by Lewis Orde
‘I had a little bit of the same, but I’ve been working on not neglecting my family for a long time now.’
‘I wish I had been. I used to believe that if a man set his mind on becoming powerful, he had to accept sacrifices. One of those sacrifices was the family. I hardened myself. My business came first. My family life had to be fitted into whatever space was left. And now look at me – a middle-aged man who has to take his only son to Monte Carlo so they can try to become friends.’
‘Work at it.’ Roland patted Kassler on the shoulder, feeling tremendous sympathy for the man. ‘If you work hard enough, it’ll all come together.’
‘I hope so. I envy you the obvious affection you share with your beautiful daughter. I would pay a fortune if I could share some of the same affection with my son.’
‘I think I’m losing some of that affection to your son right now. Let’s go back and see what they’re up to.’ Roland led the way back to the ballroom, where they found Katherine and Franz sitting at the table with drinks in front of them.
‘Coca-Cola,’ Katherine said when she saw her father’s eyes on the glass.
‘Of course.’ Roland turned to Franz. ‘May I have back that dance you stole from me?’ Perhaps if the youngsters were separated for a while, Kassler would have the opportunity to talk to his son. Poor, lonely fellow; high atop a mountain and no one to talk to.
‘Certainly, sir.’
Roland led Katherine onto the dance floor, waltzed around slowly. ‘Do you like him?’
‘He’s nice. Very correct, very polite. Is that really the Kassler? You know, the man who wanted to buy the Adler’s stores? And from the concentration camp?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Do you think Franz will turn out to look like him?’
Roland laughed. ‘What, tubby with a lined face and hardly any hair left? Are you looking that far ahead already?’
‘No, of course not.’ She kissed her father on the cheek. ‘He is rather nice, though.’
‘You said that before. Just don’t get too fond of him because we’re going home tomorrow. He’s at university in Germany and you’ll probably never see him again. Who knows, perhaps one day Heinrich and I will be sitting on opposite sides of a deal, and we’ll be mortal enemies for evermore.’
‘Like the Montagues and the Capulets?’
‘You can get Romeo and Juliet right out of your head, young lady.’
They danced in silence for a while, then Roland said, ‘You were the prettiest woman on the floor tonight. If you weren’t my daughter I wouldn’t have given up a single dance with you.’
‘Thank you, kind sir. And if you weren’t my father, I’d never have let Franz take me away from you. You were the most handsome man,’ she teased back.
At midnight, Roland excused himself to Kassler and his son, claiming he was tired. ‘Perhaps we can meet tomorrow morning, before you leave?’ the German suggested.
‘Breakfast at nine?’
‘Certainly. Good night, Roland.’
Katherine followed shortly afterwards. She entered the suite and found Roland sitting on a couch, still dressed, smoking a cigar. ‘Called it a night already, Kathy?’
‘I thought you were tired,’ she said, sitting down next to him.
‘I just wanted some time to myself, to think.’ He had been considering what Kassler had told him about his son and was thanking his own good fortune that he hadn’t followed the same path to the point where he would have to get to know his own child.
‘Did you mind my leaving you to dance with Franz that time?’
‘No, of course not. I want you to enjoy yourself, Kathy . . . except when it comes to driving a car.’ He was glad to see the smile that lit her face at the comment. The driving ban would begin the following June, when she turned seventeen, and Roland had promised to buy her a car for her twentieth birthday.
‘I’m so glad we went away, just the two of us,’ Katherine said. ‘It’s not often that I get to spend a lot of time with you alone.’
‘Not often enough for me either. That’s why Heinrich’s here with Franz – trying to get to know him. At one time he believed that to be successful you had to put business first and your family last. Now he’s trying to make up for it.’
‘What a typically German attitude,’ Katherine remarked with such aloofness that Roland burst out laughing. ‘He might be rich, but he doesn’t look very happy about it.’
‘Wealth sometimes carries its own weight.’
