Over the years, I have traveled extensively and kept journals, with the idea that one day all of those places would become locations in books. Notebooks filled with odd characters, people and incidents observed, and whole tracts of stories written when the on the spot inspiration has been a driving force.
All of this is the basis of the first three novels, Sunday In New York, set, of course, in New York, probably my favorite city in the world, “Echoes From The Past’ equally set in New York, Brooklyn Heights and Philadelphia. The third, The Devil You Don’t, travels through Europe, starting in Geneva, moving to Rome, then Sorrento, and then to Venice.
Now, my passion to write is fuelled by travel and fine dining. When I take a break from these, I get to torment my three wonderful grandchildren whom I actively encourage to read as much as they can, and more recently to also write.
As for almost every other writer, I would not be able to do any of this without my wife who has put up with my moodiness, the times when I'm locked away in a room trying to push out another 2,000 words, and yet despite everything still puts up with me.
I wish I could say the same for our cat. Alas, I am still trying to work out how to be his friend!
John has found Zoe after playing a little cat and mouse in the streets near the hotel. Back at the hotel, they just get back to the room when a member of Worthington’s hit team arrives and comes off second best.
Of course, the rest are stationed at the obvious exits, and it takes some effort to get away.
Even that escape is fraught with danger, but with all the cunning she can muster, Zoe makes sure they get back to Vienna.
With Worthington’s hit team hot on their trail, a diversion at the main railway station helps aid their departure.
By now, two things are certain:
Worthington is behind the latest attempted hit, and they are both in the firing line, and
John had to decide whether or not he wanted a life always looking over his shoulder.
No prizes for guessing his choice!
…
We’re still in Bratislava with Zoe, making a few repairs, having been injured in the getaway from the hotel, where bullets were flying around indiscriminately.
In a nondescript hotel near a railway station, the favourite accommodation for assassins, maybe, there’s enough time for John to get the message that Zoe is not happy with him bringing along a hit squad.
And, they’re on the news, that is to say, they know who it is that’s on the news; the blurry figures are too indistinct for anyone else to identify them. It was disconcerting to be called criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.
Back in London, Sebastian is about to have a set-to with Worthington, who has decided that Sebastian is too close and might compromise his black op, so he’s sending him to Paris.
Here, we learn that Sebastian has both Isobel and Rupert locked in the basement cells, awaiting interrogation, and that Worthington orders him to send them home.
Of course, Sebastian is not going to do anything of the sort.
He knows they know where John is, and by implication, where Zoe is, and wants to know.
In the first edit, I suspect I will have to mention Sebastian ‘arresting’ Rupert and Isobel just to keep continuity, and no unfathomable surprises later on.
One‑Day Stopover in Lima? Make It Unforgettable With a Visit to Plaza Mayor
If you’ve only got 24 hours in Peru’s bustling capital, there’s one spot that will let you taste its history, culture, and culinary magic all at once: the historic heart of the city—Plaza Mayor.
Why Plaza Mayor is the Perfect One‑Stop Destination
What you get
How it fits a tight schedule
A UNESCO‑listed heritage zone – Colonial palaces, a cathedral, and the Government Palace all within a few blocks.
No need to hop between neighborhoods; everything is foot‑accessible.
Iconic photo‑ops – Colorful façades, the famous “Basilica of San Francisco” bell tower in the background, and the central “Fuente de la Victoria.”
Capture the city’s essence in minutes, leaving more time for food and souvenirs.
Culinary micro‑cosmos – Street vendors selling anticuchos, ceviche to go, and artisanal chocolate.
Sample authentic Peruvian bites without a long sit‑down lunch.
Free or low‑cost entry – Most buildings can be admired from the outside; the Cathedral interior is a modest ticket.
Keeps your budget intact for that extra pisco sour.
In short, Plaza Mayor is Lima’s “must‑see‑in‑an‑hour” that also gives you a genuine feel for the city’s soul.
