later on, although there was nothing she could do either.
‘I have a very important appointment at ten o’clock, Sharon. I dare not miss it.’
‘Katherine has the lawyer there. Why do you have to be there as well?’
‘Because I’m her father.’
‘And you’re my husband, the father of this child.’ She pointed to her belly.
It sounded like an old broken record Roland had heard for the past weeks . . . or was it months? He no longer remembered, time meant nothing anymore. ‘Sharon, the only people you need right now are the doctors and the nurses. I’ll come by and see you tonight.’ He attempted to remove his hand from hers, but she only clung more stubbornly. To Roland’s relief a West Indian nurse approached, her face breaking into a warm smile as she understood what was happening.
‘Come on now, Mrs Eagles, there’s no need to drag your husband into the labor ward.’ She took both their hands and gently separated them. ‘There now, your husband can come back later when you’re all pretty and you’ve got something to show him.’
Roland kissed Sharon quickly on the cheek and backed away. She turned her head toward him, brown eyes beseeching, calling his name. He forced himself to close his ears, and quickly left the hospital.
At nine-thirty he was at the court, talking to Alan Martin about the case. It was listed sixth on the court sheet and they estimated they wouldn’t be heard until the afternoon. Katherine sat a few feet away, next to Alf Goldstein, who had driven her from Janet’s home. They were talking softly and Roland wondered what she was telling him.
‘I took Sharon to the hospital early this morning, Kathy,’ Roland said, sliding closer. ‘She’ll probably have the baby while we’re here.’ At first, when Katherine made no response, Roland thought she hadn’t heard. Then Goldstein tapped her gently on the shoulder and pointed to her father. Roland repeated the words when Katherine turned toward him, his eyes fixed on the thin scar that sliced across the skin above her eyebrow. She was wearing a scarf to hide the newly growing hair, and Martin had suggested she remove it for the trial – if the court clerk didn’t order her to do so – to win sympathy from the magistrate.
‘Didn’t she want you there, with her?’ Katherine asked.
‘Yes, she did.’ Roland refused to take offense at the implication contained in the question. He needed Katherine to be calm now, ready to face the trial. ‘I told her I was needed here instead. She’d have the baby no matter what.’
Katherine looked away, her role in the conversation finished. ‘What do you want – boy or girl?’ Goldstein broke in with forced cheerfulness as he tried to bridge the awkward silence.
‘What does it matter as long as it’s healthy?’
‘True, that’s what I always say. Michael’ll be glad to see you back, though. Poor devil’s lost ten pounds.’
Assuming I’m allowed to go back once Sharon comes home, Roland thought. He could see her carrying on the act forever, fearing to be alone, needing him, needing him, needing him . . . until she turned him into someone as insecure and neurotic as herself.
‘I’ll be bloody glad to get back.’
The morning passed as they sat outside the court, not interested in following the earlier cases. When they went out for lunch, Goldstein locked himself away in a telephone booth for several minutes and Roland surmised he was calling the office to check on things. Roland appreciated the gesture. They returned to the court building and took the same seats, wondering how much longer they would have to wait. Finally, at two-thirty, Alan Martin tapped Roland on the knee.
‘Our turn,’ the lawyer said before collecting his papers and leading the way into court.
Roland watched the case dispassionately, feeling there was little he could do to influence the outcome. He stood next to Katherine as the guilty plea was given, listened to evidence from the police, to Alan Martin’s description of the mitigating circumstances.
‘Mr Eagles . . .’
Hearing his own name spoken by the magistrate jerked Roland awake.
He looked across the court to the bench. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have the unfortunate circumstances which affected your daughter so badly been straightened out?’
‘Yes, sir. My daughter is now living with Mr and Mrs Ralph Morrison in St John’s Wood.’
‘Have her school marks improved since the move?’
‘She hasn’t returned to school yet, sir, because of the accident.’
‘I see.’ The magistrate turned his attention to Katherine. ‘Young lady, you’re an extremely fortunate individual. Firstly, because you were not killed in your mad little escapade; nor did you kill anyone else. Secondly, because you are surrounded by a family that obviously cares for you very deeply . . .’
Roland swore he saw Katherine flinch at those words, and he felt more pain than he could ever remember.
‘The court also takes into consideration your previous good character,’ the magistrate continued, ‘and sentences you to a fine of one hundred pounds, one year’s probation, and a three-year suspension of your driving license to take effect from the day you first apply for a license.’
Roland took Katherine’s hand and led her, unresistingly away from the dock. The decision to use Alan Martin had paid off, the penalty nowhere as severe as it might have been had not Martin so eloquently pleaded Katherine’s case. At least Roland was given scant comfort knowing that, as a juvenile, his daughter wouldn’t be in the newspapers. The case would be reported – if it received any coverage at all – as a fourteen-year-old being fined one hundred pounds. And when Katherine turned seventeen, she would start out with a clean slate. If not a valid driver’s license . . .!
He looked around for Alf Goldstein, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was he that upset that he had to leave the court? Roland knew how much the man doted on Katherine, almost as much as on his own children. Had seeing her in the dock, the shaven head, the scars, disturbed him that badly? Then Roland spotted him, bustling his way through a crowd of people, pushing and excusing himself to those who didn’t get out of his way soon enough.
‘Congratulations! You’re a father again. A boy . . . seven pounds, nine ounces. Half an hour ago.’
‘How—?’
‘I reckoned your mind was somewhere else,’ Goldstein said, pumping Roland’s hand up and down, ‘so I’ve been calling the hospital regularly.’
‘Did you hear that?’ Roland asked Katherine, hoping to elicit some response from her. ‘You’ve got another brother.’
Katherine stood perfectly still, her face composed as if her father’s words had been meant for someone else. Then a tear appeared, a single drop that slowly dribbled down her right cheek. Roland felt a hard lump forming in his throat and started to move toward his daughter. He got no closer than a step when
Katherine suddenly flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, crying. Goldstein and Martin turned away, walked off to let them share a private moment.
‘It’s all over, Kathy. All you’ve got to do is see some man or woman once a week or so, and that’s it. Just for a year. You can manage that.’
‘That’s not why I’m crying.’ She tried to hold back the tears and only succeeded in choking, coughing wetly onto Roland’s jacket. ‘I’m happy . . . for you. You’ve got what you wanted.’
‘Do you really mean that?’ He felt tears form in his own eyes, a warm wetness that blurred his vision.
‘Of course I mean it. I’m happy for you.’
Roland took the silk handkerchief from his top pocket, dabbed at Katherine’s face, ran his fingers through the fuzz of blonde hair and felt the scars. ‘You should have used those tears before, Kathy. Maybe you’d have got away with a fifty-pound fine. Maybe the magistrate would have even paid you . . .’
A smile appeared on Katherine’s face, and to Roland it was a bright, colorful rainbow in the middle of a storm. ‘Do you think it would have worked?’
‘Communication always works.’
‘I tried to communicate with you.’
‘I know.’ He started to walk after Goldstein and Martin, arm held protectively around her. ‘I just wasn’t tuned to the right wavelength. Do you want to forgive me . . . live with us again?’ There, he had made the decision, the choice he’d been avoiding all this time. When Sharon came home from the hospital, he would tell her as tenderly as possible that he couldn’t continue living the way he’d been, centering his life around her to the exclusion of everyone else. It was time for her to accept that there were others in his life, or risk losing him altogether . . .
*
Roland visited the hospital that evening armed with two dozen red roses which he gave to the nurse to place in a vase beside Sharon’s bed. Sharon was sitting up, looking drawn but happy as she talked to her parents who had arrived five minutes earlier.
