Month: June 2025

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

Writing a book in 365 days – 154

Day 154

The grass is browner on the other side…

…

The way I saw it, the grass was always browner on the other side.

Josh was not particularly interested in my assessment of having affairs, as I had told him long ago that all they would cause was unnecessary grief.

And for what?

That aspect he had never explained in a manner that would convince me that the grass was not brown but green.

It was yet another Friday night in a bar renowned for what Josh called hook-ups, his description of married men and women looking for something on the side.

His specialty was one-night stands.

I went along only for the beer and to watch the machinations of people who were not satisfied with what they had.

Over and over again.  The only thing that didn’t surprise me was the jaded expressions.

“When you’re finally married, Robert, you’ll know exactly how I feel.”

He never got tired of telling how much he adored his wife, that he would never leave her, and that his Friday night was just to remove the boredom.

If I were married to Lucy, his wife, there would be no boredom or straying.

“I could not imagine being unsatisfied with the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Of course, the opportunity to find the one hadn’t yet presented itself, and I sure as hell didn’t want to partake in what was on offer in this bar.

Not that I hadn’t been propositioned on numerous occasions.  I had found their reactions amusing when I declined.

“That might just about sum you up, Robert.  No sense of adventure.”

Be that as it may, it never stopped Josh from trying to hook me up with a double date.  Some had been interesting, but I had a rule not to date married women.  Being accosted by an angry husband was not on my wish list.

And a pity Josh had not got the memo.

“Well, that lack of adventure is about to be tested.”

He looked in the same direction as I was, to the end of the bar where two women were sitting, sipping drinks and surveying what was on offer.  I’d caught them looking at us more than once.  Well, Josh, maybe.  I doubted I’d raise an eyebrow.

“I’d go and introduce myself.  They keep looking in your direction.”

Since I was there to provide an opinion on the participants, act as a wingman when necessary, and generally help his case, he knew I was not giving him a bum steer.

“Which one?’

“Redhead, though I doubt it’s her natural colour.  She’s more your type, sassy.”

That was his go-to type, brazen or sassy, the exact opposite of Lucy.

The other, younger, like a sister, cousin, or office junior, did not look like she was a willing participant, but then, what would I know?

“She is.”  He drank the rest of the Scotch and soda for the courage, slipped off his seat, and sauntered down to their end of the bar.

I didn’t watch after he reached them.  I didn’t want to know. 

The bartender came over, and I ordered another bottle of beer. A voice next to me said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

A glance sideways told me it was the redhead’s friend.  Brunette, short, with a fringe.  There were, now she was closer, blue tinges through her hair.

Not sassy, but rebellious.  In other words, trouble.

I looked down at the end of the bar, and the red head and Josh were gone.

“What happened to your friend?”

“Went with Josh, possibly to a hotel.  He said you would take me home, but you don’t have to.”

“If Josh said I would, I will.  Do you want to go home?”

“Not yet.  The night is young, and I’m glad I don’t have to help Erica in her quest.  Please tell me you don’t either?”

So, either happily married, in a steady relationship, or like me, still looking, or not.

“No.  I come here just for the amusement of guessing who will end up with whom.”

The bartender put the bottles in front of us and moved on.

She looked at the label, took a sip, and then made a face that changed her whole demeanour. “How’s that going?”

“Like my own ability to pick who might be the woman of my dreams?  It seems I don’t understand the randomness.”

“Desperation, Robert, it’s called desperation.  And if you ask me, there’s an element of sex addiction.”

She knew my name.  Josh probably told her all about me, according to Josh, which was about as far from the truth as anyone could get.

“I’ve not yet reached the point of desperation.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to meet the one.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“I don’t really know what I’m looking for.  And I don’t understand women at all because if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be here.”

“Odd.  I feel the same way.  Erica has no problem finding guys to do her bidding.”

“Is she married?”

“She says she is in an open relationship, whatever that means, but I know she’s unhappy with her husband.  He’s not adventurous at all.”

There was that word again.  Perhaps that was a prerequisite to visiting a place like this; you needed a sense of adventure.