Arriving at Plaza Mayor: The Logistics
From the Airport (Jorge Chávez International – LIM)
Taxi / Ride‑share: 20‑30 min (≈ S/ 30‑40). Use a reputable app (Beat, Cabify) or the official airport taxi desk.
Bus “Airport Express”: Free, stops at the Central Station (Estación Central). From there, hop on a Metropolitano bus (Line 1) to Plaza Mayor (stop Plaza San Martín).
Best Time to Go
Morning (08:00‑10:30): Light, fewer crowds, and the city’s iconic “Lima sunrise” casts a golden glow on the stone façades.
Late afternoon (16:00‑18:00): The plaza comes alive with street performers, and you’ll catch the sunset over the Pacific in the background of the Government Palace’s balcony.
What to Wear
Light layers (Lima’s climate is mild, 18‑24 °C).
Comfortable walking shoes—cobblestones can be uneven.
The 3‑Hour Itinerary That Packs a Punch
08:30 – 09:15 | Stroll Around the Square
Start at the Cathedral of Lima – Enter for a quick 10‑minute peek at the baroque altar and the tomb of the famed painter José Gálvez.
Walk clockwise: admire the Palacio de la Municipalidad, the elegant Palacio de Gobierno (guard change ceremony at 10 am if you stay a bit longer), and the Casa de la Literatura Peruana (pop‑in for a coffee and a literary souvenir).
09:15 – 10:00 | Culinary Pit‑Stop
Anticucho stand (skewered beef heart) – ≈ S/ 10 for a tasty bite.
Ceviche “to go” from Ceviche La Mar kiosk (fresh, portable, and perfect for a waterfront vibe).
Pisco sour at the historic Bar “La Casa del Pisco” – a quick 5‑minute sip to kick‑start your day.
10:00 – 10:45 | Dive Deeper – Guided Mini‑Tour
Free walking tours run daily (check the kiosk near the plaza). Guides will whisk you through the hidden stories of “El Cabildo” and the “El Cristo del Pacífico” statue.
If you prefer a solo pace, grab an audio guide from the Tourist Information Centre (S/ 5) and wander at your own rhythm.
10:45 – 11:30 | Cultural Finale
Visit the Museum of the Central Bank of Peru (just a block away). A quick 30‑minute look at pre‑Columbian artifacts and colonial silverwork ties together the narrative of Lima’s past.
Take a final photo at the Fuente de la Victoria—the fountain’s bronze lion is a beloved Instagram spot.
Total time: ~3 hours, leaving you ample room for a quick hop to Miraflores or the airport for your onward flight.
Bonus: Extending the Magic (If Time Allows)
Option
Why It Works After Plaza Mayor
Walk to the “Parque de la Exposición” (5‑min) – Beautiful gardens, a historic glass pavilion, and occasional art fairs.
Keeps you in the historic zone while adding a green pause.
Cross to the “Barranco” district (taxi, 10 min) – Bohemian murals, the Bridge of Sighs, and a sea view.
Gives you a taste of Lima’s modern, artistic side.
Head to “Miraflores” (Metropolitano, 20 min) – The clifftop “Parque del Amor” and the spectacular Circuito Mágico del Agua light show.
Ideal for a sunset finale and a last‑minute souvenir hunt.
Quick Checklist for the One‑Day Stopover
Passport & boarding pass – Keep them handy for airport re‑entry.
S/ 50 cash – Small vendors and taxi rides still prefer cash.
Light rain jacket – Lima’s “garúa” (mist) can appear unexpectedly.
Portable charger – Your phone will be busy with photos, maps, and the audio guide.
Travel‑size sanitiser – Public plazas are bustling; stay safe.
Wrap‑Up: Why Plaza Mayor Beats All Other Options
In a city where the modern skyline competes with centuries‑old stone, Plaza Mayor is the single point where history, architecture, and flavour intersect. It lets you:
Walk through time (from the Spanish conquest to modern Peruvian identity).
