When you first think of this word, it is with a slippery slope in mind.
I’ve been on a few of those in my time.
And while we’re on the subject, those inclines measured in degrees are very important if you want a train to get up and down the side of a mountain.
For the train, that’s an incline plane, the point where traction alone won’t get the iron horse up the hill.
Did I say ‘Iron Horse’? Sorry, regressed there, back to the mid-1800s in the American West for a moment.
It’s not that important when it comes to trucks and cars, and less so if you like four-wheel driving; getting up near-vertical mountainsides often present a welcome challenge to the true enthusiast
But for the rest of us, not so much if you find yourself sliding in reverse uncontrollably into the bay. I’m sure it’s happened more than once.
Then…
Are you inclined to go?
A very different sort of incline, ie to be disposed towards an attitude or desire.
An inclination, maybe, not to go four-wheel driving?
There is another, probably more obscure use of the word incline, and that relates to an elevated geological formation. Not the sort of reference that crops up in everyday conversation at the coffee shop.
But, you never know. Try it next time you have coffee and see what happens.
Hang about. Didn’t I read somewhere you need to plan your novel, create an outline setting the plot points, and flesh out the characters?
I’m sure it didn’t say, sit down and start writing!
Time to find a writing pad, and put my thinking cap on.
I make a list, what’s the story going to be about? Who’s going to be in it, at least at the start?
Like a newspaper story, I need a who, what, when, where, and how.
Right now.
I pick up the pen.
Character number one:
Computer nerd, ok, that’s a little close to the bone, a computer manager who is trying to be everything at once, and failing. Still me, but with a twist. Now, add a little mystery to him, and give him a secret, one that will only be revealed after a specific set of circumstance. Yes, I like that.
We’ll call him Bill, ex-regular army, a badly injured and repatriated soldier who was sent to fight a war in Vietnam, the result of which had made him, at times, unfit to live with.
He had a wife, which brings us to,
Character number two:
Ellen, Bill’s ex-wife, an army brat and a General’s daughter, and the result of one of those romances that met disapproval for so many reasons. It worked until Bill came back from the war, and from there it slowly disintegrated. There are two daughters, both by the time the novel begins, old enough to understand the ramifications of a divorce.
Character number three:
The man who is Bill’s immediate superior, the Services Department manager, a rather officious man who blindly follows orders, a man who takes pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant, and worst of all, takes the credit where none is due.
Oops, too much, that is my old boss. He’ll know immediately I’m parodying him. Tone it down, just a little, but more or less that’s him. Last name Benton. He will play a small role in the story.
Character number four:
Jennifer, the IT Department’s assistant manager, a woman who arrives in a shroud of mystery, and then, in time, to provide Bill with a shoulder to cry on when he and Ellen finally split, and perhaps something else later on.
More on her later as the story unfolds.
So far so good.
What’s the plot?
Huge corporation plotting to take over the world using computers? No, that’s been done to death.
Huge corporation, OK, let’s stop blaming the corporate world for everything wrong in the world. Corporations are not bad people, people are the bad people. That’s a rip off cliché, from guns don’t kill people, people kill people! There will be guns, and there will be dead people.
There will be people hiding behind a huge corporation, using a part of their computer network to move billions of illegally gained money around. That’s better.
Now, having got that, our ‘hero’ has to ‘discover’ this network, and the people behind it.
All we need now is to set the ball rolling, a single event that ‘throws a cat among the pigeons’.
Yes, Bill is on holidays, a welcome relief from the problems of work. He dreams of what he’s going to do for the next two weeks. The phone rings. Benton calling, the world is coming to an end, the network is down. He’s needed. A few terse words, but he relents.
Known only to a few, there is a legend that a ship named the ‘Flying Dutchman’ left Nazi Germany in the last weeks of the war and set sail for America, escorted by U-boats, under a different name. Aboard was a trove of treasure and gold worth a ‘king’s ransom’.
It was said that it had been sent to a group of American Nazis to create the Fourth Reich at an appropriate time. Over the years, many expeditions off the coast had searched, but found no trace of the vessel or the treasure.
In other words, it was just a legend created to boost tourism.
…
Fast forward to 2024. Our intrepid private detective, Harry Walthenson, overhears a conversation at Grand Central Station. It was the oddness of the message that caught his attention. An investigation turned up nothing out of the ordinary, and he thinks no more about it.