“Why does that matter?”

“You should ask Josh.  Apparently, Erica thinks I need to find one or I’ll be left on the shelf.”

More beer, more interesting changes in expression.  I don’t think she drank beer, which raised the question, why did she ask for one?

Then she added, almost randomly, “I do weekend rock climbing.  That’s all the adventure I need.”  Then the sudden switch in topics.  “So, tell me your criteria for what you think would be the one.”

OK.  I didn’t see that coming.  Usually, by now, the girl had moved on. 

“As I said…”

“You don’t know.  My belief is that you do, so hypothetically, what’s on the list?”

Surprisingly, she ordered more beer.  I wondered for a moment if she was one of those women who could drink a lot and not show any signs of it.

Unlike me, I could survive perhaps four bottles, if I drank them slowly.

I had a feeling that whatever I might guess about this woman, chances were high I was completely wrong.  Except that she was the polar opposite of the red head she had been with.

Or she was a very good actress.

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No.  But humour me.  The evening has not turned out the way I expected it would.”

What was she expecting?

“OK.  One.  She must be footloose and fancy free.”

“Not married or straying?  This, then, would hardly be the place to find such a partner?”

“Not my first choice, but I’m beginning to see that I should stop spending Friday nights with Josh.”

She smiled, and facets of her personality shone through.  “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, now I think about it.  Two.  She must like to try different cuisines at least once.  I try to, at least once a week.

“That should be on my list, you know, mothers’ old sayings, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Does anyone cook these days.  I have an apartment with a kitchen but nothing in the pantry, and beer and juice in the refrigerator.”

“No wilting celery or mouldy cheese?”

“No.  It happened at the start when I had the best of intentions, then I started working twenty-hour days.”

“No rest for the wicked, then.”

“Except Friday night, and sometimes the odd weekend.”

“This weekend?”

“As it happens.  But, to continue…”

She liked driving conversations sideways.  I would have to pay more attention.  “Three.  She should not be afraid to travel second or third class, where the real adventure is.  I’m not necessarily cheap, just careful so I can do and see more.”

“Well, aren’t you the party pooper.  I couldn’t bear to travel in anything less than first class, or better still, the private jet.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, such was her serious expression.  Then she burst out laughing, perhaps in response to my probably bewildered expression.

Then, inexplicably, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.  “You had me at one, Robert.  If you so desire, I would like you to take me to a new dining experience, one you haven’t been to before, and then, depending on your list and my list, maybe we could talk about this affinity you think you have with travelling third class.  What do you think?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Elizabeth.  Liz, for short.  Call me Lizzy, and I’ll turn into the axe murderer you’re thinking I might be.”

“If I call you Elizabeth?”

“You would be confusing me with my mother.  So, sweep me off my feet.”

Challenge accepted.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

In a word: Prize

What you win, first prize in a raffle, though I don’t think I’ve ever won first prize.  Second maybe.  But, aren’t all raffles rigged?  

But despite my unfortunate run of luck, a prize is generally give to someone who works hard, or wins a race

Or I could have been a prize fighter but lacked the size and the strength, and out of curiosity how many prize fighters didn’t win a prize?

And if I had been a pirate, I could have sailed the seven seas to find a prize, namely a ship to attack and take as my own.

And as a prime example, a Chelsea supporter walking into a bar full of Manchester United fans could be called a prize idiot.

This is not to be confused with the word prise

Don’t relatives prise the last dollar out of a dying man’s hand?

Or prise the truth out of a witness, or a perpetrator

Or prise a window open like thieves do when we forget to lock them properly?

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters Harry and Alison there are other issues driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact he has a beautiful and desirable wife, and his belief she is the object of other men’s desires, and one in particular, his immediate superior.

Between observation, the less than honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Sometimes it’s better to say that an expressed opinion is your own

It’s always a good thing to get that across especially if you work for an organization that could misinterpret what that opinion is, or generally have an opposing opinion.  Of course, by saying your opinions are your own, you’re covering yourself from becoming unemployed, but is this a futile act?

