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In a word: Incline

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.

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Writing about writing a book – Day 2

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.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Story

An old story resurrected

…

Eight out of eight passengers and crew never thought they’d find themselves in what was, literally, a life and death situation.

The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, for nearly all smoked (and some for the first time). Tension thickened the atmosphere to a point where it could almost be cut with a knife.

In the deathly quiet, all had time to reflect on the fate that had befallen them, and the resume of events read like the script of the archetypal disaster movie.

The first hint of trouble came when they’d lost one engine. The pilot had been quite nonchalant about it because, he said, they had three others. Only Harry thought he could detect a note of apprehension in his tone.

Then, after a short time, they lost another engine.

An hour later, they crashed.

Of the eight, during those precious seconds before impact, none believed they would survive, that only the pilot and co-pilot perished. All admitted it had been a spectacular piece of flying on the pilot’s part, all, that is, except Rawlings.

…

“A fine mess this blasted pilot has got us into,” Rawlings said for the umpteenth time. No one had taken much notice before, and it was debatable whether anyone was taking notice now, for Rawlings had hardly endeared himself to the other passengers.

As the only person travelling first class, he made sure he received the best service (and the only one to receive any service, for that matter) from the moment he came on board. The fact that the airline had allocated only one stewardess for the flight was the airline’s (and his fellow passengers’) problem, not his.

“After telling us how clever you are, Rawlings, why don’t you do something about it?” An indistinguishable voice came from the rear of the plane. It was an indication of the undercurrent of hate simmering beneath the icy calm.

Rawlings, still in the forward section of the plane, glared at the group, trying to put a face to the voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

No one replied.

“No matter.” He shrugged it off. “Had the pilot managed to get the plane down in one piece, I could. Since he didn’t, you can be assured I’ll think of something, which is more than I can say for some.” It was, to him, a simple statement based on his assessment of the situation, but it served only to further alienate him from the others.

…

Harry had known better days, and, not for the first time, he wished this were one of them. He’d had a premonition the previous night when he’d woken, bathed in sweat, an unconscious warning of an impending disaster.

Not that the threat of death was significant to him, for he knew it would come eventually, despite the doctor’s optimism, but not yet, not here, in the middle of nowhere, atop a mountain range in the freezing cold.

He glanced at his fellow passengers, a curious mixture of travellers he’d ever met.

Rawlings was the egotistical, bombastic, thorough son-of-a-bitch. He had gone out of his way to make the trip as miserable as possible for the others. Status, to him, was all-important, even after the crash.

Harkness, Rawlings’ assistant (and relegated to Economy class because he was a servant), was the sort who said little and suffered a lot. His defence of the pilot had caused Rawlings to ‘vent his spleen’ on him, after which, to Harkness, the silence must have been golden.

Daphne and her mother, Mrs Gaunt, two of the three women on board, were congenial, cheerful people who bore up well considering they were terrified out of their wits. Daphne, in fact, had taken over stewardess duties for the Economy passengers, a job much appreciated by them.

The remaining two passengers, geologists, were odd sorts who arrived late and drunk. After taking off, they’d fallen asleep and, in fact, had slept through the crash. They were, Harry thought, in for one hell of a shock when they finally woke.

Above all, however, the stewardess had fared the worst, after the pilots, having, after the discovery of the death of the pilots, become hysterical. It was an interesting development because she had kept a tight, calm grip on the situation all through the calamity.

Harry huddled closer under his blanket, only to remember his sore arm. He didn’t think it was broken, but it certainly felt like it. And the hell of it was, he couldn’t remember how it happened. He shuddered as a gust of icy wind came through the rent in the fuselage near his seat. But it was not only the cold which left him with almost uncontrollable shakes – it was also the onset of shock.

In the back of his mind, he relived those cataclysmic minutes after successive engines failed. It was then he wished he hadn’t been so insistent on having a window seat.

As the plane lurched sickeningly, the pilot calmly said they’d have to land immediately. Of course, he added equally as calm, it would be difficult in mountainous country. However, they were fortunate it had been snowing recently. All except Rawlings took the news with equanimity. It was odd, someone said later, that with all his knowledge and self-praise, Rawlings didn’t take over the plane and fly them to safety.

The plane was barely in the air when the order came to brace themselves, and all were prepared when the plane hit the ground moments later.

The plane came to rest abruptly in a snow-covered valley; the silence, after the cacophony of tearing metal and involuntary screams, was almost maddening. The first realisation each had was that they were still alive – the second, the icy wind coming in through the large cracks in the fuselage.

Harry was the first to move himself into action and to make an appraisal of the situation. The other passengers were more or less unharmed, except for the stewardess, who was slightly dazed. Then, Harkness joining him, he went forward to the flight deck. When they managed to wrench the door open, they were greeted by a scene of total destruction. Both pilots were dead, unrecognisable in the mass of twisted wreckage. Harry quickly reclosed the door before he was physically ill.

At least it explained why the plane had stopped so abruptly: they’d crashed into a rock in the last stage of the slide. It was miraculous that the plane hadn’t caught fire.