Taste the nation (quick bites of ceviche and pisco).
Snap stunning photos without a long trek across traffic‑choked avenues.
So, if your itinerary says “Lima, 24 h,” set your compass to Plaza Mayor. One stop, endless stories, and a day that will feel far richer than the minutes on the clock.
Ready to Make Your Layover Legendary?
Book your taxi, grab a map, and let Plaza Mayor be the heartbeat of your Lima adventure.
Got a different favourite stopover spot in Lima? Drop a comment below—let’s keep the conversation (and the travel inspiration) rolling!
Or, more to the point, we all want to use words that will emphasise the description or the point we want to make.
The trick is not to make it so obscure that we send the readers to the Thesaurus too many times before they get bored.
Then there is that other problem of using the same word over and over, and that too gets boring.
Such a word is said. But you have to be careful not to use too flowery a description of what is being said, or the manner in which it is being imparted.
Gushed – I mean, who gushes these days?
Snapped – that’s what alligators do, and they don’t speak.
Quietly, whispered, demanding, spitefully, angrily. Try to think of how you would impart the words if you were in the place of your character.
How would you feel on the other end of a verbal barrage?
Perhaps therein lies a possible solution to the problem of describing conversations, arguments, heated exchanges, or what do they call them these days, robust discussions.
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!
One Day, One Stopover, One Iconic Spot: Why Plaza de Mayo Is the Only Place You Need to Visit in Buenos Aires
You’ve got just 24 hours to soak up the spirit of Argentina’s capital. Instead of trying to cram a dozen neighbourhoods into a frantic sprint, focus on the beating heart of the city—Plaza de Mayo. With its rich history, striking architecture, and a handful of bite‑size experiences all within a few minutes’ walk, this single square will turn your layover into a truly memorable Buenos Aires story.
1. Why Plaza de Mayo Deserves the Spotlight
What makes it special?
How it translates into a “must‑see” for a day‑stop
Historical epicenter – The square has witnessed the May Revolution (1810), countless presidential inaugurations, and the rise of modern Argentina.
A quick walk here feels like stepping onto a living history book; you’ll understand the city’s soul in 30 minutes.
Architectural showcase – From the pink‑hued Casa Rosada to the neoclassical Cabildo and the grand Metropolitan Cathedral, styles span colonial, French‑Beaux‑Arts, and modernist.
Photo‑ops galore—your Instagram feed will thank you.
Café culture – Right on the edge sits the legendary Café Tortoni, the oldest coffeehouse in the country.
A perfect spot to refuel with a café con leche and a medialuna (Argentinian croissant).
Central hub – All major transport lines (Subte Line A, numerous bus routes, and the nearby Retiro train station) converge here, making it easy to reach even on a tight schedule.
No time‑wasting detours—arrive, explore, and hop back on the plane.
Live atmosphere – Street musicians, political rallies, and open‑air vendors create a vibrant, ever‑changing tableau.
You’ll leave with more than pictures—you’ll carry a slice of Buenos Aires life.
In short, Plaza de Mayo condenses the city’s history, culture, cuisine, and energy into a single, walkable rectangle.
2. The 3‑Hour “Plaza de Mayo Sprint” Itinerary
Even if you only have a few hours, you can cover the essentials without feeling rushed.
Time
Activity
Insider tip
0:00 – 0:15
Arrive & Orient – Step off the Subte (Line A) at Plaza de Mayo station. Take a moment on the main terrace to spot the iconic pink façade of the Casa Rosada.
Look up to see the Balcony of the Casa Rosada—the spot where Eva Perón famously addressed crowds.
0:15 – 0:45
Casa Rosada & Plaza Tour – Walk around the square, snap photos of the Monumento a los Caídos and the Obelisk of the Revolution. If you’re lucky, a guard change ceremony might be in progress.