Then Harry is kidnapped, interrogated, and asked questions over and over about a date and a place, why he went there, and when he could not give satisfactory answers, he was beaten half to death and left for dead on a rubbish heap. He was lucky that it was a living space for homeless men; otherwise, he would have died.
In the aftermath, he once again gives it no more thought.
…
After resolving his first case successfully, there’s no rest. Harry’s angry mother comes to his office and demands that he find out where his father has gone. She believes he has run off with a mistress, not for the first time.
Perhaps it was not the wisest decision she has made, because Harry promises to investigate, and adds that she might not like what he finds.
He soon discovered he does not like what he finds, that his father’s friends, a cabal formed at University, have two who are his mother’s current lovers, and another, a criminal blackmailing his father.
Felicity, now his partner, working on a different case, and trying to get answers, uncovers a crime family involved in guarding a disused warehouse on the docks, where she believes Harry had been taken for interrogation, and subsequently dumped nearby to die.
Why are they up to? What is so important that the empty warehouse needs guarding? Who is employing them?
Harry, following up on the death of the blackmailer, traces his death back to an enforcer employed by his grandfather. His mother’s grandfather was a pre-war industrialist who made his fortune in war munitions and shipbuilding.
He was also a member of the American Nazi party.
When Harry also discovers a logbook belonging to a so-called wartime Liberty ship the “Paul Revere” in brackets ‘Freiheitskämpfer’, hidden by his father, and written in a code that is not readily identifiable.
It is no longer a matter of a father who has run off with his mistress; it is a very frightened man in fear of his life, running from a group who will stop at nothing to get the logbook back. And when Harry discovers a family connection to the group, it becomes a race against time to decode the log and find his father before his grandfather does.
…
Coming soon: Harry Walthenson’s new adventure – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’
One Day in Lucerne? Make It Unforgettable with a Visit to the Chapel Bridge & Water Tower
If you’ve ever found yourself with a 24‑hour layover in a Swiss city, you know the clock is ticking, the luggage is heavy, and the desire to soak up something truly Swiss is overwhelming. In Lucerne—nestled on the shores of Lake Luzern and framed by the jagged peaks of the Alps—there’s a single landmark that encapsulates the town’s charm, history, and postcard‑perfect beauty all at once: the Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke) and its adjoining Water Tower.
What makes this modest wooden structure the must‑see for a one‑day stopover? In the next few paragraphs, I’ll walk you through why the Chapel Bridge deserves the top spot on your Lucerne itinerary, how to experience it like a local, and a few practical tips to squeeze the most out of those precious hours.
1. Why the Chapel Bridge is Lucerne’s Crown Jewel
Aspect
What You’ll See
Why It Matters
History
Built in 1333, it’s the oldest covered wooden bridge in Europe. The interior walls are adorned with 17th‑century paintings depicting pivotal moments in Lucerne’s past.
Walking across feels like stepping into a living museum.
Scenery
Panoramic views of the Reuss River, the lake, and the snow‑capped peaks of Pilatus and Rigi.
A single photo here can sum up the whole Swiss experience.
Photogenic Power
The bridge’s iconic red‑painted roof, the medieval Water Tower, and the flower‑filled promenade create endless Instagram‑worthy angles.
Perfect for travel bloggers, influencers, and anyone who loves a good snapshot.
Cultural Hub
Right next to the historic Old Town, the bridge is a natural launchpad to explore cobblestone lanes, boutique shops, and traditional cafés.
You get a taste of Lucerne’s everyday life without hopping around.
In short, the Chapel Bridge is more than a bridge—it’s a condensed version of Lucerne’s story, geography, and vibe, all packed into a 204‑meter stroll.
2. Making the Most of Your Visit
A. Arrive Early (or Late) to Beat the Crowd
The bridge is a magnet for tourists, especially in summer. Aim to be there first thing in the morning (around 8 am) or after 7 pm during the high season. Early light casts a golden glow over the water, while the evening blue‑hour adds a romantic ambience.
B. Walk the Bridge Slowly, Look Up
Paintings: Take 30‑seconds per panel to read the captions (available in English, German, and French).
Architecture: Notice the triangular trusses—a brilliant medieval engineering solution that has kept the bridge standing for nearly 700 years.
C. Pop Up to the Water Tower
Climb the 68‑step spiral staircase for a 360° panorama. From the top you’ll see the Jesuit Church, the old city walls, and the lake stretching beyond the town. The view is especially striking when the Alps are dusted with snow.