Harry had no intention of taking charge; it just happened. He told the others what the situation was, briefly and down to earth and then suggested they search for food and other items such as blankets. Everyone noted Rawlings’ lack of enthusiasm to help, and if it had not been for Daphne, he would not have received blankets or food. Most ignored him, wondering at the fact that he could still be so aloof in such tragic circumstances.

Because of the cold, they quickly organised themselves so they could wait for their rescue. It wouldn’t, they reasoned, relatively cheerfully, be long.

…

Whilst the others may have considered Rawlings little more than a pain in the neck, it would have surprised them to learn that he despaired for them. He couldn’t understand their attitude towards him, for all he wanted to do was make them feel better, and, if he could, help.

But there was little chance of that occurring, and, in fact, as much chance as him receiving the treatment he considered he deserved. It was clear in his own mind that there were two types of people in the world: the leaders and the led. By virtue of his station in life, he was one of the leaders. Why, he asked himself rhetorically, didn’t they realise that? He glared at them, all studiously ignoring his presence. There was, he thought bitterly, little prospect of getting any assistance from those people.

…

Conditions were unbearable during the first night. Darkness had fallen quickly, and with no hot food to ward off even a fraction of the coldness that had settled on them, their relatively good spirits quickly dissipated.

To Harry (and the others) the night seemed interminable, and he found it impossible to sleep for any length of time. He was shaking uncontrollably, despite the warm clothing and number of blankets, and, as dawn broke, he wasted no time getting up and about to get his circulation going again, urging the others to do likewise. It was something he remembered having seen in a film once: if the cold was allowed to take over, a person quickly succumbed and died.

His first venture outside was something of an experience. In the first instance, it was colder outside than in, if that was possible, and in the second, the landscape was as bleak, in his opinion, as their prospects of rescue.

After trekking some distance through the rather solid snow and up a rise, he found he had a good view of the plane, and the fact that there were, strangely, no trees from one end of the valley to the other. The same could not be said for the surrounding country. It seemed an impossibility that the pilot had been able to find such a place, and, desperately unlucky, he should hit the only rock Harry could see in the line of the plane’s path.

The plane was half covered in snow. It was apparent it had been snowing during the night, and by the look of the sky, more was on the way. Low clouds continually swept through the valley, obscuring everything from view, and that, he considered, would make discovery from the air nigh on impossible.

What it really meant was that they would have to come up with their own plan of action rather than wait for hypothermia to take its toll. It was something he had been thinking about most of the night, but he had been unable to progress to any sort of workable alternatives.

During a clear period, Harry saw Harkness coming towards him slowly. He was rapidly gaining respect for Harkness, as he was not only surprisingly cheerful (despite being blunted by the more dominant Rawlings) he was resourceful.

By the time he reached Harry, he was out of breath and needed a few minutes to recover. Harry noted he looked a good deal older than he had first estimated.

“What a hike, but it sure beats the hell out of waiting down there,” Harkness said when he’d recovered sufficiently, nodding towards the wreckage. “And, God knows how, I feel warm.”

“So do I. It was one of the reasons I came here.”

“Those two geologists, or whatever they are, are finally awake. Boy, you should have seen their faces. One swore he’d give up drink forever.”

“He may get his wish sooner than he thinks.”

“You don’t rate our chances of discovery high, eh?”

“Take a look.” Harry beckoned to the mist, swirling through the valley, obliterating everything in their view. Harry, in fact, could hardly see Harkness.

“Yes. I see what you mean. What do you think we should do?”

“God knows. But one thing is for sure, I don’t think we can afford to sit and wait for someone to come and find us. Not under the current circumstances, with more snow imminent. It’ll take only another fall to completely hide us from any viewpoint.”

Harkness looked at the sky, then at the surroundings, and nodded in agreement, adding, after a minute, “It seems odd this is the only part of the country that’s clear of trees. Do you think there’s any significance in that?”

“Exactly, would you believe, what I was thinking?”

“Do you think we might be near help?”

“Who knows. But, because of the urgency of the situation, I think we should find out. The question is who the ideal person is.” There was, however, no doubt in his mind.

…

“You’re mad, stark, staring mad,” Rawlings said when Harry told the others of the plan he and Harkness had formulated on their way back to the plane.

“I agree there is an element of risk….”

“Risk?” Rawlings exploded. “Risk? It’s bloody suicide. My own view is that we should sit tight. We have enough to eat, and we’re relatively warm. It won’t be long before the search parties are out now we are overdue.”

“You haven’t been outside. Circumstances dictate that we must seek help. It’s been explained in detail. If you cannot understand the situation, then don’t interfere.” Harkness glared at his old chief, for the first time feeling more than a match for him. Rawlings would never again dominate him.

“Then you’re fools, as are all the rest of you if you condone this idiocy. I wash my hands of it.” And he ignored them, going back to his book. If that Davidson character wanted to kill himself, that was his business.

There were no other objections. The others understood the realities of the situation, both Harkness and Harry had explained at length. Harry would seek assistance. Harkness would do his best to keep the others alive.

