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.
This is an inlet near Port Macquarie in northern New South Wales. It is adjacent to a caravan and camping park, close to the ocean and parklands.
But, for our purposes, this scene is going to have a few more interesting connotations than just a few campers going for a jog along the beach, fishing in the estuary, or further out to sea on the other side of the wall in the background.
Firstly, to my favorite kind of story, a spy story…
It’s basically the evil billionaire’s backyard to his island hideaway, and our hero intends to come ashore at night and do battle with the guards, break into the underground holding cells and save the girl.
As always, saving the world comes second!
Or, it’s a place like Fantasy Island, without the landing strip on the beach, where people come to have their fantasies fulfilled. OK, to start there are no robots that are going to go berserk, that’s so ten years ago.
And, no, the hosts won’t be dressed in white safari suits. They went out in the 70s.
Then, I suppose, a story that I like, about people who have secrets, people who are broken, people who just want to get away from everyone else, come to this island where they can live in anonymity, without having to interact with anyone unless they want to.
As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you, and saying words rather than writing them?
Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.
OK, it was a simple question; “What motivates you to write?”
Damn.
My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.
The written answer to the question is simple; “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”
It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.
Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.
If only I can settle the nerves.
I mean, really, it is only my granddaughter who is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.
The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting. That usually sticks to a predefined format.
Here the narrative can go in any direction. There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.
For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”
That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was; “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with. I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do. It fascinated me that other people had a desire to be something more exotic in an alter ego.”
Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.
Beyond the Titanic: Five Unexpected Delights on Belfast’s Road Less Travelled
Belfast. The name often conjures images of the magnificent Titanic, its grand harbour, and perhaps a sprinkle of its complex history. And while these are undeniably essential stops, the real magic of Belfast, for those willing to venture off the beaten path, lies in its hidden gems and emerging experiences.
If you’ve “done” the Titanic and are looking for an authentic taste of this vibrant city, then strap in. We’re taking a detour down the roads less travelled to uncover the next five must-do’s and must-see’s in Belfast.
1. Dive into the Digital World at the Ulster Museum’s New Interactive Zones
While the Ulster Museum has always been a treasure trove of art, history, and natural sciences, it’s been quietly upping its game for the digital age. Forget dusty displays; venture into their newly developed interactive zones. These aren’t just for kids, though they’ll certainly love them! Imagine stepping into a virtual reality reconstruction of ancient Ulster, or engaging with cutting-edge exhibits on the science of sound and light through hands-on digital interfaces. It’s a dynamic and engaging way to connect with heritage and innovation, proving that learning can be as exciting as any adventure.
2. Explore the Artisanal Delights of the Cathedral Quarter’s Hidden Alleys
Beyond the buzzing pubs and restaurants of the Cathedral Quarter, lies a labyrinth of charming, often overlooked alleyways and courtyards. This is where Belfast’s creative pulse truly beats. Seek out independent galleries showcasing local artists, discover quirky vintage boutiques tucked away from the main drag, and stumble upon intimate coffee shops serving up exceptional brews. Keep an eye out for vibrant street art that adorns the brickwork, transforming these forgotten corners into open-air galleries. It’s an exploration that rewards patience and a keen eye for detail.
3. Get Your Hands Dirty at a Local Food Growing Project or Urban Farm
Belfast, like many modern cities, is embracing sustainability and local produce with open arms. The “road less travelled” here involves connecting with the city’s green initiatives. Look for opportunities to visit or even volunteer at a local food growing project or an urban farm. These spaces are more than just patches of land; they are community hubs fostering a deeper connection to where our food comes from. Learn about organic farming, taste freshly harvested produce, and engage with the passionate individuals who are nurturing these vital green spaces within the urban landscape. It’s a refreshing and grounding experience.
4. Uncover the Stories on the Outskirts: The Belfast Peace Walls and Community Art Tours
While the iconic Peace Walls are a significant part of Belfast’s history, venturing further afield offers a more nuanced and personal perspective. Instead of a standard tour, opt for a community-led tour focusing on the art and stories that have emerged from these areas. These tours are often run by people who have lived through the Troubles, offering raw, honest, and incredibly moving accounts. You’ll witness powerful murals that have become symbols of hope and resilience, and gain a profound understanding of the ongoing journey towards reconciliation. It’s a challenging but essential experience for anyone seeking to truly understand Belfast.