Katherine gazed down at the diamond bracelet her father had given her. ‘What do you think will happen to Sharon?’
‘I don’t know,’ Roland replied, caught off-balance by the sudden change of subject. Despite everything that had happened, Katherine was still concerned about Sharon . . . because she knew Roland was concerned. ‘I wish I did. All I can do is pray that she recovers. For my son’s sake as well as her own.’
‘Would you ever consider going back with her?’
‘No. Everyone but me knew it was a mistake to marry her in the first place. If I’ve learned one thing in this life, Kathy, it’s to avoid making the same mistake twice.’
‘It’s sad,’ Katherine said wistfully. ‘Sharon was always such fun, such a lovely person.’
‘She still is. She’s just a little confused at the moment.’
‘Would you ever consider marrying again?’
‘If I found a woman who could put up with me.’
‘What qualities would you look for?’
‘Deafness and blindness,’ Roland joked, and laughed when he saw the shocked expression on Katherine’s face. ‘No . . . someone who’s as independent as I am, I suppose.’ He paused for a moment, regarding his daughter. ‘Is that what you came up here to talk about?’
‘No. Actually, I wanted to thank you for bringing me here . . . and to tell you how much I love you.’
Roland felt his eyes begin to burn. How many fathers – how many parents – ever heard their children say something like that? It was the kind of thing he’d always wanted to say to his own parents, but at sixteen – his daughter’s age – he’d waited until it was too late. How he wished he could have told them, or was it one of those things that his parents just knew? He wondered . . . ‘I love you as well, Kathy.’
‘Even after all that trouble?’
‘Even during all that trouble. Now either go back downstairs and dance with Franz, or go to bed. Otherwise you’re going to see your father in the most unmanly position of crying.’
‘Good night.’ She kissed him and went to her room. Roland remained on the couch and blinked back tears. Hearing Katherine say that made up for everything that had happened over the years.
*
Roland woke at eight the next morning, took a leisurely shower, dressed and went down to the restaurant shortly before nine. Franz Kassler and Katherine were already seated at a table, continuing where they had left off the previous night. Roland said he was going to get a newspaper and would be right back.
He got the paper, folded it underneath his arm and went back to the restaurant, meeting up with Kassler at the entrance.
‘Did you have a good talk with your son last night?’ he asked the German as they approached the table where Franz and Katherine sat.
‘We’re making progress. We talked last night more than we had ever talked before.’
‘Did you find any common ground?’
‘Not very much. He’s more interested in politics, I’m afraid, than in business.’
‘Then you must learn about politics.’
They reached the table. Roland took a seat, set the newspaper on his lap and glanced at the menu. There was no point in worrying about what Katherine and Franz would eat; they didn’t have eyes for the menus, only for each other. Perhaps it was just as well, Roland thought, that they were returning to London in a few hours; too much of Franz might prove to be a distraction. The other way around as well. Franz’s studies at the university might suffer if they wer
e totally wrapped up in each other, as they now appeared to be.
The waiter came over to take their order. Roland glanced at Kassler, nodded toward their two children and rolled his eyes. Kassler replied by placing a finger against his forehead – who could ever understand the young? Roland grinned and reached down for the newspaper; he might as well see what had been happening while he’d been away.
He unfolded it, looked at the front page. The grin faded. His brow creased with confusion, then horror. ‘Is something the matter?’ Kassler asked.
‘Yes . . . I mean, no . . . I don’t know!’
Franz and Katherine stopped gazing at each other. ‘What is it?’ Katherine asked, suddenly scared for her father, he looked like a man having a heart attack.
Roland said nothing. He just stared at the front page. The headline read, ‘Yard Seeks Racehorse Owner in Actor’s Murder’. He stared at the two photographs, one of a young man with fair hair and a boyish grin named Charles Marsden, the other of Christopher Mellish.
Without bothering to read the story – he didn’t have to – he threw the newspaper onto the table, leaped up from his chair and ran through the restaurant, looking for a telephone. He had to reach Sally and find out what the hell was going on?