Perhaps its better to not say anything because everything you say and do eventually find its way to those you want most not to hear about it, perhaps one of the big negatives of the internet and social media.

And…

It seems odd to me that you can’t have an opinion of your own, even if it is contrary to that of the organization you work for, and especially if their opinion has changed over time.  An opposing opinion, not delivered in a derogatory manner, would have the expectation of sparking healthy debate, but it doesn’t always end up like that.

I’m sure there are others out there that will disagree, and use the overused word, loyalty’.   Perhaps their mantra will be ‘keep your opinions to yourself’.

This, too, often crops up in personal relationships, and adds weight to the statement, ‘you can pick your friends but not your relatives’.

I’m told I have an opinion on everything, a statement delivered in a manner that suggests sarcasm.  Whether it’s true or not, isn’t the essence of free speech, working within the parameters of not inciting hate, bigotry, racism, or sexism, a fundamental right of anyone in a democracy?

Seems not.

There’s always someone out there, higher up the food chain, with an opinion of their own, obviously the right one, and who will not hesitate to silence yours.  But, isn’t it strange that in order to silence you, they have to use leverage, like your job, to get theirs across.

Well, my opinions are in my writing, and whether or not you agree with them or not, I’m sure you will let me know.  In a robust but respectful manner.

Unlike some, my door is always open.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 46

Back on the alien vessel

…

Here’s the thing.

I personally believed that we wouldn’t be sitting on this alien vessel unless we had some value, or there was something about the group of so-called criminals that the alien captain didn’t have the authority to take decisive action.

“Hold that thought,” I said to him.  Then, “Number one?”

“Sir?”

“Are you still with the alien group?”

“Yes sir, awaiting orders?”

“Is the spokesman for the prisoners nearby?”

“A moment, sir.”  Silence for a minute, then, “He’s here, sir.”

“You wish to speak to me?” 

An odd thought, they all sounded the same.

“Yes.  I find it odd that the alien captain of this vessel hasn’t just destroyed our vessels and moved on, after all, if they have determined you are all criminals, what would be the difference between being left in a prison, or being executed? 

“I’m not sure what you are getting at.  For all intents and purposes, we are dead, to them and our homeworlds.”

It wasn’t the way he said it, but the way it was spoken.  And what was left unsaid.  It was a moment when you didn’t get the answer you wanted because you didn’t ask the right question.

“Now is not the time to be keeping secrets, because when our host comes back, the situation is going to end badly for you, and just as badly for us.  We’re all still here because you have something they want.  What is it?”

There was silence, but it was not generated by a refusal to speak, but more than the answer might have worse consequences than no answer.

Then, very quietly, he said, “Jai Ti.”

There are only three reasons that drive people to do the unthinkable.  Money, power, and a woman.

“She is not a so-called criminal, is she?”

“No.  She was indiscreet and found herself banished to the same detention center like us.  We are high-level detainees, rather than prisoners, who live in far better conditions than the more common criminal classes.”

“Let me guess, she was a so-called friend of one of the high council or someone of consequence in the political power structure.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And they’re worried if she gets free, she might denounce the injustice?”

“She feels she did nothing wrong.  She claims she did not tell anyone, as per her agreement with the individual in question.  The situation is exacerbated by the fact they people have a very strict moral code, and relationships, shall we say, that is extra, and severely frowned upon, and for a leader who is expected to set an example.”

“And this leader…”

“The rules don’t necessarily apply depending on who you are.  Unfortunately, it is a problem across the many homeworlds here.  An enlightened society doesn’t necessarily mean what we and others are led to believe.”

“We have the same problems.  Thank you for your honesty, it may help, it might not.”  I had all I needed.  “Number One.”

“Sir.”

“No need to stay, I have no intention of getting between the passengers or the alien captain, so get back to the ship as quickly as you can and be ready on the bridge.  General?”

“Sir?”

“You are ordered to defend the ship by whatever means at your disposal, without regard to that personnel not aboard.  Do you understand?”