5. Experience the Buzz of a Local Gig in an Unconventional Venue
Belfast has a thriving music scene, but the real gems are often found outside the mainstream venues. Seek out local gigs in unconventional spaces. Think intimate pubs with a dedicated live music night, community centres hosting emerging bands, or even pop-up events in repurposed warehouses. This is where you’ll discover the authentic, raw talent that defines Belfast’s musical soul. The atmosphere is electric, the music is diverse, and the experience is infinitely more memorable than a crowded arena.
Belfast is a city that rewards curiosity. By stepping off the well-trodden tourist trails, you unlock a richer, more authentic, and deeply rewarding experience. So, next time you find yourself in this captivating city, dare to take the road less travelled. You might just discover your new favourite story, your most inspiring artwork, or your most unforgettable moment.
What are your favourite hidden gems in Belfast? Share them in the comments below!
So, as we all know, a key is used to lock or unlock a door, gate, or something else. It’s either made of shiny metal, brass, or rusty iron, it can be small, or very, very big, as is the key to a dungeon.
We can have one key or we can have many or even a master key that unlocks everything, very handy if you have a house full of locked rooms.
People always seem to want to steal them, especially in crime shows.
There is also an item called a key card. Not the metal thing, but a plastic thing, that opens doors. Odd that it’s called keyless entry!
Then there’s what is known as the key to something, i.e. you might have the key to his or her heart, metaphorically speaking.
And in that metaphorical sense, it opens up pandora’s box with a plethora of different meanings.
He had the key to the puzzle.
I wish sometimes I had the key to be able to write better, that that one particular key eludes me.
There are keys on a keyboard, the ones you use on computers and calculators. They were originally on typewriters. You can also find keys on a piano, or an accordion, and some other musical instruments.
A key can also be a master index field, or unique identifier, in a database, particularly those kept on computers.
And,
there’s a host of other uses for the word key, such as
roughening a surface
describing the shooting area on a basketball court
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Beyond the Canals: Amsterdam’s Unbeaten Path – Top 5 Surprises Await!
Amsterdam. The very name conjures images of charming canals, tulip-filled fields, and the intoxicating allure of the Red Light District. And while these are undeniably iconic, this vibrant city offers so much more for the curious traveller willing to step off the well-trodden tourist highway. If you’re looking for an authentic Amsterdam experience, one that whispers secrets rather than shouts them, then buckle up. We’re venturing onto the road less travelled, and here are the top five hidden gems that are begging to be discovered:
1. Dive into the Depths of History at the Resistance Museum (Verzetsmuseum)
Forget the crowded Anne Frank House (though it remains a powerful experience). For a profoundly moving and comprehensive look at the Dutch spirit during World War II, the Resistance Museum is an absolute must. Housed in a grand building, this museum goes beyond personal stories to illustrate the ingenuity, bravery, and sheer determination of ordinary citizens who defied the Nazi occupation. Through immersive exhibits, personal artifacts, and compelling narratives, you’ll gain a deeper understanding of the complex realities of life under occupation. It’s a more nuanced and less overwhelming perspective that will leave a lasting impression.
2. Wander Through the Enchanting “Nine Streets” (De Negen Straatjes) – A Shopper’s Secret Sanctuary
While the Kalverstraat is synonymous with mainstream shopping, the Nine Streets offer a completely different, and infinitely more charming, retail therapy experience. Nestled between the main canals, these nine narrow, interconnected streets are a labyrinth of independent boutiques, vintage shops, quirky galleries, and cozy cafés. You’ll find unique fashion finds, handcrafted jewellery, vintage treasures, and artisanal delights that you won’t see anywhere else. It’s the perfect place to get lost, discover hidden gems, and soak in the authentic Amsterdam vibe, far from the selfie-stick wielding crowds.