Then, after a good meal (in the circumstances) and taking enough food for two days, Harry left. At the top of the rise, he stopped, briefly, looking at the scene. It was, he thought, exactly as it had been in the dream.

For two days, it had snowed continuously. The sub-zero temperatures had virtually sapped them all of whatever energy they had left, and, on the morning of the third day, they were all barely alive

At the end of the second day, Harkness had requested everybody to huddle together, including the standoffish Rawlings, who finally agreed, despite inner misgivings. It was probably this single action that saved them.

Harkness, though he said nothing, had given up hope that Harry would still be alive. No one could have survived the intensity of the blizzard.

Harkness had woken to inky darkness and a death-like silence, the storm having abated. His first thought was that he had died, but that passed as the cold slowly made itself felt. Soon after, finding his torch still worked, he roused everyone and cajoled or browbeat them into doing their exercises to ward off frostbite.

It was then that they heard the strange throbbing sound, and Harkness instinctively went to go outside and found they’d been snowed in. As the throbbing sound passed over them again, Harkness didn’t need to ask for assistance to make an opening in the snow. They frantically dug their way through; luckily, the snow wall was only of powder-like consistency. Not long after daylight showed through, and then Harkness was out. But the plane, or what he assumed to be a plane, had gone.

Instead, he was alone, by the snow mountain that covered the plane, greeted by a perfectly blue sky and the sun’s rays. It was, he thought wryly, perfect skiing weather, but awfully lonely if no one could see where you were.

In a minute, he was joined by Daphne, and the disappointment was written on her face. They waited, wordless, by the plane for an hour, glad to be out of the confined space of the fuselage, and were, at various times, joined by the others, escaping what Mrs Gaunt had said (now, after the rescue plane had gone) would probably be their grave. The disbelief and joy of having survived the crash had now worn off, and Harkness knew that if they had to try to survive another night, some might not make it.

He was alone, striking out for the rise when the throbbing sound returned, coming from behind him. And judging by the sound, it could not be a plane. It was too low and too slow. Thus, he was not surprised when a helicopter hovered over the rise and slowed as the occupants sighted him waving frantically, and yelling, quickly being joined by the others.

They all couldn’t believe they’d been rescued, all, that is, except Rawlings. In every instance, Rawlings had been the exception, and it was not to his credit. He was the only one who had suffered severely from frostbite. He was, however, the one to say, when they finally reached what he called civilisation, that he’d been right: that all they had to do was sit tight and wait. They’d be rescued sooner or later.

That was when the leader of the rescue operation shattered his illusion – and shocked everyone else. “That’s not necessarily so, Mr Rawlings. You would have been discovered, but late in spring, after the thaw. The plane was terribly off course, and to be honest, after the second day, we’d given up any real hope of finding you. The country around here is very rugged. No, you owe a great deal to a fellow called Davidson.”

“Davidson, you say?” Harkness muttered. “He’s alive?”

“Unfortunately, no. He died soon after he told us about the plane and where it had crashed. If he hadn’t, you’d still be there.”

“My God.” Harkness slumped into a chair, only barely able to hear Rawlings say, quietly, “I told him it was suicide, but no one listened to me. Suicide, I said. And, as for that damn pilot…..”

…

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at: https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65^th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines frequently visited and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half-frown, half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It had been months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.

I even had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more, I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others out there who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once, I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out, she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’, but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes, Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and me, are there, Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting that her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realised I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realised it would be churlish, even silly, if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decided there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or, I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some studying in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up and immediately got the ‘shut up, you fool’ look that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass, gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realised I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; she might have been telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”

At last, the voice of reason. “Me? No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me, I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago. Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanted to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work, I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted, and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her and pretend nothing had happened, rather than tell her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent-up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, that Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was, but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which, to a large degree, it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaines back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health and asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 21

I’m currently working on some back chapters because they impact from the point where I’m currently up to, chapter 24/28, and with a little twerking, this part is coming together and will serve its purpose as a lead into what happens later on, and make sense where it was a little out of the blue.

I’ve got a new character, but what her role will be beyond this part of the story is yet to be determined. I think it might end up being a walk-on, walk-off, but part with lines.

Other than that, the novel is proceeding, and the end, three or four chapters long, is sitting at the back of my mind, and after a few more days, as we get closer to the end, it will become clear.

There is a plan, but as we are all fully aware, some things don’t go according to plan.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 7

A new team member

…

I had gone over a number of different ways I could run into Juliet, but most seemed staged, and I got the impression from her most recent conversation with Larry, that she was not silly.

In fact, in my mind, a second meeting, coincidental or not, would send up a red flag. This was where spycraft bordered on Hollywood, we needed to set the stage, and for that, we needed extras.

And that meant a phone call to Alfie. I told him what I needed, and he asked for 24 hours to set it up, and true to his word, I was in the arrival hall of Venice Airport, waiting for the newest member of the team.

Cecilia Walker was an aspiring actress, an ideal cover for her so-called part-time profession as an agent at large. We all had cover stories, with both personal and legitimate reasons for being in places that we’d not normally be expected to be. And in her case, she was never the same person twice, quite literally the master of disguise.

