Part one sets the scene, we are introduced to the characters, and we get some insight into the machinations of business and the underlying problem of Agatha’s health.
It could be for any number of reasons, hard living when younger, and a little bit older too, it could be the pressures of work, the pressures of motherhood, trying to find the right man knowing he doesn’t exist and worry about people trying to take your money.
Being titled and wealthy is not a benefit, it’s really a curse. It often works to her advantage, but in others, well, it just doesn’t.
Her health issues have so far been undiagnosed. She has seen any number of doctors, and none can find what is wrong. Lethargy, constantly tired, often feeling nauseated, always at the mercy of common colds and viruses, the notion of taking a few months off to try and recover is not an option.
The thing is, the answer to her problems, getting qualified people to run her organisation was a good idea, and she thought she had picked the right people. And once they start, the subtle changes begin, the little things like being left out of the loop, that sense that she is being spied on, paranoia fed by the illness, and observation, cause her to become unpredictable, then, at the height of it, after discovering what is a revelation, she is incapacitated.
In a sense, she had planned for just such an eventuality, in another, it was almost inevitable.
It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t. It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…
She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room. It was quite large and expensively furnished. It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.
Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917. At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.
There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.
She was here to meet with Vladimir.
She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.
All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.
That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.
It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years. She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.
They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.
It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.
They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity. She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.
The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined. After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.
Then, it went quiet for a month. There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited. She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.
A pleasant afternoon ensued.
And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.
By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends. She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy. Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.
She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful. In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.
After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit. She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.
It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine. She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.
A Russian friend. That’s what she would call him.
And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue. It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.
Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour. It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.
So, it began.
It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.
She wasn’t.
It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country. It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms. When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.
Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report. After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.
But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report. She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.
It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen. Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.
And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.
She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room. She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.
Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.
There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.
Later perhaps, after…
She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.
A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival. It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality. A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.
The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.
She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.
A fine day, on this trip a rarity, we decided to take the train to Windsor and see the castle.
This is a real castle, and still in one piece, unlike a lot of castles.
Were we hoping to see the Queen, no, it was highly unlikely.
But there were a lot of planes flying overhead into Heathrow. The wind must have been blowing the wrong day, and I’m sure, with one passing over every few minutes, it must annoy the Queen if she was looking for peace and quiet.
Good thing then, when it was built, it was an ideal spot, and not under the landing path. I guess it was hard to predict what would happen 500 years in the future!
I’m not sure if this was the front gate or back gate, but I was wary of any stray arrows coming out of those slits either side of the entrance.
You just never know!
An excellent lawn for croquet. This, I think, is the doorway, on the left, where dignitaries arrive by car. The private apartments are across the back.
The visitor’s apartments. Not sure who that is on the horse.
St George’s Chapel. It’s a magnificent church for a private castle. It’s been very busy the last few months with Royal weddings.
The Round Tower, or the Keep. It is the castle’s centerpiece. Below it is the gardens.
Those stairs are not for the faint-hearted, nor the Queen I suspect. But I think quite a few royal children and their friends have been up and down them a few times.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s 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 was 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 got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.
Even I 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 the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and 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 I, 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 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 Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s 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 realized 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 realized 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 decide 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 study 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 realized 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; it was possible she was now 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 that recently moved in the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognized 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 wanting 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 I. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough 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, instead of telling 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, 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, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, 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 Blaine’s 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, 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.
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
What would you do if you were mistaken for someone else?
What if when you answer a knock on the door to your hotel room, and the police crash their way in with bullets flying everywhere in a show of unnecessary force.
Of course, the police don’t know you are not the criminal, and facing a possible disaster, do what they have to, to apprehend the man they believe is a murderer.
Our main character now has time to contemplate the ramifications of what just happened in hospital. So much for attending the conference.
Of course, he has other things to think about, the self-confessed gate crasher Maryanne. The adage, if something is too good to be true, it generally is.
Looking forward, there’s some plotting to do.
How can it be possible that our main character has a doppelganger? At the moment it’s just a case of someone who looks like him, and the police have ruled him out as the man they’re looking for.
It’s a story that’s going to play out in a few chapters’ time.
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 it.
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!
Everyone knows the man or woman in the left seat up the front of the airplane, is the person we entrust with our lives the moment we get into the air. It is usually an airplane, but it can also be a balloon, or a helicopter.
There are some who still say, if God had meant us to fly, he would have given us wings. Still, it’s quicker to fly sometimes, than drive, and I’ve always had the desire to learn to fly a plane but just never got around to it.