3. Escape to the Green Oasis of Westerpark
Need a respite from the urban bustle? Look no further than Westerpark. This former industrial site has been transformed into a sprawling, vibrant park that’s a beloved local haunt. It’s not just about green spaces; Westerpark is a hub of creativity and culture. Explore the re-purposed factory buildings that now house art studios, performance spaces, and trendy restaurants and bars. During warmer months, it’s the perfect spot for a picnic, a bike ride, or to simply relax by the water. Keep an eye out for events, outdoor cinema screenings, and lively markets that often pop up here.
4. Savour the Flavours of Amsterdam Noord: A Transformative Waterfront
Across the IJ River, a whole new world of Amsterdam awaits in Amsterdam Noord. A short (and free!) ferry ride from behind Centraal Station will transport you to this rapidly developing district. Once an industrial wasteland, Noord is now a playground of innovation and creativity. Marvel at the striking architecture of the EYE Film Museum, ascend the A’DAM Lookout for breathtaking panoramic views (and a thrilling swing!), or explore the eclectic street art and independent eateries. This is where local life thrives, offering a glimpse into a more contemporary and edgy side of the city.
5. Uncover Artistic Treasures at the Hermitage Amsterdam
While the Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum are world-renowned, the Hermitage Amsterdam often flies under the radar but consistently delivers exceptional exhibitions. This branch of the famed St. Petersburg museum showcases a diverse range of art and artifacts, often from its vast permanent collection or through collaborations with other international institutions. You might find anything from Dutch Masters to contemporary art, historical artifacts, or fascinating cultural displays. It’s an excellent opportunity to experience world-class art in a less crowded and more intimate setting, offering a refreshing artistic detour.
Amsterdam is a city that rewards the intrepid. By venturing slightly off the beaten path, you’ll discover a richer, more authentic experience that goes far beyond the postcards. So, next time you find yourself in this captivating Dutch capital, dare to explore the road less travelled. You might just be surprised by what treasures you uncover.
What are your favourite hidden gems in Amsterdam? Share them in the comments below!
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledgedthat something had happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive, she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realises is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
I did not go back to the hotel, but instead went home from the airport, half expecting to find Cecilia still there.
She wasn’t, but the lingering scent of her perfume hung in the air as a reminder. I entered if it might stir up Violetta’s ghost because more than once I thought I heard her moving about the house.
It was, of course, my imagination, but just the same it was a slim possibility. I guess talking to her even though she was not there didn’t help.
I had no intention of seeing or talking to Juliet lest she alerted Larry to my visit. It needed to stay anonymous for it to be effective.
A shower, a change of clothes and into the anonymous car that looked like a million others on the road.
Oh, and a little deft driving to lose the car that followed me away from the garage. The Frenchman was persistent, I’ll give him that.
Larry’s mother lived in a mansion overlooking the Mediterranean, and I’d spent a few afternoons on the patio sampling the energy and cheese of a country that knew how to excel in both.
When Violetta first got sick, we had been invited to stay for a few months and she had loved it. It had made her feel better, but in the end, there was no beating cancer that was very aggressively attacking her.
Perhaps it was fitting she took her last breath in the place she loved so much.
I hadn’t been back since, and passing through the gates brought back a flood of sad memories and a tear or two.
Not enough to blur my sight, and take down the two guards Larry had lurking near the gate, supposedly in hiding, with a tranquilizer gun.
I dragged the bodies deeper into the hedgerow. They wouldn’t be waking up for at least 12 hours, time enough to do what I had to.
It was a pleasant but invigoration walk up the hill keeping to the cover the garden provided until I stepped out just in front of the patio, and beyond the open doors the dining room where five people were seated.
“What, not waiting for the guest of honor?” I said, stepping out into full view of the diners.
Two men on the door turned swiftly and both were tranquilized before they could take a step. I turned and looked over my shoulder at the site I thought Cecilia would take, then turned back to see both Larry and his mother out of their seats.
First observation, I didn’t know Larry had three children only two. The son was a replica of him, the girls, both more than ten, were identical twins and like their mother. Once again, I had to wonder why a woman like Brenda would be interested in a man like him.
“What are you doing here?” Larry growled, stopping short of approaching me, eyes on the tranquilizing gun.
The thought crossed my mind that I should just put him to sleep, taken away, to have a less civilized conversation, something he would understand.