For Cecilia, there was a film festival in Venice she would be attending. Timing in this case was everything.

As for me, I had a background in archaeology and journalism and was actually employed to write articles for a number of publications, a job I kept up after I left the service, along with the idea of writing a book, which became the object of a long-standing joke between Violetta and I.

One day I would finish it

But ironically, Cecilia had the perfect cover, being able to slip into any role without having to work too hard on the finer details.

Alfie had sent a photo of her, and even though I did spend a few moments wondering if I might recognize her from some part she may have played, it didn’t stir up any recollection. Of course, there was always a vast difference between studio poses and real life, and the woman that came out of the gate was quite different from the one I was expecting.

Although the few paparazzi that were loitering in the terminal just in case a celebrity did suddenly arrive, didn’t recognize her, that might be due to the fact she was dressed casually and had changed both hairstyle and color, and, as I had learned from the woman I’d spent a lot of time with, nuances in make-up could make all the difference.

But there was one photographer that was interested, perhaps he had seen her before, and I waited until she had spoken to him before wandering over. She had scanned the gate area, both to familiarise herself with the layout and people there, as well as locate me, all without looking like she was doing anything other than immediately disembarking the plane.

It showed experience, and preparedness, not her first, as they say, rodeo.

She had been tracking me the whole time, so once I was in her direct line of sight, anyone observing us would assume we were old friends.

There was a hug before words were spoken, the sort that made me realize what I had been missing for some time, warm personal contact.

“You haven’t aged a bit,” she said, a smile lingering.

“It’s the wine, excellent preservative. You, on the other hand, have grown up.”

The script called for old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a year or so.

She performed a pirouette and then burst into giggles. “Sorry, it’s just when I did that for one of my grandmothers, she said I was acting like a tart.”

“Grandmothers can be like that,” I said, remembering Violetta used to use the same word for her sister’s grandchildren.

“My house is a renovator’s disaster at the moment, so we’re staying in a quaint hotel on the edge of the main Canal, and some interesting restaurants.”

Alfie had booked us adjoining rooms on the same floor as Juliet, which, when she learned I would be staying there too, would give me the surprise element I was looking for.

“I am so looking forward to this week. If we get the time, you’ll have to show me everything.”

In that short distance from the airport terminal to the water taxi berths, there was time enough to discover what had exactly been missing in my life since Violetta had died.

Yes, there was a period of mourning, a period where there had been no point in getting out of bed, a period where I felt completely lost without the one person who made my life make sense.

But in those few short minutes, there it was again, and with it the belief that perhaps there was someone else out there who could fill that gap, but never replace her because there would never be anyone else like her. Cecilia was not the one, but she was part of the process.

I had to remember, also, she was a consummate actress, that she was playing a role, and it was totally believable.

Once we were on the water taxi and away from prying eyes and ears, I had to ask, “how did you end up on Rodby’s roster, especially in light of how good an actor you are?”

“You think so, why thank you. But the duality, accidentally. I got caught in the crossfire, and thinking at the time, someone had changed the script and forgot to tell me, sort of kicked some ass. Delusions of becoming a female version of Liam Neeson. Instead, I was offered a recurring female James Bond, in real life.”

Good to know I could depend on her in a scrap.

“This might not come to that, in fact, it might be quite boring.”

She smiled. “A free trip to Venice, a film festival pass to everything, working with a legend, what’s not to like?”

What had Alfie told her? Legend I was not, perhaps slightly more successful than the average agent, but I was just doing my job until I didn’t want to do it anymore. How many of us could say we preferred to sacrifice everything for the love of the one?

“I assume you are up to speed with what’s required of you in the first instance?”

“A role is a role, Evan, and I love a good role. This woman you’re supposed to be cozying up to, and the guy using her, it’s almost like a plotline in a B grade movie.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that she mentioned it, it felt a bit like exactly that.

“Should I make her jealous?”

“It’s not like that, or at least that’s the impression I got when I ran into her. Depends on what Larry’s intentions are. Chances are when we get to the hotel we might see her again, and you might get an idea. I’m not the best person reading women’s minds.”

“No man ever is. We have to have that element of surprise to keep you interested, but if I was in her position, and I saw you with a woman like me, and I was supposed to get close to you for whatever reason, I might be forced into making a move I didn’t want to. The fact she’s here with you in her sights generally means one thing.”

The question was, how desperate would she be? That would depend on the motivation, or what leverage he had. Pushing the envelope might, as Cecilia said force her hand.

So much for a softly, softly approach.

And it might force Larry’s hand as well

“So, is it your first time in Venice?”

“No, I used to come here when younger with my mother who was I guess a Venetian. After she died, not so much.”

“No other baggage?” It had surprised me she had only one carrying bag.

It was always excess baggage when traveling anywhere with my ex.

“Only emotional. I was told to pack light, anything I needed you’d get for me.”

The accompanying wicked smile was enough. I’d have to make sure the expense account was big enough.

After a pleasant forty-five-minute grand tour of the canals going the long way to the berths not far from St Mark’s Square, we jumped off as soon as the taxi came alongside.