A pilot doesn’t have to be in charge of a plane, he or she can also be in charge of a ship, generally when they arrive at a port and have specific navigational information getting the ship to the berth.
Of course, it can apply to anyone who is steering the ship.
And it can also mean to guide, people through a difficult phase, a forest, or a hike.
First episode, when a TV show is commissioned the first episode is always called a pilot. It’s used to test the audience’s reaction, and sometimes it still amazes me what succeeds and what fails. It seems my favourite shows generally last only one season.
There’s a pilot light, which is a small continuous fire, used to ignite a larger one.
A pilot program is one that is rolled out to a few people as a test before introducing it on a much larger scale. I used to use these when creating teaching programs for computer skills.
I remembered a bang. I remembered the car slewing sideways. I remember another bang, and then it was lights out. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky. Or I could be underwater. Everything was blurred. I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water. What happened? Why was I lying down? Where was I? I cast my mind back, trying to remember. It was a blank. What, when, who, why and where, questions I should easily be able to answer. Questions any normal person could answer. I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake. I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.
“My God! What happened?” I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up. I was blind. Everything was black. “Car accident, hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.” Was I that poor bastard? “Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative. “Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.” “What isn’t broken?” “His neck.” “Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.” I heard shuffling of pages. “OR1 ready?” “Yes. On standby since we were first advised.” “Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”
Magic. It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.
Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time under water. Or somewhere. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The words were just in my head. Was it night or was it day? Was it hot, or was it cold? Where was I? Around me it felt cool. It was very quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or perhaps that was the sound of pure silence. And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy. I didn’t try to move. Instinctively, somehow I knew not to. A previous bad experience? I heard what sounded like a door opening, and very quiet footsteps slowly come into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before. My grandfather. He had smoked all his life, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke. I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking. I couldn’t. I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing. “You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a very bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days, and just come out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.” She had a very soothing voice. I felt her fingers stroke the back of my hand. “Everything is fine.” Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant. “Just count backwards from 10.” Why? I didn’t reach seven.
Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent. It rose above the disinfectant. I also believed she was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive. It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.
The next morning she was back. “My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very badly injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.” More tests, and then, when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. Perhaps this was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time. The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.” Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accident, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted. How could that happen? That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, and only vague memories after. But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name. I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic. I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I would remember tomorrow. Or the next day. Sleep was a blessed relief.
The next day I didn’t wake feeling nauseous. Perhaps they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that, but not who I am? I knew now Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something very bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with very little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.” So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed, and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems. But, there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me. This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned. This time sleep was restless. There were scenes playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or perhaps I knew them and couldn’t remember them. Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.
The morning the bandages were to come off she came in bright and early and woken me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable. “This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.” I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was probably human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live. I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender, the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened. I was amazed to realise in that moment, I wasn’t. I heard the scissors cutting the bandages. I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes. Then a moment where nothing happened. Then the pads being gently lift and removed. Nothing. I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing. “Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. Perhaps there was ointment, or something else in them. Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey. She wiped my eyes again. I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance. I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again. Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty. I nodded. “You can see?” I nodded again. “Clearly?” I nodded. “Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.” I couldn’t wait.
When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement. I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case. They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see. Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world. I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital. “Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.” Warning enough. The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know. Then it was done. The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left. I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?” I nodded. She showed me. I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type. And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace. “We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.” A new face? I could not remember the old one. My memory still hadn’t returned.
You know how you see these people on the street selling raffle tickets for unbelievable prizes? The ones that you decide are a scam because the prizes quite simply are unbelievable or because the person looks suspect.
Or you know that it’s an email address gathering exercise, but still, everyone gets sucked into it because of the unbelievable prizes, only realising later that the people will sell the address a hundred times over, which is why you should give them a throwaway email address.
And then you make that decision that, what the heck, the person might be getting something out of it, and you’re feeling charitable that morning.
After all, what is $5 these days in the greater scheme of things?
Then, instead of throwing the ticket away, you put it in a dark corner of your wallet, thinking the next time you see it, years will have passed.
It was Wednesday morning, the train arrived on time, and I was feeling charitable.
It wasn’t a year. It was a few months. An email arrived in my inbox, one of which was a few of very few because it was the throwaway email that usually was filled with scams.
It was from the name of the charity. I’d pulled out the ticket when I saw the email and checked.
The subject line said, “You are a winner.”
There was the first red flag. I never won anything.
