This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
How do we tell who’s good and who’s bad?
…
Everybody has an agenda; it’s just we don’t necessarily know what it is. It’s where this story is headed, and I’m just spitballing at the moment…
Perhaps having worked in an office where there is a hierarchy of bosses, each actively working on getting up that next rung on the ladder, using whatever and whomever at their disposal to achieve such a result, it is sometimes not so easy to see whether we are being used as pawns in their insidious games. They know you are malleable because you’re the new kid on the block, and you want to make your mark.
I’ve certainly worked in offices where my work had been used and passed off by them as their own and basically promised if I did well (and supported them) I would also succeed, only to find once they move on you’ve been dumped. Or you’ve been asked to do a job that you know is going to have an adverse effect on someone else.
You only find out what’s really going on when you jump the chain of command, or you use initiative.
While offices are not usually hotbeds of insidious activity, another name for office politics, the premise is basically the same. People are being used by other people to further their own agenda, whether to curry favour with people of influence or get a promotion. Or they just want to get rid of someone that’s in the way.
And if you are the new kid on the block, would you really know what was going on, until it all explodes in your face.
This story, at long last, is getting more interesting by the minute.
Washington is a city with bright shiny buildings and endless monuments, each separated by a long walk or a taxi ride if you can find one.
We might have picked the wrong day, shortly after New Year’s Day when the crowds were missing along with everything else. Or, conversely, it was probably the right time to go, when we didn’t have to battle the crowds.
Sunny but very cold, the walking warmed us up.
First stop was the Lincoln Memorial
It was built to honor the 16th President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln.
It is located on the western end of the National Mall in Washington, D.C., across from the Washington Monument.
The building is in the form of a Greek Doric temple and contains a large seated sculpture of Abraham Lincoln and inscriptions of two well-known speeches by Lincoln.
The next stop was the Washington Monument
The Washington Monument is an obelisk on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., built to commemorate George Washington. Construction of the monument began in 1848 and not completed until 1888. It was officially opened October 9, 1888.
We then took a taxi ride to the Jefferson Memorial
This monument is dedicated to Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826), one of the most important of the American Founding Fathers as the main drafter and writer of the Declaration of Independence.
Construction of the building began in 1939 and was completed in 1943.
I mean all you have to do is read the papers and read between the lines. It doesn’t take much imagination to find something worth writing about
For instance,
How could it possibly happen that a leader of a very powerful country become a spy for another?
It doesn’t seem plausible, but is it possible?
It depends I’m guessing, on power and wealth, well, perhaps not so much the power, but it is true that money and wealth are great motivators.
How could it happen when the leader is in the public eye nearly all of the time? And even if that leader has closed-door conversations, which is doubtful he would be on his own, the red not really be an opportunity to sell out to the other side.
Even an exchange of gifts, like apartments or a dacha, wouldn’t be enough of an incentive, well, not for me anyway. But a clear path to investment in a rival country, maybe.
Perhaps then rather than becoming a spy, the leader could adopt a policy of appeasement.
We have history to tell us how well that works, and the fact giving concessions to another county only emboldens it to take advantage of apparent weakness, and then, hey presto, we have another war.
So…
What do we really have?
A lot of speculation and conjecture. It’s easy to construe what might be the truth from a set of circumstances and behavioral patterns of the individuals involved.
It could be likened to two cats circling each other in a cage before the fight begins.
The waters can be muddied by a constant stream of incendiary tweets which fire the readers’ imagination, all intended as a smoke screen, or feelers to see which was the wind is blowing.
Is that leader masterful and clever or is he a naive fool?
My political thriller might have a working title of,
‘Which Way Does The Wind Blow’
I don’t usually have a title for any of the books until after the first draft, or sometimes something might spring out as it’s being written.
But, for now, let’s sit back and see which way the wind is blowing.
But, I don’t understand politics.
The question is, do you really have to?
I mean all you have to do is read the papers and read between the lines. It doesn’t take much imagination to find something worth writing about
For instance,
How could it possibly happen that a leader of a very powerful country become a spy for another?
It doesn’t seem plausible, but is it possible?
It depends I’m guessing, on power and wealth, well, perhaps not so much the power, but it is true that money and wealth are great motivators.
How could it happen when the leader is in the public eye nearly all of the time? And even if that leader has closed-door conversations, which is doubtful he would be on his own, the red not really be an opportunity to sell out to the other side.
Even an exchange of gifts, like apartments or a dacha, wouldn’t be enough of an incentive, well, not for me anyway. But a clear path to investment in a rival country, maybe.
Perhaps then rather than becoming a spy, the leader could adopt a policy of appeasement.
We have history to tell us how well that works, and the fact giving concessions to another county only emboldens it to take advantage of apparent weakness, and then, hey presto, we have another war.
So…
What do we really have?
A lot of speculation and conjecture. It’s easy to construe what might be the truth from a set of circumstances and behavioral patterns of the individuals involved.
It could be likened to two cats circling each other in a cage before the fight begins.
The waters can be muddied by a constant stream of incendiary tweets which fire the readers’ imagination, all intended as a smoke screen, or feelers to see which was the wind is blowing.
Is that leader masterful and clever or is he a naive fool?
My political thriller might have a working title of,
‘Which Way Does The Wind Blow’
I don’t usually have a title for any of the books until after the first draft, or sometimes something might spring out as it’s being written.
But, for now, let’s sit back and see which way the wind is blowing.
How do you run into someone by accident, or randomly when it is neither an accident or random?
There was that problem of looking obvious, that it was staged, that, well you get the idea.
O was hoping staying at the same hotel on the same floor would solve the problem, but when I thought about it, living in Venice, why would I be staying in a hotel?
