David Goldman is an outsider everywhere. A German Jew whose family emigrated to Canada in 1934, he is a Jew in Germany and a German in Canada. In 1940, he volunteers to fly for the RAF -- only to get shot down and so badly burned that it takes 18 months and several rounds of plastic surgery to reconstruct a face. David fights his way back to flying status and spends the rest of the war as an instructor to instructors. He has almost found a home in the RAF, when the war ends. Suddenly his surviving friends are "de-mobbed" and going their separate ways, while the sense of purpose and comradery evaporates. And then his father dies.
Excerpt 1:
“First, allow me to offer my condolences on the death of your father,” the solicitor intoned solemnly. “I’m sure it was a terrible shock.” David and Sarah’s father had been only 57 at the time of his sudden death from heart failure three weeks earlier.
The solicitor next explained that his instructions were to read the testament to them from start to finish, and he asked them not to interrupt him. He assured him there would be plenty of time for questions after he finished. The Goldman siblings willingly murmured their assent, and the solicitor opened the leather folder on his desk.
David felt no particular emotion. His relationship with his father had always been tense, and after his father called him a “failure” for being shot down in the Battle of Britain, David had disowned his father. They’d had no direct communication since, and David had been perfectly happy that way.
The solicitor came to the part of the testament that stated that all Mr Goldman’s voting shares in the Canadian bank he had established with two partners went to his eldest son. One thousand preferred shares with a nominal value of one Canadian Dollar apiece were settled on each of his daughters. Sarah nodded her agreement unconsciously. No shares were designated for David. The sum of one hundred thousand Canadian dollars was left to Sarah in addition to her shares.
The Solicitor cleared his throat and continued reading. “To my son David, I bequeath all claims to property in Germany formerly in the possession of myself or my late sister Anna and her husband Otto, both of whom, along with their children, were murdered in Dachau Concentration Camp and the lump sum of five hundred thousand Canadian dollars which —”
Despite the solicitor’s warning not to interrupt, David could not keep still. “Excuse me. Did you say five hundred or five thousand dollars
?”
“I said five hundred thousand dollars, sir.”
“That’s not possible,” David protested.
“The money has already been deposited in an escrow account controlled by this firm, sir. I assure you the amount is correct. It converts to close to 350,000 pounds sterling at today’s exchange rate.”
David could not grasp it. It didn’t make sense. His father had called him a disgrace since childhood. He had steadfastly disapproved of his compulsion to learn to fly. He viewed his wartime service as a failure and had not attempted to contact him after David severed all ties. Why would his father leave him such an enormous sum?
The solicitor finished reading, cleared his throat and asked if they had any questions. Sarah asked about some paintings and furnishings in the family home, and when Sarah was satisfied, the solicitor requested that they provide him with the details of bank accounts into which he could transfer the sums held in escrow for them. Both Sarah and David provided the necessary information. They thanked the solicitor, went out into the street, and flagged down a taxi.
“I told you Father wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be,” Sarah declared as the cab set off for the Savoy.
“You don’t understand, Sarah. I would have preferred him to value me for what I am then to give me five hundred thousand — or even one million — dollars after he was dead. I don’t want his five hundred thousand dollars — much less any claims to property taken from Uncle Otto and Aunt Anna by the Nazis. I don’t even want to think about it — Uncle Otto’s beautiful home on Schwanenwerder, his optician’s office on the Kurfuerstendam. I can’t deal with it — or what they did to him and Aunt Anna and our cousins. I don’t want to.”
David's unexpected and unwanted inheritance forces him to abandon his comfortable cocoon. Whether he wants to or not, he cannot ignore what happened to the relatives who remained behind in "the Third Reich." He feels compelled to return to Germany and at least find out what has become of their things -- not because he wants them but because he doesn't want any Nazi to profit from them by default.
And so a chain reaction is set in motion that takes David -- and his partners -- to unexpected places and pushes them to go in new directions. David's surprise journey forms a major plot line in the novel as his endeavours pull in more and more of the characters. It all starts one night at the Savoy when meeting with an old squadron mate Charles "Kiwi" Murray.....