On the back of the ticket was the list of prizes. The first prize was a holiday house in the Caribbean, worth $500,000. I doubted you could get a house in the Caribbean worth that unless it was a shack.
At the other end of the scale, 100 prizes of a ticket in the next raffle. That was more my speed.
So, I opened the rest of the email. I read and read until I got to the bottom where it said, your prize. ‘Congratulations, you are the lucky winner of the Caribbean holiday house’.
That’s when I decided it was a scam, particularly after it said that I would soon receive an email telling me how to claim the prize. No doubt it would end up with me paying a large sum of money to secure the prize.
Me and about a hundred others.
The next day, the second email arrived from the charity, and it was a debate whether I bothered. I left the inbox on the screen, and the message was left unread while I had a cup of coffee.
Then, curiosity got the better of me.
The email was simple. Attached was a boarding pass and a voucher for a 3-day hotel stay in Kingston Jamaica. The plane was leaving in three days.
I went onto the airline site and, using the booking code, checked to see if it was real.
It was.
I also checked the hotel and called them.
It, too, was real.
It simply made me very wary. In three days, when I turned up at the airport, I fully expected to be told it had been cancelled.
When I handed over the boarding pass document, the lady behind the counter gave me one of those looks, the sort that told me she knew what this was about.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re a prize winner. There are a few this morning. You’re going to be surprised, and then you’re not.”
“Can you tell me if this is a scam or not? It’s not much point going if it’s a scam.”
“Go for the three-day stay in a great hotel.”
“Were you a winner?”
“No. But I know someone who was. Go, lap up the stay. It’ll be worth the $5 you paid for the ticket.”
That’s all she would say.
At the gate waiting for boarding, I wondered if there were any other ‘winners’ in the hundreds waiting to get on the plane. That conversation with the boarding clerk had not filled me with confidence, and more than once, I almost got up and walked away.
But when the boarding call was announced, I joined the queue to get on the plane, and when I reached the gate, I got the first surprise.
“You do realise you’re travelling business class and didn’t have to wait in this queue.”
I said I didn’t, that I didn’t fly very often, and certainly not business class. I was usually down the back of the place with the families with miscreant children.
This would make a pleasant journey.
When I reached the plane, I was directed in the opposite direction, to a cabin where there was plenty of space and a bright welcoming smile. I could get used to travelling in business class.
Could. I shuddered to think what it was costing.
I sat in my seat, in what was like my only little world. Yes, there was another passenger next to me, but she was behind a wall that made her appear as though we were completely independent.
Or would be when the plane took off.
In the meantime, she looked up as I flopped into the seat and gave me a cursory glance, one that told me I was a pretender and didn’t belong there, which was probably true.
And then, if I thought I was going to ignore her, I was wrong.
“It’s rather good up this end of the plane, don’t you think?”
“What makes you think…”
She smiled. “The look on your face. Don’t worry, I had the same gobsmacked look when I got here.”
The steward offered me a drink, either of water, orange juice, or champagne. It wasn’t a hard choice.
“See,” she said, after the steward moved on, “the pretenders always go for the champagne. I’ve been on long enough to realise the real people drink orange juice.”
I shrugged. It was French champagne, not the bubbly I usually had. I knew the difference, as I also knew I could not afford it.
She left me alone to savour the drink and settle. The rest of the cabin filled up, and then, with everyone on board, the main door was closed.
There was time for one more drink, and the glasses were collected.
Once the plane was in the air, I noticed from time to time that she glanced sideways at me while I was immersed in the entertainment system. When the plane had levelled out, the steward was asking for lunch orders.
It was a hard choice. Usually, I avoided airline food like the plague, but the choices in this class were interesting enough to want to try them.
When he moved on, she took a moment to ask, “What are you having?”
I looked over to her side of the seating. Her cubicle was a mess. And now I took the time to look she had messy hair, and rather interesting if not matching clothes, though that might have been a trend I missed.
“Fish.”
“Me too. Safest option. I’ve never travelled in this class, and I guess it shows. Even the posh kids give me funny looks. “
“Then they’ll grow up missing out on discovering what wonderful and diverse people there are out there.”
She smiled again, and it made a difference. “Wow. No one has called me wonderful, let alone diverse. My name is Judy, by the way.”
She held out her hand, and I shook it. I hope she was not expecting anything else.
“Ian.”
“Going to Jamaica for a holiday?”
“A three-day adventure. Perhaps.”
“So am I. In a manner of speaking. I won a raffle, a holiday house, but my dad says it’s a con and I should’ve stayed home. He’s fretting that I’m going to be kidnapped or worse.”