D. Combine with a Quick Lakeside Walk
When you exit the bridge on the opposite side, you’ll be on the Schnürschlössli (the small promenade along the Reuss). Follow it for a few minutes to reach the Lake Lucerne promenade, where you can:
Snap a photo of the Löwendenkmal (Lion Monument)—a short 10‑minute walk away.
Grab a coffee at Café du Theatre, a historic spot favoured by locals and artists.
E. Take a Mini‑Cruise (If Time Permits)
If you’ve got an extra hour, hop on a 30‑minute “Lake Lucerne Panorama” boat from the nearby pier. The boat departs right by the bridge and offers the best perspective of the structure from the water. It’s a perfect way to seal the memory before you head back to the airport.
3. Practical Tips for the One‑Day Stopover
Tip
Details
Ticketing
The bridge itself is free, but the Water Tower’s observation deck costs CHF 5 (adult). Keep a few francs handy.
Luggage Storage
Lucerne’s Zentraler Bahnhof (central station) offers lockers (CHF 6 per day). Drop your bags and walk light.
Transport
From Zurich Airport (the most common entry point) take a direct train to Lucerne (≈ 1 h). Trains run every 30 minutes.
Weather Prep
Swiss weather can shift fast. Carry a compact rain jacket and a pair of comfortable walking shoes.
Dining
For a quick, authentic bite, try Rösti at Restaurant Zunft (just a stone’s throw from the bridge). It’s a Swiss potato dish that fuels you for the rest of the day.
Time Management
Allocate 45 minutes to the bridge + water tower, 15 minutes for the lakeside stroll, 30‑45 minutes for a coffee break, and 30 minutes for the mini‑cruise. That leaves you with a comfortable buffer for train travel and any unexpected delays.
4. The Takeaway: One Spot, Infinite Memories
When you have a single day to spend in a city known for its alpine vistas, historic architecture, and lakeside serenity, you need a signature experience that captures it all. The Chapel Bridge does exactly that: it is a historic landmark, a photographic hotspot, a gateway to the Old Town, and a launchpad for a lakeside adventure—all within a ten‑minute walk radius.
So, next time your itinerary shows “Lucerne – 24 hours,” set your compass to the Chapel Bridge and Water Tower. Walk the ancient planks, climb the tower, sip coffee by the water, and let the reflection of the Alps in the Reuss seal your Swiss memory forever.
Ready to make your layover legendary? Pack a light backpack, hop on the train from Zurich, and let the Chapel Bridge be the heart of your Lucerne story. And when you’re back home, don’t forget to share your photos and tag #LucerneLayover—because every traveler deserves a snapshot of Swiss perfection.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level that she, the youngest of the group, would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing her down for the last three months, and if she noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one; no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact that she had to entertain more, and frankly, I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then that she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked who, where, and when.
A world-class newspaper in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember just shrugging and asking if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost the intimacy we used to have, where she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker, but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior was instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position, he had not taken advantage of the situation like some might. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me; you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. At the beginning, it’s a slow, easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships; they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, followed by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come out of the final turn, and we were braking so that it would stop at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in the new job, the last thing she’d want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends, new life.
We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a free trip to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming; that moment, the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning, there had been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
Plan in Advance: The Secret to Launching a Bestselling Book Series
I can hear the “pantsers” among you—those writers who love to fly by the seat of their pants and discover the story as they write—letting out a collective sigh!
We get it. Rigid outlines can feel like a straitjacket for your creativity. But here is the hard truth every successful series author knows: some level of planning is non-negotiable when you are writing a book series.
Exactly how much outlining you do is entirely up to you. You might be an extreme outliner who maps out every chapter, or a flexible planner who just needs a general roadmap. Either way, at the very least, there are two critical questions you need to answer before you ever type the words “Chapter One.”
Let’s dive into what those questions are and why answering them early will save you from major heartbreak down the road.
Question 1: Is There Room for the Story to Continue?
Imagine this: You’ve stumbled upon a brilliant, juicy historical event. It’s dramatic, it’s filled with high stakes, and it practically writes itself. You pour your heart into Book One, and it’s a masterpiece.
Then comes the pressure from your readers: “When is Book Two coming out?”
Panic sets in. You realize that the incredible historical event you based the first book on was a one-hit wonder. You’ve burned through your best material, and you have nowhere left to go.