Excerpt 2:
Yet the next thought hit him so unexpectedly that he gasped. He grabbed Kiwi’s arm. “Kiwi! Listen! I’ve got an idea! It’s not going to take me a lifetime to find out what happened to half a dozen pieces of property. You might even be right about there being nothing left. In two to three months’, I’ll have that behind me, and I can take the money, buy an aircraft and set up some kind of flying business. Between the two of us, we can fly anything.”
Kiwi laughed.
“I’m serious, Kiwi.”
“It’s that much money?” Kiwi focused on him, his open face reflecting his disbelief.
“Well,” David was embarrassed. He tried to think of some way to say it discreetly, but then simply admitted “Yes.” Then a rare smile spread across his reconstructed face. “Remember what I said about ‘he who laughs last?’ I think — just maybe — the last laugh’s mine, after all. My father knew I wouldn’t be able to leave this much money just lying around. He thought by giving me a small fortune, he would turn me into a ‘proper businessman.’ What he failed to foresee was that I could use it to build a flying business.”
“I’ll drink to that, mate!” They clicked and drained their glasses.
David ordered a second round, and then grew serious again as he decided, “But not an airline. That’s way too complicated and risky. It would be madness to go head-to-head with BOAC and BEA. Maybe a small charter company of some kind? You did some odd flying jobs before the war. What exactly did you do?”
“Everything,” Kiwi answered flippantly, but then his expression changed. Suddenly deadly serious, he looked at his friend and asked. “Are you serious about including me in this?”
“I can’t manage on my own,” David answered as if he hadn’t noticed how much his offer meant to Kiwi. “But we need to find a niche, something that not every ex-bomber pilot with a little extra cash is trying to do. Something unique. What could we do other than passengers or freight?”
“Did a lot of firefighting and crop-dusting in Australia, but there’s not much need for that on this rain-drenched island….” Kiwi reflected with a bitter shrug.
It hurt David to see him so beaten down. It was as if he was afraid to dream any more. David’s imagination on the other hand was on fire. He was sure he was on to something, something exciting and potentially transformational. He shared his thoughts out loud, “Preferably we’d find something we could do with a converted bomber. They’ll be cheaper to acquire.”
“Air ambulance,” Kiwi suggested at once. “Did that in Australia, too. Bombers can be converted easily for loading and off-loading stretchers. The problem with the air ambulance business is you also need some medical equipment on board — you know, stuff to monitor pulse, heartbeat and the like — and oxygen and heating, of course. I think it may be mandatory for a nurse to fly with the patient too. At least the outfits I flew for all had them.”
David stared at Kiwi while he digested the suggestion, and then having decided this was the perfect fit he declared enthusiastically, “That’s it! It’s brilliant!” His thoughts tumbled out in a rush of words. “The very fact that it’s complicated will keep down the competition, but it’s the kind of business we could operate out of an obscure airfield in the middle of nowhere where the fees aren’t so high. Wait. Stop.” David held up his hand as if to someone else, but only to stop his flood of thoughts.
Kiwi waited mesmerised yet uncertain.
“We need to set up a company as soon as possible, so I can put you on the payroll,” David announced. “That way you can do a lot of the leg work, while I’m in Germany making sure no Nazi is getting rich with my uncle’s assets. When could you leave your job?”
Kiwi looked down at his watch. “Hm. It’s 7:35. It will take me about two minutes to put a phone call through. Is that soon enough?”
They grinned at each other, and then David answered, “Monday’s soon enough. Now, is twenty pounds a month enough for a base salary? Just for the start-up phase.” David hastened to assure his friend. “Once you start flying, you’ll get flight pay, of course, and once we make profits, we’ll split them 25% each and plough the rest back into the company. Sound fair?”
“You bet,” Kiwi agreed readily, but then he reached out and put a restraining hand on David’s arm, interrupting his monologue about the best legal structure for the company. “Banks!” When he had his friend’s undivided attention, he told him earnestly. “I’m not some wizard businessman. Surely you know that by now, don’t you?”
David met his eyes. “You don’t have to be, Kiwi. That’s what my father is forcing me to become."
Note: David is the main character in "A Stranger in the Mirror" in the Grounded Eagles Trilogy and he and Kiwi were both secondary characters in "Where Eagles Never Flew."
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