The hotel wasn’t far from the bronze equestrian monument to Victor Emmanuel II statue, which she took a moment to look at, almost causing several strollers to walk into her.

That element of careless tourist didn’t make her stand-up as much as if she had purposefully walked from the berth to the hotel, a small detail in a studied persona, the role of an extra perhaps in a film.

It was the part of the day, for late summer that I liked the best, and in a week or so, the weather would slowly get colder until Christmas, and winter, was upon us.

Then, she did the complete 360-degree turn just taking it all in. “Some things never change, I remember all of this.”

Perhaps living off and on for so long here had made me a little immune to the charm of the place, but it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.

“Your hotel awaits.”

For a few seconds the reality of the situation faded into the background, and I could push all the nastiness of Larry and his machinations aside, but then the reality came back, I remembered who I was and what I’d been, and how important it was not to lose sight of the objective.

It had not been easy while Violetta was still alive, nor was hiding the real truth of my past from her. Yes, I had told her a version of my precious life, and the possible dangers it could present, which was why she suggested we live in a number of different places, never the same in a single location, but with Venice, it had been different. It had a profound effect on her, and it was where she chose to spend her last days.

It had not held the same effect on me. Not since she passed, and I had been looking to leave, find somewhere new, and different to stay, more so since I learned of Larry’s plans.

Now it just made me angry.

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly next to me, “do we need to be someplace?”

“What, no, sorry.”

“You looked annoyed, I hope not with me.”

“No, never. Just thinking about Larry. And Juliet, I guess I’m lamenting the nuisance the pair of them are in intruding on my solitude. Something to note, you don’t ever get the luxury of retirement in this business, except in death.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t happen.”

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 20

It’s now two-thirds of the way through, and I’m making great progress.

The consequences of the twist that happened yesterday did not have much of an effect on the planned storyline, so it’s full steam ahead.

This story is going to be longer than 50,000 words, as, at the moment, the count is just under 40,000 words.

So far, I have 8 chapters in Part 1

9 chapters in Part 2, with one to be edited (outline is written)

24 chapters in Part 3, with 2 to be edited (also have outlines written)

Looking at the plan, there are approximately 9 more chapters to be edited, and then,

3 or 4 chapters in Part 4 to wrap it up

My best guess, this story will come in at around 70,000 words.

A to Z – April – 2026 – Q

Q is for – Quid Pro Quo

…

Perhaps if I’d thought about it long enough, I might have seen it coming, but it was taking that light at the end of the tunnel as a good thing, not the double-headed train pounding towards me at breakneck speed while I was tied to the tracks.

It would be easy to blame my mother. She was the one who taught us to take everyone at face value, to see the good in the world, and, of course, eight times out of ten, everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

I was on the balcony overlooking the bay, the house that my grandfather had first built as a getaway shack, expanded into a holiday home, and then into my retreat, the place I could hide away from the world.

It was the same for my sister, who was still recovering from a bad relationship, one that she blamed herself for, but the truth was, she was not at fault, not for any of it.

But the scars ran deep, deep enough that in the pit of despair, she did the unforgivable, and it was a sixth sense that sent me to her in her time of need.

Now, she was well on the road to recovery, older and very much wiser.

For both of us.

…

“Did you see the report Jenkins sent?”

She was stretched out on the deckchair, taking in the sunshine that came with early spring. It was warm but not hot, a gentle breeze rustling through the surrounding trees.

There were white caps out to sea, and there was a ship slowly plying its way past the bay. It was a busy shipping lane, and it was the perfect distraction to watch the ships go by.

“I did.”

Jenkins was the company’s head of security, and I had asked him to investigate the man who had deceived and nearly destroyed my twin sister. In an attempt to get justice, he had gotten off on a technicality and walked free.

It wasn’t justice, but justice sometimes could be blinded.

“Did you have any idea?”

I had to say I didn’t. Who would when the woman of your dreams, a woman who ticked all of the boxes, comes into your life when you least expect it.

At first, I believed it was too good to be true. Jenkins checked her out, and everything was irreproachable. It was not that I was the one who didn’t trust her. It was the people around me.

Once the investigation was over, I decided it was time. We had been dating off and on for over a year, and it had been a slow burn.

Then Alisha discovered just who and what her boyfriend was, just in time to prevent a travesty. She was worth a small fortune, and Jackson Pearce had very nearly stolen it all.

He only made one mistake. He told, no, bragged, that he was about to take down the Bernadines, one of the wealthier and blue-ribbon families.

He very neatly got away with it. He was free, but he was penniless, and oddly not concerned or angry.

I asked Jenkins to find out why.

It was in the report sitting on the coffee table beside Alisha’s deckchair.

About the woman I was about to marry in the wedding of the year, after letting her take control of the preparations and ceremony and spending close to three million dollars.

A lot of that money was channelled back to her brother Jackson Pearce. Her real name was Milly Pearce. She’d stuck to the Milly but was using her father’s mother’s birth surname, making it difficult to trace in a first scan of a family tree.