I expected a but because I was basically telling him that if he had to fire upon the Russian ship or the Alien ship, both senior officers and some crew would be in danger.

As far as I was concerned, the ship and 2000 others were more important.

“Under protest, but I understand.  Sir.”

“Number one?”

I also expected to get the standard lecture, which was well within his purview, but instead, “Understood, sir but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Second?”

“Sir?”

“You have the bridge until either Number One or I return, otherwise you know what the standing orders are.”

“Understood.”

It was the precise moment the alien captain returned.

“I’ve spoken to the high council.  We are also monitoring a high level of activity on your ship.”

“If it’s a war you want, it’s a war you’ll get.  I think it’s time for the truth, something you have been playing, as we say, fast and loose with.  I told you exactly why we’re here, you haven’t.  I don’t approve of my compatriots’ actions, but he has, as anyone from our world would grant preliminary asylum to anyone who asks for it, pending a thorough investigation.  That investigation starts and ends with two words, Jai Ti.”

For a man with an expressionless face, it wasn’t hard to tell I’d hit the nerve.

“Alas, as you may or may not appreciate, we are in a difficult situation.”

“Dare I say it, but for an enlightened civilization, you seem to have all the same problems we do.  We could have resolved this much earlier had you just stated the facts.”

“Then you are prepared to return the prisoners.”

“Prisoners, yes, but with a suggestion.  The princess, no.  Unfortunately, you’re going to have to censure the leader that broke the rules.”

“And if that’s not possible?”

“Then I will take her home, and whatever happens after that is on his head, and to a lesser extent, yours.”

“Even if it means your ship is destroyed, and all those crew members die needlessly.”

“More have died for less, but noble cause.  Do as you wish, but I strongly advise you not to test our resolve.”

The alien captain turned to the Russian captain.  “If you hand over the prisoners, all of the prisoners, you will free to leave.”

“Sorry.  It’s a tempting offer, but it doesn’t solve the problem for future explorers.  Eliminating us will just bring more, in the not-too-distant future, only they will be hostile.  You might be able to live with the short-term consequences, but given what we are learning about your relations with other worlds, who are they going to blame for the problems you caused in the name of short-term expediency?”

A few seconds later four new aliens appeared, each in a particular style of dress.

Members of the high council?

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 46

What story does it inspire?

…

…

This is a photograph of the Leopoldskron Palace used for exterior shots in the movie “The Sound of Music”.

It was a very bleak day when we decided to go on the Sound of Music bus tour, and, yes, there was singing.

But…

It is a sombre setting and lends a great deal of inspiration to a story.

For instance…

There was a large uninhabited house on the edge of a lake where multiple fatalities occurred in the mid-1800s. The family was cursed from the moment the house was built because a gypsy family who had lived on the land before the building commenced were murdered because they would not leave.

The original owner died when falling from a ladder fetching a book from the top shelf in his library, the wife died when she accidentally slipped and fell on a knife in the kitchen, and the eldest son died when he fell from the roof. No one could explain how he got there.

The daughter left immediately after all of these events which happened in the first week of residence, and moved far away.

Move forward about 170 years and one of the ancestors discovered they are entitled to take ownership of the building that had not been lived in for a long, long time.

But…

It does not look any different from the day the last inhabitants died, and is in perfect condition.

How could this be after 170 years?

And what exactly is going on when the descendants come to live in the house?

Is it paranormal activity or is it just gold old fashioned scare tactics to send them away?

Writing a book in 365 days – 153

Day 153

Writing exercise – a dream perhaps

…

Tiredness and bad days were never a good mix, and I’d had the worst day.  I had been planning to read the latest draft of a novel I’d been handed for assessment, and maybe the job of editing it.

At worst, I’d probably end up having to fact-check the parts that needed it because so many first-time writers seemed to think writing in the past didn’t mean that they had to know about it.

And why did I end up with the manuscript?

I liked trains and was a bit of a fan of trains of the past.  I also had a thing about the British aristocracy, and this had it in spades.

