Eagles

by Lewis Orde

  ‘When Meir moved away, people began to ask about him. My father couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth, how the family had been split, how his son had disobeyed his wishes. So he made up the story about Meir going to America. And when it became obvious that he wasn’t coming back my father killed him off, said he’d died in an accident. We even sat shivah for him. Then my father removed all photographs of Meir from the house, cut him out of pictures in the family scrapbook.’

  ‘Except for one,’ Michael cut in. ‘When you and I cleared out his apartment after he died, we found one photograph there. You said it was of Meir.’

  ‘Except for that one. I think he regretted what he’d done. I know he did. But there wasn’t any way he could make it up; he didn’t even know where Meir was. And Meir was too stubborn, too bitter, to come back. In turn, my father blamed me for the split. He claimed it was my jealousy of Meir that had forced me to turn my father against him.’ He clutched hold of Roland’s arm again. ‘Take me home now, please, I feel tired.’

  They made the return trip in silence. Roland was only vaguely aware of Albert wiping his eyes and face; he was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice. Somehow, he’d always thought he’d be angry on this day, vengeful. Instead, he felt pity for lives that had been ruined by stupid bigotry, by jealousy. Had Albert really enjoyed life once he’d forced his brother out of the family? Had Roland’s own father fulfilled himself? What about old Monty Adler? Had any of them reaped a truly rewarding life?

  And what about myself? Roland wondered. How much more complete would my life have been had I forced this meeting earlier? How could I have eased Albert’s pain? How much more could I have added to Michael’s life?

  Then, as Roland looked at Michael, he realized he had made the reconciliation many years earlier.

  ‘I think I understand now what you meant on the plane,’ Michael said as they entered the house. ‘About it being justice that an Adler should run the Eagles Group, and an Eagles should control Adler’s.’

  Roland just smiled and nodded. He had laid two ghosts to rest that day.

  *

  Albert Adler died at his home two weeks later, a peaceful passing in his sleep. Roland attended the funeral, and after the coffin had been lowered and the congregation had returned to the chapel, he watched as Michael sat down on the stone bench to receive condolences.

  ‘I think I’ll join you,’ Roland said, taking the place next to Michael.

  ‘For my father?’ Michael asked, touched by the gesture.

  ‘For both our fathers. I was too busy thinking about revenge to mourn for mine when he died, and I don’t think they ever openly mourned for each other.’ He glanced up as a man stood in front of him with hand extended, heard the words of commiseration.

  ‘Thank you,’ Roland said, and gratefully shook the hand.

  Chapter Four

  Roland sold his shares in the Eagles Group to Michael and stepped down as chairman. Michael was appointed chairman in his place, and Franz Kassler, who had inherited his father’s stake in the company, filled the seat vacated by Michael to become, at twenty-eight, the youngest board member. Franz also held his father’s shares in Kassler Industries, and was soon caught up in a constant merry-go-round of air travel – until Katherine put her foot down, as Janet had once unsuccessfully attempted to do with Roland. Katherine told Franz she wanted a full-time husband; she refused to be a business widow. Franz, in turn, sought Roland’s assistance, reasoning that his father-in-law, who had led such a fast-paced business life, would support him. He was disappointed. Roland sided immediately with Katherine by telling Franz he had to decide what was more important – work or family. He urged his son-in-law not to make the same mistake both his father and he had made. Franz listened, and subsequently sold his holdings in Germany. For the first time since its founding, Kassler Industries had no Kassler on its board.

  Roland didn’t miss the excitement of a hectic business life at all. He’d long ago achieved his ambition of meeting his father’s family as equals, and he was now content to manage the small diverse group he owned. There were no more trips overseas, just the regular journey to Adler’s Regent Street store, five days a week, eight-thirty to five. He had more time to be with his extended family; as he approached fifty he welcomed that time more than he ever had.