Or lack of one, which matched her assertion, she was an orphan, from an orphanage that no longer existed, and all records of her had been destroyed in a fire.

Only Jenkins thought it was suspicious, but we were all prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“No. She is such a lovely person.”

“So was Jack, until…” It was still painful for her, but not so much that it hurt that much. “What are you going to do?”

“Play. Do you think you’re strong enough to join me?”

“Can I shoot her?”

I gave her a curious expression. As much as I understood how she felt about that family, it was not worth the jail sentence.

“No.”

“Spoil sport.”

She sighed. I took her attitude and the determination in her voice as good signs that she was all but over her calamity.

Up to the unmasking of Jack, she had been almost like a sister to Milly. I had thought it was the sort of bonding one would expect between the women. Milly had been suitably disparaging towards the dastardly boyfriend, but whatever had been between them had been broken.

Knowing what she did now, it was difficult to imagine how she could be nice to her.

But it would be settled the next day. I had promised to take Milly to a special lunch with just our family, my mother, who was kept oblivious of the details of Alisha’s breakup and subsequent events, my older brother, Wally, who was the current CEO of the company, the one I would eventually take over, and myself, basically to talk about where she would fit into the echelons.

We had talked about it, and she had suggested a role suited to her standing. She had also considered that she was part of the family and, therefore, entitled to a parcel of shares. That alone should have set off alarm bells, but since Mother and Wally had suggested it, who was I to disagree?

“Are you going to tell Mother and Walter?”

It was like she was reading my mind.

“No. Let’s play her game out and see where it goes.”

“Are you prepared for it?”

I don’t think I would ever be. I had been hesitant to make our budding romance public, and on the eight-month anniversary, we had been ambushed by the media. She swore she had not told anyone, but she and I were the only two who knew.

It was the catalyst needed to push us to the next level. Even then, I was not suspicious, accepting her explanation. It was not impossible that I was being followed by a photographer looking for a scoop.

“What would be the upside for her?”

“Without sounding catty, Henry, if she is cut from the same cloth as her brother, there’s always a reason.”

“Fair enough. We shall see.”

I rose early and took my time getting ready. There were a few calls I had to make, one a long chat with Legal, with the only lawyer I could trust, a chap I went to university with, and funded his start in the legal world.

Disillusioned with run-of-the-mill legalities, he took a break, married his childhood sweetheart, and asked if I could find something for him.

I asked the head of Legal to appoint him as my personal lawyer, and he did. Sworn to secrecy, he was the fourth person who knew about Milly’s perfidy. Surprisingly, he was not surprised.

I was having a coffee after considering a stiff Scotch. Perhaps later, when I get back.

Alisha came out, looking like her old self and looking stunning. She had toyed with the idea of being a model but decided against it after working on a shoot as an assistant.

“How do I look?”

“Like an angel.”

“Then she will not see me coming. All sweetness and light, Henry. I’ve been out of the loop, so I can play dumb but not too dumb. I’ll make her work to restart our friendship.”

“Promise me the secret is safe.”

She smiled. “You have my word. I would not want to miss this for the world.”

“Good. Now I must make the call. Phase one is about to begin.” I picked up the phone and made the call.

I put it on speaker.

“Darling, is everything alright?”

Her usual, what I called adorable, tone. Today, it didn’t give me shivers.

“Just a little hiccup. I’m running late, so Wally will be collecting you. I should be there on time, or a few minutes later. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Will you be staying tonight?”

I took a deep breath. I had been planning to, but things had changed. I didn’t think I could keep up the pretence at close quarters for as long as all night.

“We talked about this. The wedding is in two days. I think the few days’ absence will make our hearts grow fonder. Besides, I must complete all the legal formalities of setting you up as a family member. You’re about to become a very well-situated wife.”

I could hear her considering what that all meant. Wealth, power, everything her brother had tried to take. I wondered what her plan was.

She sighed. “Lunch will have to suffice, I guess. See you soon.”

Alisha looked at the phone and then at me. “That was a bit abrupt.”

“Wedding jitters, perhaps.”

“Given the Bollywood production she’s planned, hardly.”

I shook my head. “You mean there’s going to be elephants?”

She laughed. “Don’t be surprised if there are.”

There hadn’t been any at the rehearsal. But the fact that there were nearly a hundred people at the rehearsal was scary enough in itself. I’d seen the running sheet, and yes, it was a production, being filmed, with a Hollywood director.

Sadly, it was neither Steven Spielberg nor James Cameron. I would have liked some tap-dancing star troopers or the set of the Titanic as a backdrop.

We flew to the heliport and were picked up by a chauffeur-driven limousine. I made sure that Mother, Wally, and Milly were in situ before Alisha and I entered the restaurant.

We entered by a side entrance to avoid causing a stir out front or interfering with the other diners. I had prebooked a private room in a nom de plume.

Only the Maitre’d knew who really made the booking. If there were any surprises…

It was a priceless moment when Milly saw Alisha not as the broken spirit she had been for the last few months, but back to being a rival.