The guard ceremony occurs at 10 am on weekdays—check the schedule if you can.
0:45 – 1:20
Cabildo & Metropolitan Cathedral – Pop inside the historic Cabildo (entry is free) to see the original colonial council chambers, then head next door to the Cathedral where Pope Francis was ordained.
Bring a small donation for the Cathedral’s “café” (they serve a surprisingly good espresso).
1:20 – 2:00
Coffee Break at Café Tortoni – Order the classic “café con leche” and a medialuna; soak up the Belle Époque interiors, complete with marble statues and vintage newspapers.
Ask the staff for the “Tortoni special”—a mini‑tour of the literary figures who once frequented the place.
2:00 – 2:30
Stroll Down Avenida de May – Walk the tree‑lined avenue toward Plaza San Martín, admiring the early‑20th‑century French‑style buildings.
Spot the Mansard Roof of the Lloyd Palace—a great quick photo.
2:30 – 3:00
Optional Quick Bite – Grab a choripán from a street vendor or a quick empanada at El Sanjuanino (just a few blocks away).
If you’re a meat lover, a bite of bife de chorizo at the nearby Café Los Angelitos won’t disappoint.
Total: ~3 hours – leaving you ample time to return to the airport, freshen up, and board your next flight without stress.
3. Practical Details: Getting There & Getting Out
What you need to know
Details
Closest airport connections
From Ezeiza (EZE), a 45‑minute taxi or rideshare to Plaza de Mayo is the simplest. From Aeroparque (AEP), a 20‑minute taxi or the Aerobús to Retiro and a 5‑minute walk.
Subway
Line A (the oldest line) stops directly at Plaza de Mayo. Trains run every 5‑7 minutes; tickets cost ARS 30 (≈ US 0.16).
Walking
The entire itinerary is a compact 1‑km loop—wear comfortable shoes.
Safety
Plaza de Mayo is a police‑patrolled zone, but stay aware of pickpockets, especially near market stalls. Keep your wallet in a front pocket.
Language
Spanish is the default, but most staff at Café Tortoni speak basic English. Having a few phrases (“un café con leche, por favor”) goes a long way.
Currency
Argentine pesos are cash‑friendly; most places accept cards, but have a small amount of cash for street vendors.
Time zone
Buenos Aires is UTC‑3 year‑round (no daylight‑saving).
4. Beyond the Square: If You’ve Got Extra Time
If your layover stretches to a full day, use Plaza de Mayo as a launchpad:
Nearby Neighborhood
Why it’s worth a quick detour
San Telmo (10 min walk)
Antique market on Sundays, tango cafés, and the iconic El Zanjón museum.
Puerto Madero (15 min by taxi)
Modern skyline, waterfront restaurants, and the Fragata Sarmiento museum ship.
Recoleta (20 min by taxi)
Famous Recoleta Cemetery (Eva Perón’s tomb) and upscale boutiques.
Even a brief 20‑minute stroll through any of these districts will deepen your Buenos Aires impression, but none will match the concentrated punch of Plaza de Mayo.
5. Capture the Moment: Photo Checklist
Shot
Description
Casa Rosada façade
Pink walls, iconic balcony—best in golden hour (early morning or late afternoon).
Cabildo doorway
Colonial arches; frame with the flagpole for a historic vibe.
Café Tortoni interior
Marble busts, stained‑glass ceiling—look for the vintage espresso machine.
Street performer
Capture the spontaneous tango or folk music that often fills the square.
Avenida de May
Leading‑line shot of the tree‑lined boulevard disappearing into the distance.
Pro tip: Use portrait mode for the architectural details and wide‑angle for the bustling square; you’ll get a professional‑looking gallery without a DSLR.
6. The Takeaway
When you have only one day to experience Buenos Aires, don’t chase every trendy barrio. Plaza de Mayo offers a microcosm of the city’s soul—history, politics, art, coffee culture, and that unmistakable Argentine buzz—all in a walkable, easy‑to‑reach spot.