Another winner. There couldn’t be more holiday houses than one, so it was a scam.
“As it happens, so am I. I don’t believe it either, but three days in a posh hotel and this flight. I nearly didn’t come.”
“Neither did I, but you’re right about the hotel. Post isn’t the word. Perhaps you and I should stick together until we find out what this is about. More people are so-called winners on this flight. I heard them talking back in the lounge. I didn’t see you in the lounge.”
“Didn’t know about it. I don’t fly business class, or very often at all, and when I do, it’s down the other end.”
“We must have that sort of face. It’s where I end up with the naughty children.”
The steward arrived with the food, brought individually to us and not on a trolley or with the possibility our choice was no longer available. ‘If I were rich, this would definitely be the way I would travel.
They just managed to clear away the dishes when it was time for the plane to come in for a landing. It was a relatively short flight, and time seemed to pass very quickly. Judy had something to do with that.
We didn’t say much after lunch was served. I got the impression she might have decided talking to strangers on planes was a possible health hazard, and I didn’t push it. After all, the notion we would find out about the scam together made sense, but then how did I know if she was an axe murderer or not?
She smiled at me before joining the queue to get off the plane. Being in first and business, we were first off before the others, but when I came out into the terminal heading for immigration and customs, I couldn’t see her. I decided against buying some duty-free alcohol on the way past. It would be too much to carry.
I thought I saw her at the head of the immigration line but was probably mistaken. Then it was my turn, a pleasant welcoming expression from the officer and the return of my travel documents. Then it was straight to customs because everything I needed was in my backpack, which I had brought on the plane with me. A few minutes while an officer decided to search my bag, I didn’t ask why, just waited patiently until it was done, and they sent me on my way.
It was, in a way, far smoother and less painful than arriving back at JFK. Fewer people, I suppose. I wandered out of the terminal building in search of a bus that would take me to the hotel.
I heard my name, probably for someone else with my name, but I turned anyway. Judy.
How did she, with a suitcase, get through immigration and customs so fast?
She caught up. “Sorry, I had to see a man about getting immigration sorted. My dad knows people everywhere. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but I didn’t want the guy telling my dad I was with a guy off the plane. And that sounds as bad out loud as it did in my head.”
“I get it. My mother, on the other hand, would be astonished if I got off a plane with a girl, so I guess that makes us even.”
She used her smile to smooth the waters. She seemed very happy to be here. “Share a taxi? My Dad hates buses.”
I shrugged. Why not? “OK.”
The taxi ride took about half an hour, and I think we got the almost grand tour getting there. Again, Judy thought it was our faces that got us into trouble. I could also see that her father had weighed her down with endless instructions on what and what not to do, and it wasn’t going to be fun.
The hotel was the Terra Nova, and I had been reading up about it. Old world charm, which to me, made it more interesting than staying in the concrete and glass Hilton or Marriot. I’d also see several of the reviews that said to get as far away from the nightclub as possible. Somehow, I got the impression that would be high on Judy’s to-do list.
When we arrived, there was no one from the plane, and I suspect we managed to get there before the others. We gave our names, and then spent ten minutes convincing the desk clerk that we were not together, and eventually got our rooms, as it turned out, next to each other.
When the porter tried to wrest the case from her, she resisted. Another of her father’s rules is never to let your case out of your sight.
She went to her door, I went to mine, and we disappeared into our rooms at the same time.
The hotel did not disappoint, nor did the room as it was in a remote place from the nightclub. I had three days of this, after whatever was going to happen tomorrow, and, of course, so long as my continued stay wasn’t dependent on having to spend wads of money for something that was supposed to be a prize.
I guess I’d find out in the morning.
An hour passed before two things happened. The first, an envelope appeared from under the door from an invisible delivery boy, or girl, because when I opened the door just after it appeared, there was no one in the passage. The second, ten minutes later, Judy knocked on my door rather than using the bell.
She ignored my greeting, walked over to the bed, and sat cross-legged on the end, almost as if it was her room, not mine.
She had brought the envelope with her, but hers was open. Mine was still sitting on the bench.
“You got anything in the bar?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t looked. She got off the bed, opened the door, pulled out a bottle of beer, and after removing the lid went back to the bed.
Thanks for the offer of one of the others I thought.
“It’s a fucking timeshare.”
I knew she would tell me what she had on her mind, eventually. I’d heard of them but hadn’t quite put two and two together. Perhaps by morning, I would have. I also wondered if she had realised she swore. Perhaps, because it seemed to roll naturally off a lot of younger people’s tongues.