There was that unofficial reason I’d told Cecilia, that I was renovating, just in case of prying ears, but I was a bit slow in picking up on the new surveillance team Larry had out on Juliet, do he’d know what I was up to, and if he informed Juliet, then it would ruin the surprise.
It all depended on whether or not the surveillance team was aware of who I was, which could be unlikely, given Giuseppe’s lack of recognition of my identity. Larry’s mistrust of her might yet work to my advantage.
Then there was the name Juliet knew me by which was not the one Cecilia knew me, so I had to make sure that story was straight between us just in case she was with me when I ran into Juliet.
The trouble was, it was becoming a logistical nightmare.
So, it was rather a surprise when we finally did run into each other, in the restaurant the following morning after Cecilia arrived, and we were just sitting down.
I hadn’t seen Juliet, tucked away in a corner, not until she called out. And I was with Cecilia, who was the consummate actor.
I heard my name and turned. Cecilia looked over then sat. I went over.
“What are you doing here, of all places?”
Was there a note of suspicion or surprise in her tone?
“I’m with an old friend, Cecilia, she’s in Venice for the film festival. She’s an actor you know. I didn’t until she called me.”
Juliet gave Cecilia the once over, then looked back at me. I could see the unspoken question, ‘you still haven’t answered the question’.
“She needed a place to stay and my place is a renovator’s nightmare, so I decided to stay here with her for the duration.”
“Together?”
Not the first thing I expected from her.
“No, separate rooms. She’s a bit above my pay grade.”
“Oh.”
“We’re off to the festival, she’s agreed to show me around, but if you’re free tonight perhaps we could meet up? Dumb question, but what are you doing here?”
“I’m staying here.”
“Are you. No surprise, of course, it’s a good hotel. I guess we have the same taste in hotels. Good to see you again, but I’d better go.”
I’d looked around a few times and Cecilia was making to sort of gestures an impatient movie star, ex-girlfriend type might make.
“You’d better go. I’ll think about it.”
I could see her, ‘this is not a coincidence, look in her eyes and thought it oddly amusing.
Back at the table where Cecilia was waiting, she had been looking covertly in Juliet’s direction. I sat down.
“She an old girlfriend, or something?”
“Or something.”
“You can tell. I could feel the death stare.”
“That train left the station a long time ago.”
“Then someone forgot to tell her. That whole encounter seemed very odd from where I’m sitting.”
“It was. I asked her for dinner, but I’m not expecting a reply. It caught me off guard.”
“Then a small suggestion, get your head back in the game.”
She was right. Catching me by surprise put me on the back foot, and being so meant that the distraction could cause trouble. I could remember back to the old days, and the training instructor’s words, ‘it only takes a fraction of a second, and you’re dead’.
He was right, it had happened once and I barely survived, coincidentally just before the first time I met Juliet. That incident kept me vulnerable, a feeling I had hated at the time.
I glanced over at Cecilia, submersed in a text exchange on her cell phone, the conversation playing out in expressions, one of which was quite dark.
But, nevertheless, at least one of us was prepared. I wondered if Rodby had spoken to her. He knew of my association with Juliet, before Violetta, and the effect it had on me, especially after the mission that had almost left me broken.
And that, I thought, was another reason for my momentary loss of control; the effect she had on me when I was not prepared, not like the last encounter. Taking me by surprise, she could still bring those old feelings to the surface, feelings I didn’t want to deal with. I was still getting over the loss of Violetta which until this moment I had thought I was in a good place.
The text exchange ended.
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked.
“Men can be such idiots sometimes.”
“I know. Who is he and do you want me to deal with him?”
“A pleasant thought, but no. I can do that, but you might have to deal with Juliet by yourself. Oh, she’s coming over.”
By the time I looked up, she was next to me. “Tonight, here. Bring your friend if you like.” Juliet gave her a meaningful glare.
“Sorry, got to attend to man troubles.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Back to me.
“Eight OK?”
“Fine. See you then “
I watched her leave the restaurant, not sure what she hoped to gain other than once again to put me on the back foot.
“She has surveillance, the girl who looks like a librarian on holiday, by the door.”
I’d seen her before. “There’ll be another. Larry seriously doesn’t trust Juliet.”
“Of course. French guy, pink shirt, so obvious you’d not think it was him. Watch yourself. I have to go for a while but don’t worry, I can find you later. We need to talk about tonight.”
What happens when your past finally catches up with you?
…
Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.
Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.
This time, however, there is more at stake.
Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.
With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.
But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.
After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.
Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.
Except…
We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.
But…
There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.
First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.
Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.
When?
It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained
Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.
I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.
He said he would check it himself.
Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.
The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.
We all went to bed reasonably happy.
After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.
I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.
As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.
It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.
Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.
Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.
A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.
A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.
In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.
Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.
Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.
The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.
The second, the quality of the food.
I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.
As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.
The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.
And so it begins…
…
Do people care if spies have ethics?
…
A spy story is supposed to be larger than life.
We only have to watch one of the more recent James Bond films to know that if the fate of the whole world is not at stake, it’s not a spy story.
That, and the fact that the fate of the whole world rests in the hands of one man, or one woman, or a pair, both of whom profess they prefer to work alone, and begrudgingly accept the other’s help.
The bad guys are larger than life, and we just love to see them blown up in the most spectacular of manners. Sudden and quick death is not an option.
I wanted to go down this road, I really did…
But, nagging away in the back of my mind, there is a little spy story widget in my ear, saying, what if it’s not really like that?
What if the bad people are really masquerading as good people and normal people can’t see through the façade. What if the people who matter cant-‘t see them either?
What if doing the job is being made impossible by the very people who told you to find and eliminate them? Only, you don’t know that’s what they’re doing.
To say it’s doing my head in, considering the possibilities, is an understatement.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
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
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 