By centring your layover around this iconic square, you’ll leave the capital with a story, a few unforgettable photos, and a taste of Argentine life—the perfect souvenir for a traveller on the move.
“If you want to understand a city, stand where its heart beats.” — Your Buenos Aires adventure, distilled in a single plaza.
Ready to make your stopover unforgettable? Pack a light jacket, a camera, and an appetite for history, then let Plaza de Mayo do the rest.
Happy travels, and enjoy your fleeting yet fabulous taste of Buenos Aires!
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, are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are 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 the 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 underwater.
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 incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or 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 unpleasant experience?
I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came 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 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 came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
She had a very soothing voice.
Her fingers stroked 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.
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 severely 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. 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 accidents, 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, or 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 will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.
Sleep was a blessed relief.
The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think 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?
Now I knew Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something unbelievably 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 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.
Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or 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 early and woke 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 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 at 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 when nothing happened.
Then the pads are gently lifted 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. 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 most handsome 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. She was the distraction, taking my mind off 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 who 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 were, 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.”
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 reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely 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 in 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 in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
John has found Zoe after playing a little cat and mouse in the streets near the hotel. Back at the hotel, they just get back to the room when a member of Worthington’s hit team arrives and comes off second best.
Of course, the rest are stationed at the obvious exits, and it takes some effort to get away.
Even that escape is fraught with danger, but with all the cunning she can muster, Zoe makes sure they get back to Vienna.
With Worthington’s hit team hot on their trail, a diversion at the main railway station helps aid their departure.
By now, two things are certain:
Worthington is behind the latest attempted hit, and they are both in the firing line, and
John had to decide whether or not he wanted a life always looking over his shoulder.
No prizes for guessing his choice!
…
We’re still in Bratislava with Zoe, making a few repairs, having been injured in the getaway from the hotel, where bullets were flying around indiscriminately.
In a nondescript hotel near a railway station, the favourite accommodation for assassins, maybe, there’s enough time for John to get the message that Zoe is not happy with him bringing along a hit squad.
And, they’re on the news, that is to say, they know who it is that’s on the news; the blurry figures are too indistinct for anyone else to identify them. It was disconcerting to be called criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.
Back in London, Sebastian is about to have a set-to with Worthington, who has decided that Sebastian is too close and might compromise his black op, so he’s sending him to Paris.
Here, we learn that Sebastian has both Isobel and Rupert locked in the basement cells, awaiting interrogation, and that Worthington orders him to send them home.
Of course, Sebastian is not going to do anything of the sort.
He knows they know where John is, and by implication, where Zoe is, and wants to know.
In the first edit, I suspect I will have to mention Sebastian ‘arresting’ Rupert and Isobel just to keep continuity, and no unfathomable surprises later on.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
It can relate to an object such as an engine in a car when sitting at traffic lights. Then the engine is not in gear or under any load, therefore it is idle.
That he is idle might mean he is currently not working or refuses to work. Then it could be said he is bone idle which is to say he is any or all of lazy, or shiftless, even indolent
It could refer to the time when nothing is happening.
It could also refer to money in accounts not earning any interest
How many of us indulge in idle chatter, which is meaningless?
And how many of us have made an idle threat, especially to a child who refuses to go to bed, or sleep.
This is not to be confused with idol
An idol is generally thought of as a representation of a god, one used as an object of worship.
An idol can also be a person who is greatly admired, like a celebrity or superstar or a hero.
It could also be a figment of the imagination.
Then there is idyll which could be an extremely happy place, or a picturesque period or situation, one that is unsustainable
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
08:30 – 09:15 | Stroll Around the Square
09:15 – 10:00 | Culinary Pit‑Stop
10:00 – 10:45 | Dive Deeper – Guided Mini‑Tour
10:45 – 11:30 | Cultural Finale
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 