  Although Albert Adler had known of Roland’s tie to the Adler family, the revelation came as a shock to everyone else, until they looked back at Roland’s actions through the years – the way he had driven Lawrence Chivers in the early days to push the products into Adler’s, Roland’s distress at Monty’s death, his presence at the funeral . . . Then the friendship with Michael Adler, the takeover of the firm, and the courtesy he’d always shown Albert after that. Michael recalled how Roland had even referred to him as family, that time in New York when he’d turned down his request to relocate in the United States. For Michael especially the pieces were finally fitting together.

  In June, on Katherine’s twenty-fourth birthday, Sally drove Roland to the house in Hampstead for a birthday lunch. They arrived early and Roland grabbed the opportunity to take Henry and Joanne to the pond on the Heath, where they could feed bread to the ducks. He sat with his back against a tree, while Sally broke up pieces of bread for them to throw. One duck waddled out of the water and cheekily snapped at the morsel of bread Henry was holding. The little boy jumped back, screaming in fright, and the duck flapped away in the opposite direction. It reminded Roland of the time a younger Katherine had tried to teach her half-brother and half-sister how to ride and Richard had run away screaming, only to trip and fall into a pile of horse manure. Roland smiled as he recalled Katherine cleaning him off in the pond at Stanmore Common before taking him back to the house.

  Katherine twenty-four. It was hard for Roland to believe it – twenty-four years since Catarina had died. He didn’t feel any older, although his hair was almost silver now. He still weighed the same, his eyes were as clear as ever. Perhaps he’d inherited the youth of which Catarina had been so cruelly robbed. That same youth which his own sister and brother had missed. A double dose to compensate him for what he’d lost.

  When they ran out of bread Sally brought the children under the tree with Roland. ‘Doing anything after lunch?’

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘Fancy a ride down to Aldershot? See my mother? It’s been a few weeks and I’m feeling guilty.’

  ‘Why not?’ Sally’s father had died ten years earlier, but her mother continued to live on the family farm, although other people worked it now.

  ‘Nice day like this we can even put the roof down,’ Sally said.

  Roland didn’t look forward to the prospect. Only two weeks earlier Sally had bought a new red Fiat convertible. He guessed the ride to Aldershot, although Sally cared deeply for her mother, was also an excuse to take a run in the new car.

  At midday they returned to the house for lunch and Roland gave Katherine a slender box. ‘You always liked it so much, I thought it was about time you had one of your own.’

  Katherine opened the gift cautiously, remembering the size-nine top hat she’d given her father the previous Christmas. Was this a practical joke in retaliation? When she removed the elegant gold watch, though, she screamed in delight when she saw the inscription on the back. ‘Happy 24th, from Fat Fanny, Boring Dora and Jealous Nat.’

  ‘It’s beautiful! Thank you! I love you!’ She gave the watch to Franz and ran to her father’s chair to throw her arms around his neck. ‘Thank you!’ she cried again. ‘I’ll wear it all the time.’

  ‘You do realize, of course, that those three horses were used to glue furniture together at least fifteen years ago,’ Roland said, winking at Sally.

  ‘Don’t make sick jokes about horses!’ Then she laughed and kissed him again before returning to her seat.

  ‘Do you want to give your father his present now?’ Sally asked Katherine.

  ‘My present?’ Roland looked around the
table, suddenly wary. ‘It’s not my birthday until September, and as it’ll be my fiftieth, I’d be grateful if everyone forgot it this time.’

  ‘New tradition,’ Katherine answered. ‘This time the birthday girl is giving presents as well as receiving them. I wrote to Simon in Paris—’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About Albert Adler. I waited for you to do it, to tell him what you told everyone else, but you never did.’

  ‘I didn’t see any point.’

  ‘Well, I did. So did Sally. All of us. We told him the whole story regarding Adler’s . . . the real reason you wanted to buy it. You know he always believed you were only interested in revenge against Albert. You said yourself that Simon could never understand the reason for your ambition. He understands now.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He replied a few days ago.’ Katherine held out a hand to Franz, who pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. ‘Here are some photographs of David. He’s eight now.’