To build a sustainable book series, you have to think long-term. Before committing to a series, ask yourself:
Are there other events to leverage? If you are writing historical fiction, look at the timeline surrounding your first book. Are there subsequent historical events, cultural shifts, or political changes that your characters can stumble into in the following years?
Are there broader plot opportunities? Can you expand the world, introduce new conflicts, or pull back the curtain on a larger, overarching mystery that spans multiple volumes?
If the well runs dry the moment your first book ends, you don’t have a series—you have a standalone novel with sequel anxiety.
Question 2: Is There Room for Character Growth?
Characters are the beating heart of any great series. Readers fall in love with your protagonists, and they want to follow them on a journey of personal evolution.
However, a common trap for debut series authors is wrapping everything up too neatly in Book One.
Make sure you aren’t closing down the avenues for your character to change and grow. If your protagonist achieves all their goals, heals all their trauma, finds their ultimate love, and reaches absolute perfection by the end of the first novel, where is left for them to go?
When planning your first book, leave your characters with room to breathe—and room to fail. Ensure that:
Their internal arc is ongoing. Maybe they solved the murder, but they still struggle with trust.
New flaws are exposed. As they solve one problem, perhaps their actions inadvertently create a new personal flaw or challenge they must face in the next installment.
Their relationships are evolving. Leave room for friendships to fracture, romances to hit bumps, or new alliances to form.
If your character has nowhere to grow, readers will lose interest by book two because the protagonist has become stagnant.
The Special Case of the Standalone-in-a-Series
What if you don’t want a sprawling, interconnected epic fantasy or a continuous thriller arc? What if you intend for each book in your series to be a standalone—meaning it can be read and enjoyed completely on its own, without requiring readers to read the previous books (think Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot or many romance series)?
If this is your approach, you breathe a little easier: You won’t have to worry about expansive, multi-book story arcs.
However, you aren’t completely off the hook! Even in a standalone-per-book series, you still have to:
Consider future plot opportunities: You need a formula or a fresh well of ideas so you can drop your recurring characters into brand-new adventures time and time again.
Ensure your main characters have staying power: Your recurring protagonist (like a detective, a roving adventurer, or a matchmaker) needs to be dynamic, interesting, and flexible enough to carry multiple books on their own shoulders without exhausting the reader’s patience.
Strike the Right Balance
Planning a book series doesn’t mean you have to kill the magic of discovery. It simply means laying down a foundation strong enough to support a skyscraper, rather than just a one-room cabin.
By taking a step back to evaluate your future plot potential and your characters’ growth trajectories, you set yourself up for long-term publishing success.
Are you a pantser or a planner? How do you map out your book series? Let us know in the comments below!
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Things are about to get complicated…
I hadn’t realised until I said it out loud to someone who would not understand the significance of it, just how far-fetched the reason was.
But in my newly adopted world, it made perfect sense.
Spies dealt with many things, mostly the notion of a threat, and the removal of it, whether it is an object like a USB or a person, or persons, who could make the threat become a reality.
This threat started with a laboratory working for the military to produce biological weapons. Then the funding stopped, for whatever reason, and the laboratory had to cover its losses.
What better way than to hawk the formula on the dark web?
Someone perceived that the laboratory would become a threat and dispatched operatives to monitor the situation.
The worst-case scenario occurs, but from a different standpoint, the outrage of a community-conscious scientist who didn’t like the idea of people creating monstrous weapons and steals the formula to leak to the media.
The laboratory is shut down by the government before the formula could be sold, but there is a copy in play via the scientist.
The scientist, and therefore the threat, neutralised.
The threat then moves to his wife, who contacts someone in the Department, likely but not necessarily Dobbin, who then assigns O’Connell to find the wife and offer a lot of cash for the formula.
She agrees.
Somehow, the planted operatives, Severin and Maury discover the wife and O’Connell’s arrangement.
They create a surveillance group with the intention of monitoring the handover and then try to remove both O’Connell and the wife.
For what reason. The threat would have been removed unless O’Connell and Dobbin had another agenda. Why then when Dobbin rescued O’Connell, did O’Connell then turn on him?
A relationship with the wife?
Or was it simply the thought of making a huge sum of money, one both O’Connell and the wife could retire on. He would not be the first spy to sell his soul for twenty pieces of silver.
But the good news, was we had Severin’s assassin.
The plan from there was to hand her over to the Detective Inspector, who didn’t have an agenda other than getting to the truth and keeping Jan away from Dobbin, or anyone who could set her free.