And taking the position of the real Bernadine, where Milly would only be one by marriage. The look, if only for a millisecond, was one of pure malice.

As soon as mother and Wally saw her, they were up and making a fuss. After all, they hadn’t seen much of her since the event. Nor were they across everything that happened.

I went over to my family and gave them a hug, trying to be my usual self, which wasn’t hard. In public, with Milly or anyone, for that matter, I was aloof.

Waiting for her turn, Milly gave Alisha a hug, and they spoke briefly before we all sat, and the head waiter appeared, and the discussion about drinks and what was on the special menu.

Orders taken, we settled into the chairs.

Alisha was the focal point.

“It’s so good to see you back to your old self.” Mother was particularly pleased as she had been at her wits’ end on how to cope with such a distressed child. That was where I took over, looking after her.

“I couldn’t mope forever. Henry has been an angel, looking after me.”

“Where?” It was out before she could stifle it, and not the question I expected. “I mean, sorry, that came out a little strange. I had been asking after you,” she said to Milly, “but no one seemed to know where you were.”

“I needed to get away for a while. No one needs to know, and you’ll understand soon why it’s a blessing to have somewhere to escape from the outside world. Your life is about to become public property.”

And with that, Alisha avoided the question. I was sure both Mother and Wally knew where I went to hide and that it was where Alisha had gone. Mother had trusted me to look after her. Wally had too many other matters to attend to.

Milly looked at me. “Perhaps you can take me there. It sounds wonderful.”

I smiled. “One day, if or when you suffer a malady. Otherwise, it will be for Alisha until she finally returns to work. She needs the space.”

Then I turned to Wally. “Legal tells me they have a lead on the whereabouts of Jackson Pearce.”

It was a calculated move, one I had warned Alisha about, knowing it might have an effect.

I was watching Milly, and it got the expected reaction, one I would not have seen if I hadn’t been looking for it.

“I thought I read he left the country.” Milly, if she had been smarter, would have left it alone.

“That was a rumour he spread to the media. I have questions, and I suspect now that Alisha has recovered, she would like five minutes alone with him.”

“Why. He’s a rat. Why would you want to rake over those coals?”

Alisha smiled. “I want an apology. I will get an apology. One way or another.”

Yes. Milly looked at Alisha with a whole new perspective. The determination in her voice was stirring and set a tone for the lunch.

Milly had been caught offside and didn’t recover. She was caught between brother and sister, where the sister was the priority, and I got the impression she had just realised there was a slight shift in our relationship.

When we parted, she tried very hard to recover our usual easy manner, and I relaxed to the point where she felt she had succeeded. I could tell she had questions, not the sort she could ask then, but perhaps it would be a call later.

She asked again if we could spend the rest of the day together, but I told her there were too many matters I had to attend to before the wedding. Otherwise, there would be no honeymoon.

She had planned that too, and it was all the places she had dreamed of going, first class or better. I had been looking forward to it as well, though I had been to a lot of the places, and travelling coach and backpacking as you did when wide-eyed and adventurous.

I had suggested it, and she had laughed. The Benadines didn’t travel in coach class in any mode of transport.

I shook my head. Absence, I said, made the heart grow fonder. After all, we would be spending the rest of our lives together.

After we parted, I was left with the impression I was not going to survive the honeymoon.

It was odd that after two days, and knowing the truth, I felt so cold that I shivered. Alisha took my hand and squeezed it.

“If it makes you feel any better, she is a very cold fish pretending to be something else. Even I could feel it, and it made me shudder more than once. That whole family are monstrous. They have to be to prey on people like us.”

We went to my city apartment and waited.

Jenkins had suggested that he have a team keep her under surveillance and see where she went or did. I had told him we were going to make a few suggestions about her brother and see if she tried to call or approach him.

I said she wouldn’t be that stupid.

But if we were close to finding him and telling her, she might think he would drag her down with him and demand that he go away. It was an interesting theory.

Several hours passed. I rested; Alisha was reading a Mills and Boon romance novel. She said it gave her hope there could be a happy ending.

When we both least expected it, the phone vibrated. A message. It was an address and a request to come.

“Pearce and Pearce?”

“Possibly.” I couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

When we arrived, there were police outside the building, and Jenkins was with a detective in the foyer. No one said much, only that I was needed for an identification.

We went up the elevator to the fifth floor, and down the passage to the last door on the left, the one where a policeman was standing outside.

He stood to one side, and we went in.

Milly was standing between two large policemen, and on the floor, being attended by paramedics, was her brother, Jackson. He had a head wound and was barely conscious.

Milly looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you here with Jack? You said he’d left the country.”

“I said I read he left the country.”

“And yet here you are.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what do you think, I think? Because from where I’m standing, a woman I hardly know has attacked her brother, the man who tried to rob my sister, and contributed to her suicide attempt.”

“He’s not my brother.”

“Perhaps not from the same parents, but for at least a dozen years in the same foster home until you ran away together.”

“Am I getting a family lawyer?”

“You’re not family, Milly. You’re a thief and a liar, and I have no idea who you are, nor do I want to. The engagement and the wedding are off.