However, since nothing ever worked out the way I wanted, I ended up getting home late and having promised I’d get a first impression together for the meeting the following morning, it meant reading it in bed.

If it were boring, I’d be asleep in a few minutes.

As it turned out, it wasn’t.  Oh, the writing style was non-existent and the English awful, but the story was … interesting.

Two ends of the aristocracy, the boy, the son of a gentleman, the girl, the daughter of a Lord in a castle, in the 1920s had somehow found themselves in an unlikely romance, to the point where the boy was off the meet her parents.  She was first class, he was all about being sensible with money, so it probably wasn’t going to work.

Then, just as I got to the part about getting into the car at the station to drive to her house, I fell asleep.

…

Matilda and I were going to her parents’ residence in Scotland, and I’d promised to take the train with her.

It took another moment for the feeling that everyone was dressed rather oddly, and then remembered why I was taking this weekend away.

I’d been working long hours with little respite, and it was wearing me down.  Matilda’s answer, come with her and enjoy the fresh air.

And meet her family, not for the first time, but back home in a less stressful situation.

Less stressful for whom?

Normally, I would not travel first class by choice, but since it was Matilda, I didn’t hesitate.  Marriage to her, if I could get the approval of everyone, would mean making changes.

Not for her, but me.

The first, travelling in the Night Scotsman. She had suggested leaving in the morning on the Flying Scotsman, but I couldn’t get away.

This was better, we could have a leisurely dinner and then retire to a double sleeper, separate beds, of course.

I shrugged, just as a few drops of rain started to fall, and I heard a clock chime half past nine.  I was on time, which was something else that would have to change.  I was perpetually late for everything.

I showed the railway staff my ticket several times as I was guided to the correct Carriage, and then boarded.  It was a longish walk because our carriage wasn’t far from the front of the train and not far from the restaurant car.

I found the cabin, not quite as lavish as I might have expected, but no Matilda.  If I knew her, she would be exploring.  Her case was in her bed, so I put mine on the other.  a surprise discovery, or two perhaps, she travelled light and had an insatiable curiosity, well beyond that of a normal girl of her station.

There was no sign of her personal maid, but she would not be far away; Matilda never went anywhere without her, being both her chaperone and protector.  It had been disconcerting at first, and it took a while to realise Matilda could do very much whatever she wanted to.

Within reason.

She would be in a nearby cabin.

I looked out the windows, on one side, the platform with people walking further along to their carriages.  On the other hand, another train heading somewhere else.

I had got a brief glimpse of the locomotive under the bright lights, a huge beast of a machine almost lost in shrouds of steam.  One other thing I noticed, the carriages were highly polished and gleaming in the harsh lights in the station proper.

“There you are?”  Matilda had returned and looked radiant, as always.  She had one of those dispositions that would brighten even the dullest room and the most boring of parties.

I smiled in return.  “I was doing my best not to succumb to the child  in me who wanted to see the locomotive close up.”

“It’s just a train, James.”

“It’s not just any train.”  We hugged, and I held on for a little longer than I should.

I was never quite sure if she loved me as much as I loved her, but I guessed that would sort itself out in time.

I had spoken to my mother about it, and she simply said if it was meant to be, all will be well.  She never did explain what to do if it was not meant to be, and I didn’t press it.

“You made it, that’s the important thing.  I’ve reserved a table for dinner, and I’ll table you through the dreaded relations list.  l’m afraid Mummy has invited a few more than I expected, but you know what prospective in-laws are like.”

I didn’t, because it was all new for me.  Matilda had been through the betrothal process, having been matched with a particular young man, who, had he survived the war, they would be married now.

She had taken a few years to recover from that and had not been looking for a new man until, as she described it, I popped up out of nowhere.

Nowhere was simply a matter of bumping into her when I was hurrying to get back to the office late yet again from lunch with a friend.

I was hardly pleasant about it because she was drifting aimlessly on the footpath, and I told her so very forcefully.  Of course, I failed to realise I’d dropped my work folder and then had her turn up at my office.

That’s when I learned she was a distant relative of my father’s business partner, one Lady Matilda, thank you very much and mind your manners, young man.