That plan was quashed the moment I saw Dobbin turn up at the scene. He knew where Severin would be, he must know Severin was meeting with me, and he had sent Jan.
The fact I was still alive meant he wanted something from me.
The question was whether he knew if Jan had been taken off the playing field.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
It was the exact question in my head, though I was closer to answer than she was.
“Run interference, or worse, take over this case too.”
“I thought that was left in the hands of MI5.”
“He turned up after you left.”
She shrugged. “Above my pay grade, to be honest. He can have it. I prefer to deal with the mundane, common thieves or murderers. None of this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I’ll tell my Super about the biological stuff, but you have to admit it is a bit farfetched. There’s a more rational explanation for these deaths, you just have to look harder. Now, if there’s nothing else?”
Too late to escape, Dobbin had circled around and reached us before I could disappear.
“You seem to turn up to department crime scenes with alarming regularity, Sam. Any particular reason you’re here?”
The Detective Inspector had expected him to talk to her, not me.
“He’s just another possible witness on the periphery of a crime. You’re here because?
“It’s one of our people. I’m afraid…”
“…you’re going to have to take over? Be my guest. Your friend here is altogether far too uncooperative, like the rest of you. I am going to file a formal complaint.”
.“And I’m sure it will be seen by the relevant people.”
She just shrugged and walked away, waving her hand at no one in particular
I waited until she was out of hearing range and asked, “So, why didn’t Jan shoot me too?”
It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t. It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…
She sighed, came away from the window and looked around the room. It was quite large and expensively furnished. It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.
Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917. At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.
There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.
She was here to meet with Vladimir.
She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.
All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first time they met, or even the second.
That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.
It was a celebration honouring one of the Embassy officials’ service in Moscow, soon to be returning home after 10 years. She had been there one and still hadn’t met all the staff.
They had talked; Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and, of course, what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.
It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this were a fencing match.
They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity. She knew the signs of a man interested in her, and Vladimir was.
The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined. After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.
Then, it went quiet for a month. There was a party at the American embassy, and along with several other staff members, she was invited. She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.
A pleasant afternoon ensued.
And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.
By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends. She had broached the subject of being involved in a platonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy. Normally, for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance, it was.
She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something useful. In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.
After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit. She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.
It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine. She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.
A Russian friend. That’s what she would call him.
And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue. It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.
Even so, she had made him promise that he would remain on his best behaviour. It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.
So, it began.
It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one she had expected to be reprimanded.
She wasn’t.
It wasn’t until six weeks had passed that he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country. It would involve staying in a hotel, as always, in separate rooms. When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution: keep her wits about her.
Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report. After all, her reports on the places, the people, and the conversations she overheard were no doubt entertaining reading for some.
But on this visit, the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report. She had realised at some point before the weekend away that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.
It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen. Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, just happened.
And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.
She took off her coat and placed it carefully on the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room. She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.
Then, after a minute or two, she went to the minibar and took out the bottle of champagne left there for them, a treat Vladimir arranged for each encounter.
There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the apple and thought about how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden, and the temptation.
Later perhaps, after…
She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.
A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival. It was, if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality. A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.
The doorbell rang, right on the appointed time.
She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.
I hadn’t realised that the ship was, on the one hand, virtually a city, with all the standard infrastructure like hospitals, schools, and a pseudo police force.
And, on the other hand, almost like a hotel, running quarters for the single staff, a restaurant for everyone to eat, and recreational facilities to provide entertainment outside of work.
It was, perhaps on of the reasons why the ship was so large, and its crew so diverse.
And in the way diversity is sometimes a curse or land, so it can be on board the ship, with the usual disagreements between people. I was sure the human resource division took all that diversity into consideration when they chose the crew, but there was always going to be the odd situation.
Which is why I had to attend to the first, and probably not the last, ‘situation’ between two crew members. It seemed strange to me that they hadn’t sent a judge type figure to sort those out, but left it to the captain.
Not to mention the running of a very large cafeterias, a sort of night club, sports venues and so many other items
And like every other city, there was always going to be an element that caused trouble.
A chamber had been set aside where the ship’s security team was located, for either mediation or adjudication.
The matter at hand should have been dealt with long before it reached me, but Masters, head of security, believed a tone had to be set as it was very early in the voyage and simple problems could fester into bigger problems.
This was where the previous captain’s experience was needed.
But, he was not available, and it was in my hands.