When Roland finally got through to the apartment on Curzon Street, a man’s voice answered. ‘Michael, is that you? It’s Roland.’
‘Roland, for God’s sakes, where are you? We’ve been searching high and low for you.’
‘I’m in Monte Carlo. What are you doing there?’
‘I came over here to help Sally. Do you know—?’
‘I just saw a newspaper. What happened?’
‘We don’t know exactly. No one does. This young actor was murdered in Marble Arch yesterday, head bashed in with a table lamp. The police think Christopher had something to do with it, and Christopher’s taken off.’
‘Is Sally there? Let me speak to her.’
Sally came on the line, breathless, the closest to hysteria he’d ever heard her. ‘Roland, it’s absolute bedlam here. The place is crawling with police, going through everything . . .’
‘What about Christopher? Did he do it?’ Of course he did – the way he’d acted during that New Year’s party . . . Drunk, saying he was looking for courage. Evidently he’d found it somewhere. Now Roland knew what he’d meant by looking after Sally.
‘God knows. He went out early yesterday morning with a suitcase, said he was going to Yorkshire, to the mill. I didn’t think anything of it. Then the police came here in the evening. They think he did it.’
‘Anything else?’
‘They found his Aston Martin at the airport last night. He flew out in the afternoon on an Air Canada flight to Montreal. By the time the police learned that he’d already landed. He could be anywhere by now.’
‘Not with his own passport he couldn’t be . . .’ Roland’s voice dropped as he remembered that stupid ditty Mellish had been singing to himself on New Year’s Eve . . .
‘Roland, he has enough money with him to buy any passport he likes. Two of his bank accounts have been cleaned out – more than a hundred thousand pounds.’
Roland felt dizzy. Mellish had murdered the young actor he had been seeing. Why? It just didn’t make sense, not after keeping the man in luxury all these years. ‘Do the police have any motive?’
‘Blackmail. They found a letter here from Marsden, hidden in one of Christopher’s jackets. The police think’ – her voice slowed, the words became carefully enunciated, and Roland guessed their conversation was not private – ‘that Christopher might have been having an affair – a homosexual relationship, can you believe that, Roland? – with this man, and Marsden was trying to blackmail him.’
‘I’ll be back this afternoon, Sally. I’ll see you then.’ He left the telephone booth and returned to the restaurant. Katherine was reading the front page, her eyes wide in shock.
‘Is this true?’
‘Let me have a look.’ He took the newspaper from her, glanced at the story. Police wished to interview Christopher Mellish who, they believed, could help with their inquiries into the death of actor Charles Marsden, who had been bludgeoned to death in his Marble Arch apartment. There was no mention of blackmail or a homosexual relationship between the two men. But just wanting to interview Mellish – the linking of the two names – was enough to produce all kinds of conjecture.
‘Is this man a friend of yours?’ Kassler asked.
‘A very good friend. He’s the husband of the woman who runs the publishing side of our business.’
‘This could be embarrassing for you.’
‘That’s the least of my worries right now. I just want to get back and see that Sally’s all right.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Kathy, go upstairs and get packed. I’ll see if we can get an earlier flight back to London. You will excuse us, Heinrich? Franz?’
‘Of course. See to your business.’
Roland got up and started to leave, then turned around. ‘Maybe next time we’ll be able to spend more time together.’
‘I sincerely hope so. You will have to stay with us in Germany some time. It has changed since you were last there.’
‘I believe it. Come on, Kathy!’ Roland said impatiently as he saw her bidding a lengthy farewell to Franz.
‘All right.’ She held Franz’s hand, kissed him on the cheek and hurried after her father. ‘Was Sally all right?’
‘If you call being hounded by police all right.’
‘I know the feeling. They always ask the hardest questions when you’re confused.’
‘Which I’m sure Sally is right now.’
*
Roland and Katherine parted company when they reached London. Katherine returned home to Stanmore, while Roland caught a taxi to Sally’s home. Michael Adler was still there; so were two detectives who continued to search the apartment.