  Roland took the color photographs, looked at the lean, dark-haired boy with the mischievous brown eyes and felt a hard lump form in his throat. He hadn’t seen his son since Sharon was in the hospital after she’d given birth.

  ‘Here’s the letter.’

  Roland passed the photographs to Sally and took the letter. It began with Simon’s gratitude to Katherine for giving him the information about Roland’s link with the Adler family, his own feelings of understanding. Then Roland came to a section that read. ‘Please tell your father that Nadine and I will do everything in our power to persuade Sharon to allow him to see his son. I fully comprehend how much David means to him – to you as well, Katherine, as he is your half-brother – but we still have to remain very cautious where Sharon’s emotions are concerned. On the surface she is well, but any shock, any disruption to the regularity of her life, could prove to be disastrous. David does very well at school and has many friends. Please give our love to your father, and stress that one day we will arrange for him to see David.’

  Roland read the letter through again before handing it back to Katherine. ‘I suppose a promise is better than nothing at all,’ he finally said, grateful for his daughter’s gesture.

  *

  At two-thirty, Roland and Sally left for the drive to Sally’s mother’s farm. Throughout the trip, while the sun streamed down on him and the wind whistled through his hair – he purposely avoided looking at the speedometer to see how fast Sally was breaking in the new car – Roland thought about the letter from Simon.

  Simon had never gotten over his notion of revenge, but Roland couldn’t really blame him, since he’d never bothered to offer an alternative, substantive reason. He wondered how much of their eventual split could be blamed on that misunderstanding; and again, how much simpler, how much more enjoyable, life could have been for everyone had Roland not played his cards so close to his chest?

  Sally and Roland stayed at the farm for an hour, having tea and walking around the grounds. When they left, Roland’s mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Simon, thinking back to the first time he’d ever met the French banker – a day or two after getting out of the army.

  ‘Sally . . . do me a favor.’ He touched her arm suddenly and the front of the Fiat twitched. ‘Run me by the army camp.’

  ‘Sentimental journey?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He sat back as Sally changed direction, heading towards the Aldershot army base instead of the London road. They passed familiar sights such as public houses and hotels mixed with new buildings; the area had changed considerably in twenty-seven years, Roland thought, grown up, expanded.

  When they reached the camp entrance, Roland climbed out of the Fiat and approached the military guard on duty. ‘I was stationed here twenty-seven years ago. Any possibility of just coming on base for a few minutes to look around?’

  The guard looked past Roland at Sally, who remained sitting in the open car. ‘Do you have some identification on you, sir?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Roland pulled out his driver’s license and a number of charge cards.

  ‘What unit were you with, sir?’

  Roland told him. The guard went back into his booth, picked up the telephone and made a call. Two minutes later he was finished. ‘I think that’ll be all right, sir. Will the lady be accompanying you?’

  ‘Want to share this sentimental journey, Sally?’ he called to her.

  ‘Love to. Where shall I leave the car?’

  The MP pointed to a building. ‘By the guardhouse should be all right, miss.’

  Roland and Sally signed their names in a book, with their time of arrival, then walked into the camp. ‘Changed much?’ Sally asked.

  ‘I can’t remember it well enough to make comparisons. I suppose I washed this place clean out of my mind the moment I stepped through the gates for the last time.’

  ‘And caught a train and met me.’

  ‘And met you.’ He took her hand as they continued walking slowly past the recreational building, past other buildings that all seemed to look alike. Soldiers walked by, some in uniform, others in civilian clothes, off-duty.

  ‘Hard to believe this is an army camp,’ Sally said. ‘No one drilling, no one firing guns. You know something? The whole time I lived in this area, even when I was writing those wartime human interest stories for the Mercury, I never set foot in this place. Didn’t miss very much, did I?’