In normal circumstances the two crew members involved should have sorted their differences out themselves. The fact that a fight had started over seating arrangements in the restaurant was bad enough, but the fact both were willing to continue it outside, sealed their fate.
Now each sat either side of the table with a glowering Masters sitting between them. He read out the charge sheet.
Neither looked contrite.
I looked at Fred Danvers, storeman, a burley man whom his employment record said was a hard worker, a good man in a crisis, but prone to getting into fights over trivial matters. This was exactly that, trivial.
I switched my look of consternation to the other man, Bryson O’Connell, a red headed Irishman, who worked in the Laboratory, a man specially along to aid in the research of alien life, if we found any.
His employment sheet showed no prelidiction to fighting or even exchanging a cross word with anyone.
An ideal foil for Danvers, then.
I glared at one then the other. “Can either of you give me one good reason why you should not spend the next week in the brig?”
Masters eyebrows went up, registering surprise, but he didn’t comment.
Danvers said, “That’s a bit harsh for an argument over a seat?”
I looked at O’Connell.
“I should have just walked away,” he said.
I shrugged. “Three days in the brig for the both of you. You’ll have time to write down why it shouldn’t be extended for the rest of the week.” To Masters, “put the word out if people want to waste my time over trivial matters, it’ll be a week minimum in the brig where they can figure out what their priorities are. We’re out here to do a job, not get caught up on petty misdemeanours. Make a note in their records, a second infraction and they’re off the ship.”
I stood, just in time to hear the message, “Captain to the bridge.”
I also noticed, coming out of the chamber, that the ship had slowed, or stopped. I hoped it was not a problem with the propulsion unit.
Not much of a revelation when it’s winter, but why is it when you have to go somewhere in a hurry, the universe knows, and tries to throw everything at you so you don’t get there on time?
I like to be punctual.
I’m one of those people who leave home to get to the airport hours before I have to because I know, from past experience, that if you leave at the time where you’d make it with an hour to spare, you would get stuck in the mother of all traffic jams.
I know this to be true. It’s happened more than once to me,
If you’re not in a hurry, you get the best run you’ve ever had. I know that’s true too, because that’s what happens most times.
It’s like when at work you’re in a hurry to get a photocopy. The machine knows if you’re stressed and picks that particular moment to break down. That use to happen to me more times that I’d had hot dinners.
Sorry, I needed to use that expression, which generally means a lot. That photocopy machine, back in the days when they were huge and almost a new fad, my task every Tuesday was to copy a 3 page shipping report, 300 odd times. Not once did I get a clean run, not in the two years it was my job.
But…
Back to the weather.
My day to pick up one of the grandchildren from the railway station. It’s not far from our house, on any other day it would take about ten minutes, but since this is after 3 pm, I have the other school traffic to contend with, the tradies going home, and late afternoon shoppers getting dinner.
It never used to be like that. The road was a single lane that used to be blocked by floods when it rained, there was no shopping centre, and no new estates. In 30 years everything has arrived, the road expanded to two lanes either side, and almost continual traffic jams.
There’s a story there somewhere, but for the moment I have to take on the traffic. Maybe once I get to the station I might have time to consider it.
No, we have any number of other functions, so the notion that we can sit down all day, every day and just write is a misnomer.
I know for a fact I can’t.
I have jobs to do around the house, and therein lies the problem.
I sit down, once the jobs for that part of the day are done, and fire up the computer, or sometimes sharpen the pencils.
Then, free to write, it’s like starting the lawnmower, wait till it settles into a steady rhythm, and then, as you begin to mow the lawn, it runs out of petrol.
Yes, that’s happened to me a few times and only goes to highlight the other problems.
When you have to do something else, your mind is happily working on the book, story, article, piece, or whatever, and then, when you sit down, your mind is on the next lot of chores.
Only the most disciplined mind can separate the two so that each allotted time is allotted to the task.
Me, I suck at that.
Like now. I want to get on with one of my longer stories, and my mind is telling me I have to write a blog post.
So, I’m writing the blog post.
I know that tomorrow I’m not going to get much writing time because the grandchildren are over for a mini stay, and we’re going to see Doolittle.
But can I get it done now?
No. In the background, the Australia vs India one-day cricket match is murmuring, and we’re not doing so good. It’s a necessary distraction, but I still haven’t learned to multitask.
Perhaps it’s too late for that.
Anyway, I have to go. We just got a wicket, and the tide is turning.