It turned to the detective. “Any details you need on Miss Pearce, detective, Jenkins here will give you what we have. I believe there is new information on her brother’s crimes against my sister. If that’s all?”

It was. Alisha looked down at the man on the ground and took no pleasure in what she saw. It was perhaps justice of a sort. As we left, I saw her texting. When I asked who, she said I would find out soon enough.

The late edition of the paper, with a headline, “All that glitters”, and below the story of a grifter and her brother trying to take down the Benadine family, and very nearly succeeding.

It was a story my father would have had suppressed because it made us look foolish. When I asked her why she did it, she said no matter what the public thought of us, we were transparent, far more than any others in our situation. But, she said, more than anything else, it ensured no one else would try.

Well, not in our lifetime anyway.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 93

Day 93 – This is your life!

…

The Art of Timing: When is the Right Moment to Write Your Memoir?

You’ve lived a life full of twists, turns, heartbreaks, and triumphs. You feel the itch to put it all on the page—to organise the chaos of your past into a narrative that others can learn from. But then, the nagging question creeps in: Is it too soon?

We often hear that “everyone has a book in them,” but not everyone understands that a memoir is not just an autobiography—it’s a carefully curated work of art. If you’re wondering when to sit down and start writing, consider this your guide to finding the right moment.

The “Age 20” Trap: Why Gravitas Matters

It’s easy to feel like you’ve lived a lifetime by the time you hit your twenties. Perhaps you’ve travelled, fallen in love, or survived a difficult season. While your story is undoubtedly valid, it may lack the perspective required for a compelling memoir.

Writing a memoir requires emotional distance. If you are still in the thick of the trauma, the anger, or the immediate aftermath of a life-changing event, you are likely writing a diary, not a memoir. Diaries are for processing; memoirs are for reflecting.

At twenty, your life is still in the “active” phase. You are the protagonist, but you aren’t yet the historian of your own existence. Gravitas—the weight, the wisdom, and the “so what?” factor—usually comes when you can look back at your younger self with compassion rather than reactiveness. You need enough time to have passed so that you can see how the dots connected, not just how they hit you in the moment.

The Key Ingredients of a Compelling Memoir

A great memoir isn’t just a chronological list of dates and events. It is a transformation arc. To move your story from a personal journal to a page-turner, you need to infuse it with these three ingredients:

1. The Universal Theme

The biggest mistake aspiring memoirists make is assuming people want to read about them. The truth is, readers want to read about themselves through your experiences. Your memoir needs a universal theme—grief, resilience, the search for identity, or the complexity of forgiveness. If your story can act as a mirror for the reader, you have a winner.

2. The “Reflective Narrator”

Readers don’t just want to see the person who was making mistakes at 22; they want to hear from the person you are today. How has your understanding of the past shifted? The tension between who you were then and who you are now is where the “gravitas” lives. You must be willing to analyse your own motivations, even the ones that aren’t particularly flattering.

3. The Vulnerability Threshold

If you aren’t sweating a little bit while you write, you probably aren’t being honest enough. A compelling memoir requires you to strip away the ego. If you portray yourself as the hero of every chapter, the reader will lose interest. We connect with human flaws, failed ambitions, and the quiet moments of realisation. Ask yourself: Am I holding back to protect my image, or am I laying it all out to serve the story?

So, How Long Should You Wait?

There is no specific year on the calendar that signals “you are ready.” Instead, ask yourself these three questions:

Can I write about this without wanting to exact revenge? (If you’re writing to settle scores, it’s not ready.)
Do I understand the “Why”? (Can you explain what your story teaches you about the human condition?)
Is the wound a scar, or is it still bleeding? (If it’s still bleeding, use your journal. When it becomes a scar, start your memoir.)

Writing a memoir is an act of archaeology. You are digging through the layers of your identity to find the fossilized truths that remain. Take your time. Let the story settle. When the urgency to scream your story matches the clarity to understand it—that is when you are ready to write.

Are you working on your story? What’s the biggest challenge you’re facing in capturing your past? Let’s discuss in the comments below.

Searching for locations: Chateau Tongariro, New Zealand

This chateau was built in 1929 and was originally intended as a hostel for hikers.

It is now near the Whakapapa skifield on the slopes of Mount Ruapehu and within the boundary of the Tongariro National Park

chateautongoriro

We had afternoon tea in the lounge several times, and it is very pleasant in winter with the log fires burning.

togariro2

The interior is still as ornate as it had been in the 1930s. The chairs are very comfortable, and the atmosphere pleasant.

Mount Ngauruhoe can be seen through the window of the lounge. This was used a backdrop in the filming of Lord of the Rings.

mount-nz

But…

This place is the ideal setting for a murder, and I can see a story being written very much in the mold of Agatha Christie, with a couple of amateur sleuths who are staying there, trying to solve the crime.

Given the sort of shows being produced in New Zealand currently, for Acorn and other streaming services, this could be turned into a very pleasant two hour diversion with some very unique New Zealand, and foreign, characters.

Or just send the Brokenwood detective crew there!

Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance

One writer's experiences, and battles with words