“Damn,” I said, after a minute. “Here I was thinking it was a ticket to a portal to another world.”
She looked long and hard at me, perhaps to see if I was joking or telling the truth. People told me I had a warped sense of humour, and it wasn’t a good thing.
She looked at me oddly, then curiously. “You a science fiction freak?”
“Not sure about the freak part, but I do like a good story with a scientific background. Mostly though I just wish I could step through a portal to a better place.”
She got off the bed, went to the bar, took out another bottle of beer, took the lid off it and handed it to me. “Sorry. I can be a little self-absorbed. And it is your beer, I should have asked.”
“I should be flattered that you would feel safe enough to come into a room with a man you’ve never met before and feel that comfortable as to sit on his bed and drink his beer. Just exactly who are you?”
That look of curiosity just got a little more wide-eyed and elicited another smile. “I can be a little too forward, my father says. You seem a nice guy. Besides, we’ve got a situation.”
“Not really. I’ll admit it’s an odd way to get customers to look at a timeshare, but I’m guessing if the people who brought us here get a ten per cent hit rate, then it pays for the airfares and accommodation, and they get the ongoing benefits.”
“You know about timeshares?”
“I went to a hotel once, and it was a timeshare. When you check in they try to stitch you up for a permanent week, and use of the resort facilities for an annual fee. It can be quite expensive, but I’m guessing some of the resorts might be quite exotic. This is the Caribbean so it might be quite good.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I, which means you and I might be out on our asses this time tomorrow. Or not. Maybe if we can pretend that we’re interested until the three days have passed…”
“And act like we’re a couple, then we’d only have to listen to one pitch. We could act all bratty and ask ridiculous questions. I mean you just about told me everything that was in the envelope, which is not bad since yours is still sealed. It didn’t have a fee, but it did say I would get a week which I could use at this resort, or another anywhere in the world, once a year. it’s at Montego Bay and sounds impressive. We’ll know tomorrow. Tonight, there’s a bar downstairs, and interesting cocktails to be had. I don’t want to go on my own, so if you have nothing else to do…”
How could I refuse after being asked so nicely?
If I was one of those people who attached labels to their fellow humans, I would have called Judy crazy. More than once in the ensuing five hours I was with her, she showed plenty of signs that she could be trouble and could also be very easily misunderstood.
She drank too much and got tipsy, but not drunk. Although it was not my problem, I thought it was a good thing to keep a close eye on her in case she got into trouble. She liked talking about herself, and several of her friends, who, if the truth was known, were not friends as such. She didn’t travel much outside her hometown and was not inclined to live in a big city.
She said her mother left when she was younger, she had two sisters, older and restrictive, and a father who tried to let her live her own life. It was no surprise to learn her father was a policeman.
I tried not to tell her about my non-existent life, the boring job I had, or the miserable circumstances of where I lived. Better she just thought I was a nice guy. I bought her drinks and watched her dance, and once or twice tried not to make a fool of myself. The noise was very loud and followed us along the passageways on our way back to our rooms at an ungodly hour of the morning.
At the door to her room, she kissed me on the cheek, told me I was nice to make sure she was safe and then disappeared.
I shrugged. It was easy to be with her, better than any other girl I’d known and remembered that come the end of the three days she would be gone, and life would go back to the way it was.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
He’s not looking forward to being in quarantine.
Yes, he’s been keeping up with the latest developments regarding the Coronavirus, but like many, he doesn’t seem to think it will affect him.
After all, he says smugly, there hadn’t been one recorded instance of a cat getting the Coronavirus.
Of course, he’s right, but I still search for a searing reply.
That may be, but what if they’re not reporting cat infections so as not to alarm the cat population?
Aha, got him with that one. He ponders that for a moment or two. I decided to add fuel to the fire.
Apparently, dogs can contract the virus, but after reporting one, there hadn’t been any more. What if they’re not telling anyone that more dogs have contracted the virus so owners and pets don’t get alarmed.
A reply quick as a flash, Dogs get everything that’s going around. We cats are more resilient.
Until you get cat flu. Yes, my nana’s cat got cat flu and it killed him in 2 days. This virus is a much deadlier form of flu.
A suitable look of concern crossed his face.
Maybe I’ll stay indoors for the duration. It’s not as if you’re going to let me roam the streets any time soon.
Maybe I will, I say. Perhaps it is time I started letting you out from time to time.
A shake of the head.
We’ll revisit this when the crisis has passed, he says getting up and walking off, tail flicking in annoyance.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 