  From somewhere behind came the sound of an explosion, a small pop, not loud enough to startle them. ‘Now do you believe it’s an army base?’ Roland asked. ‘Someone just obligingly made a bang for you.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Probably just a car backfiring.’ He checked his watch and was surprised to find they’d been in the camp for twenty-five minutes. ‘Come on, we’d better be getting back. And can we please ride home with the roof up? I’m too young to die of pneumonia.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  As they approached the gate they saw a small group of soldiers standing around the red Fiat where it was parked by the guardhouse. Roland felt uneasy. He let go of Sally’s hand and quickened his pace. ‘Can I help you with anything?’

  A beefy, red-faced major with a waxed moustache separated himself from the group. ‘Is this your car, sir?’

  ‘No, it belongs to the lady. Why?’ He pushed his way thought the groups of soldiers, saw that the trunk was open.

  The major waited for Sally to reach him. ‘Next time, madam, you’ll save us a lot of trouble if you leave the keys to your car with the gate guard. We had to blow open the trunk to see what was inside.’

  ‘You had to do what?’ Sally shrieked in horror. She ran past the major, through the group of soldiers and saw that the lock of the trunk had been blown apart. The lid was mangled, the trunk wrecked, the spare tire shredded. ‘Look what you’ve done to my new car, you idiot!’

  Roland held out his arms and grabbed Sally before she launched herself at the major.

  ‘I’m sorry, madam, but this is standard procedure for unidentified vehicles that we can’t properly check. If you remember, we had a big tragedy here not long ago, a car full of explosives planted by the IRA went off and killed a lot of people.’

  ‘But the gate guard! He told us to park it there!’ Sally looked toward the booth. The military policeman on duty was a stranger.

  ‘They changed shifts fifteen minutes ago,’ the major said. ‘The new man called the car to our attention.’

  ‘Never mind, Sally,’ Roland said. He was trying hard to keep from laughing. ‘I’m sure the insurance covers you.’

  ‘Damn the insurance!’ She glared ferociously at the major and the group of soldiers. ‘Couldn’t you have waited a few minutes before you arbitrarily decided to blow up my car?’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam. Bombs go off in a few seconds, let alone a few minutes.’

  ‘Shit!’ Sally swore and stamped her foot. ‘Now how the hell are we going to get home? I can’t drive it like that. They must have used te
n tons of high explosives.’

  ‘Four ounces, madam.’ To add insult to injury, the major saluted crisply before leading his men away.

  ‘I’ll call up Alf Goldstein,’ Roland suggested. ‘He can drive out and pick us up in the Bentley.’

  Sally seemed not to hear him. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the damaged car. Slowly, the scowl of anger gave way to a smile, then she burst out laughing. ‘Go on, laugh, you inconsiderate oaf!’ she yelled at Roland. ‘I can see you’re bursting yourself to hold it in.’

  Roland put his arms around her and they stood together, still laughing. ‘Did you hear what I just said? I’ll get Alf come out and get us.’

  ‘No need. We’ll get a train back to London. Let Alf enjoy his day off. Tomorrow I’ll telephone a garage to see about that.’ She pointed to the Fiat and laughed again. ‘Do you really think the insurance will cover an act of war?’

  ‘Depends on how they define an act of war. Let’s find out the time of the next train.’

  Twenty minutes later they were standing on the platform of Aldershot Station. That was when Roland really noticed the difference. Twenty-seven years earlier an old steam train had chugged into the station; now a sleek diesel had taken its place. Nonetheless, the mere sight of the name ‘Aldershot’ on the station signs triggered his memory. The last time he was there it had been November, cold and dreary. He’d been in uniform, carrying a leather suitcase. Now it was a June evening, bright and clear, and he wore a sportcoat and light wool trousers. But the woman sitting opposite him after they boarded the train was the same woman who had sat opposite him then.

  ‘Bloody useless army,’ Sally muttered as the train pulled out of the station. ‘Blowing up a brand new car.’

  ‘That was just the army’s subtle way of telling you to buy British next time,’ Roland answered.

  ‘Soldiers, they’re all the same. After my husband was killed at Arnhem, I never did like them. God only knows why I spoke to you that time.’

  ‘Why did you?’