“I invited him to dinner. He is an old friend, and you know him as well as I do.”
Her eyes were on the bodyguards on the ground, and Larry, waiting for his reaction. She came over and hugged me. “So nice to see you again.”
“You were in London,” he said tonelessly. It was a statement, not a question.
“Marvels of modern transport. You should stop using leaking rowboats to come and go and embrace the jet age. Sit down Larry, you’re making a scene in front of your family.”
“Who is he dear,” his wife asked as he threw himself back in the chair next to her. The three children looked me over like they would a new toy, the son in particular, with a trademark scowl on his face.
“A policeman of sorts.”
“I didn’t know you were working with the police.”
It was an interesting statement, and if I didn’t know better, it seemed to me she was pushing a button. The look she gave him was priceless.
“Perhaps you and the children should leave the table and let me sort this small problem out.”
“No dear. I want to hear what he has to say.”
He turned to glare at her, a particularly dark expression, whether it was the result of my unexpected arrival or her defiance which I thought was brave under the circumstances, whatever the reason, it showed her to be vastly different from the description of her in the department’s files.
“I told you…”
“You do not raise your voice at me, or anyone, at the dinner table. You also apparently have some explaining to do because when I asked you what happened to your brother, Trevor, you told me the police killed him. I’m assuming that by police you mean in the form of our dining companion who just arrived.”
He looked surprised, no I would say that he was shocked. “You seem remarkably well-informed about something you really know nothing about.” He was showing remarkable restraint because I knew if it was anyone else, they’d be all but dead.
“I know that Trevor told you several times he wanted nothing to do with the business. We used to spend time talking about what he wanted to do with his life and lament the fact you wouldn’t let him. I know you coerced him into running that errand for you because he rang and told me, no asked me, to intervene on his behalf. It seems he knew that there was a traitor in your organization, that he told you his suspicions, but you said it couldn’t possibly be that person. Then when it all went, as he said, to hell in a handbasket, he called me to tell me what happened, and then called your mother, at the behest of your so-called police assassin, and she was talking to her when you arrived. So, Larry, the key question here is, what did you do that took a brother who was alive when you arrived, to dead on arrival at the hospital? You were there, so only you know what happened.”
“I did nothing. He was alive when I put him in the ambulance.”
“Who went with him to the hospital?”
“Jimmy.”
“The person he told you was the traitor. The person you said couldn’t possibly be one. He didn’t go with Trevor to the drop-off, so how did he get there?”
I’ll be honest, I was fascinated, if not hanging on every word. One nuance I did pick up on, was the way she spoke about Trevor told me they had more than just conversations. Had Larry known that also?
“He was not a traitor.”
“And yet you have no explanation as to why he disappeared shortly after Trevor died. Convenient, don’t you think?”
She sat there, face to face, with the man she had married twenty years before, then a relatively naive young woman who knew who he was, but not what he was to become. She didn’t rate highly in the files simply because she purposely stayed out of the limelight, and distanced herself from the business, and Larry’s business associates. I suspected it was to shield her children from the uglier side of the criminal world. Now, I got the impression Larry was trying to induct his son into the business, although only 16, and she was not happy with it or with him.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Less bluster, it was odd to see Larry in a situation where he wasn’t in charge.
“You mean, for once in your life, you don’t have the lies at your fingertips. Let’s leave that for the moment and move on to Jaime Meyers.”
Now he was truly shocked, like a man who just received an umpteen-volt jolt.
“How do you know…” He turned and glared at me.
“Don’t look at me, Larry. I haven’t told anyone about our conversation in London, as per the agreement I made with her. I think you might want to consider the possibility that your wife is not the dumb blonde you tell your friends she is.”
A cat among the pigeons’ statement drew a very dark look from her. “Trevor told me you called me a dumb blonde and I didn’t want to think that was true, but when Elaine told me she overheard Lorenzo talking to his friends using those exact words, I was disappointed.”
Investigations of crimes don’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage, the police thought I had murdered my own wife, though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbours reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months, the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last time I saw Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact that she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months, I was barely functioning, to the extent that I had all but lost my job and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in that she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened became our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each other about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realise that all she had was her work; personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police, and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone, then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