After that bollicking, I hated her more.

Which made our second meeting very awkward, after I reluctantly turned up at a party for a friend of a friend, and someone my father told me would be useful to make the acquaintance of.

When she saw me, she decided to be condescendingly sweet, which only made me more incensed at her trading on her station.

I simply shrugged and left.  I didn’t want to be there, and it was a good excuse to leave.

Which I would have made a silent getaway except she was waiting outside, leaning against the getaway car, the chauffeur looking menacing.

I had two choices: to be forever shunned in society, or have dinner with her.  Being shunned didn’t bother me.  Having dinner did.  It meant I had to try and get over my shyness around girls, something I’d assiduously avoided up until now.

Rather foolishly, I chose the dinner, an awkward drive to the Savoy and to dine in the restaurant.  She used her father’s permanent table, further proving her desire to trade on her name and station.

Champagne was served after we sat and were both handed menus.  It seemed odd to me that the restaurant was full.

After a few minutes, she said, “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m sure you have the ability to grow on people.”

“Just not you?”

“No.”

“I cannot help the family I was born into, or the fact that they have wealth, and since they do have it, why can’t I use it?”

…

That moment Chester, the wretched cat who I was sure loved tormenting me, plumped himself down at the top of my head on the pillow and woke me.

At a most interesting part…

I had to check where I was, because the dream had been so real, I felt as though I’d been there.  In 1928, that was when the Flying Scotsman started the Night Scotsman service.

Or perhaps it was the other train… There were two nightly trains from London to Edinburgh.

And Matilda, she had taken on the persona of someone in my subconscious, though I couldn’t tell, then, who.

I growled at Chester for waking me, and climbed out, fetched the manuscript, and was going to have to read it again.  I needed more information if I was going to try and go back.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Searching for locations – Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia – 3

Quite often on holidays, we train ourselves to get up early because when you’re away in a different place, you don’t want to waste the day.

I’d like to think that since we can’t do a lot of the usual touristy activities we can sleep in and take a more leisurely approach to the day.

Not this morning.

Not yesterday, either, but for different reasons.

Today, it was the shooting pains down my leg from the bad back. Perhaps that walk to the coffee shop aggravated it, but since when did exercise harm you?

Anyway, finally giving up the notion of sleeping, I bounded out of bed, sorry slowly climbed out of bed with care, at 6:40 a.m. Unless you’re going on a tour that is the greatest thing since sliced bread, who, on holidays, gets out of bed at that hour.

Me, apparently.

Just four minutes after sunrise, which I missed.

I managed to get yesterday’s and was hoping to go one better and catch the sun coming over the horizon. Maybe tomorrow.

So, what do you do in such a hideous hour of the morning?

With the beach just 50 meters away, it was beckoning me to take a walk. When I looked, there were probably a half dozen people with their dogs taking a walk. And another three or four out for a power walk.

For me, it was going to be a leisurely stroll after picking my way across the loose sand to where it was a lot more solid.

The tide was on the way in, so every now and then, the water came up the beach near where most people walked.

By the time I started the foot traffic on the path had increased exponentially as had that on the shoreline along with the number of dogs exercising their owners, and a number of fishermen perhaps trying to land a fish for breakfast.

I had time to keep an eye on the cloud formations, and the waves came in, some a lot higher than others. That meant there were also a small number of die-hard surfers hoping to catch a big one.

You could see the rain out to sea, and with the forecast for rain later I entered of it was sitting out there waiting to arrive at the appointed time. I was just hoping it didn’t rain while I was out.

All in all, it was a pleasant hour or so up the beach and back. The hardest part, trudging over the loose sand, particularly after walking for the hour.

The fishermen had caught nothing.

The number of dogs had increased, but the power walkers had been replaced by families, visitors, and older people. I think if I lived here, I would be one more of the old people, out getting my daily exercise, and then stopping off at the coffee shop for a flat white and a cake.

And the best thing about it. It was still only half past eight in the morning and just in time for breakfast.

Pity I was the designated chef.