‘You can’t possibly stay here,’ Roland told Sally. ‘You’ll come back to Stanmore with me, stay there until this all blows over.’
‘Thanks. If you hadn’t turned up I probably would have checked into a hotel or set up a bed in my office.’
‘What’s the latest?’
‘If they could get hold of Christopher, they’d charge him with the murder. They found his fingerprints all over Marsden’s flat, all over a table lamp – the murder weapon. He took no precautions whatsoever. They’ve also been checking into Marsden’s bank accounts. Apparently he’s received more than five thousand pounds in the past three months.’
‘And Christopher decided enough was enough. Why didn’t he go to the police in the first place?’
‘That’s what he should have done, but obviously he ran scared. Didn’t want the publicity of a blackmail trial. Even the Eagle would have had to cover it properly, or be charged with extending privilege.’
‘The police have no idea where he is?’ Roland was grateful to see that Sally was more composed than she’d sounded on the phone that morning.
‘They haven’t got a clue. Apparently they’re in contact with the Royal Canadian Police and the FBI. Drawn a blank everywhere. Once he reached Montreal he just disappeared.’
Roland pulled Sally into a corner where they couldn’t be overheard. ‘I assume you didn’t admit to knowing anything about Marsden – about the relationship?’
‘Do you think I’m crazy? Of course not. I was trying to warn you this morning not to say anything.’
‘I’ll say the same. We can’t cover for Christopher, but we can certainly keep ourselves out of it.’
‘Thanks, Roland.’
‘Do you want some time off, Sally?’
She shook her head vehemently and straightened her back. ‘No, sir. I’ve learned one thing from you, Roland – when you’ve got a problem you just work harder to ignore it.’
‘You can try to ignore it, but the police will put you through the wringer once they catch up with Christopher.’
‘If they catch up with him. I’ve got a
n idea Christopher’s been planning this for some time. Taking the suitcase with him, the withdrawal of all the money. He had it all worked out. Get this leech off his back and disappear, create a new identity for himself—’
Roland broke in to tell her about Mellish’s drunken singing on New Year’s Eve. ‘I think you’re right. He planned it all and left you to face the music.’
‘Perhaps he thought I could manage.’
‘Can you?’
‘With a little help from my friends, I can.’
‘Good girl. We’ll ask the police if you can leave, then I’ll call Alf, have him drive us to Stanmore.’
‘He was on the phone before, asked if I needed anything. I told him you were on your way in.’
‘Old reliable. Incidentally, I met Kassler in Monte Carlo,’ Roland said, trying to give Sally something else to think about.
‘What did he have to say . . . about this?’ She wasn’t going to be put off so easily.
‘He said it could be embarrassing for me.’
‘It might be, Roland. I’m sorry that your friendship with Christopher caused it, but you’d better tread very carefully for a while.’
*
The police had no doubt at all that the missing racehorse owner had murdered his homosexual lover, but before they could charge Mellish with the crime they had to locate him. False leads of men who vaguely resembled Mellish surfaced in places as far apart as Florida and Australia.
Roland was interviewed as a matter of course. So was Michael Adler. Both men had been friendly with Mellish, but they steadfastly denied any knowledge of the affair with Marsden. Sally gave the same story. She didn’t have an inkling that her husband was having an affair, let alone with another man and keeping him as well.
The police left, apparently satisfied, and Roland and Sally tried to resume work. It was difficult. Sally felt that her position in Roland’s publishing group – especially her directorship of the Eagle – was being severely compromised by the situation. She offered to resign or take a long break until the affair blew over, but Roland wouldn’t hear of it. She was his friend and he would stick by her, just as she knew he would support Christopher Mellish if he ever surfaced. Roland’s own set of values failed to identify Mellish as a callous murderer. A murderer yes, but one who clearly had been provoked into the act. Roland only wished that Mellish had come out into the open when the blackmail began instead of taking the tragic route he did.
