Author: aloysius5

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!

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 38/39

Days 38 and 39 – Write a story that is difficult to write

I am trying to create a narrative that includes what I believe to be my grandmother’s manner

…

Now, it was back to cruising, heading for Toulon, and then Naples, and I’d spent a few hours on deck watching the Mediterranean go by, as well as other ships, and a fair number of naval vessels.

It was going to get very hot if war broke out, with the dreadnoughts and battleships facing off against each other.  It would make Nelson’s battle of Trafalgar look very tame indeed.

There was another chair near, and I heard it scrape softly across the floor, then stop.  I glanced over at the girl as she sat down.  She had a magazine in hand, perhaps bought at the railway station to read on the train down to Tilbury.  She glanced around, taking in the situation and appeared to have also assessed the relative peacefulness of the corner.

“Miss Rose, oops, sorry, Rosalie.”

She frowned, then smiled, perhaps accepting that my upbringing would get in the way for a while yet.  We had already decided on first names, though I usually forgot, and manners slipped in, adding a Miss before it.  I should have correctly addressed her as Miss Willshire, but that seemed too formal.

“Privately, like this, I shall call you David.”

“Of course, and I agree with you.  I believe we can blame Debrett’s for the naming protocol.”

She looked puzzled

“Sorry, again.  There’s a book issued every year with all the titled people from the king down.  My father is in there, and unfortunately, so am I.”

“I’ll have to find one.  What does it say about you?”

“Third son, no chance of becoming the Duke, and unmarried.  I don’t know why that would be significant.”

She smiled.  Clearly, she knew something I didn’t.  She said, with a half grin, “To some, you would make an excellent match.  I’m sure there are mothers with plans for their daughters to marry into nobility.  Even some on this ship.”

Again, there was that knowing expression, and I wondered if any of the other girls had said anything.  I hoped I wasn’t giving them or anyone else the wrong impression.

“The eligibles would be in first class.  It’s why I travel second. I’m not worth anything, despite having a job.  Bills to pay, lifestyle to maintain, it’s ridiculous that I have to maintain a standard so the rest of the family can keep up appearances.  You’re lucky.  I understand your father was a well-respected businessman.”

“He was.  Builder of mostly terraces, I think.  Sometimes he worked on specific public buildings.  There’s stonework of his on display in Abergavenny.  I mean to go there one day and see it.”

“Unlike my family, who have no claim to have created a lasting reminder of our existence.”  It often bothered me that we were not making a difference, not in a manner that anyone in a hundred years would look back and see evidence of it.

“What do your parents think of you going to Australia, of all places?”

“My father died about six years back, and my mother, five.  But if they were alive, perhaps they would be a little pensive.  But I am going to visit my uncle’s son, Henry, and his daughter Emma, who is two years older than me.  We have been corresponding for quite some years, and she suggested I might come out, especially now I’m an orphan, of sorts.”

“No brothers and sisters?”

“I would have had another older brother, but he died 17 months after being born.  I know my mother took a while to get over that.  And father, given he was a son.”

It was not spoken with rancour, but there was that undercurrent of how different boys were treated.

“But I have a few stepbrothers and sisters, so I’m not alone.  I get to see them as well as my uncles and aunts from time to time.  But enough about me, you are far more interesting.  Tell me about your family.”

I would have said the opposite was true, but I gave her my usual spiel without glorifying the aristocracy like my brothers would, without making it sound better or worse and with sensitivity to others’ situations.  Not everyone was lucky to have parents like mine; if it could be said, being mired in tradition and expectation was a blessing.

It was clear to me she was not rich but comfortable.  She had the education and manners of a girl who went to decent schools.  She spoke well and was knowledgeable enough to hold her own in a conversation.  She was, however, a little shy or perhaps reserved, and I found that a quality rather than a problem.

And best of all, she made pleasant company of the sort that a companionable silence would not be seen as awkward.

“So,” she said at the end of it, “all children are the same. They just live in different houses.”

“I wish I could say that for some of the children in first class.  Proper little spoilt brats they are.”

I could see from her expression that she agreed but remained silent on the subject.  Those children had nannies travelling with them, but that didn’t guarantee obedience.  In our class, there were no nannies, and the mother coped.  By and large, they were well behaved, and now that the ship school had kicked in, there weren’t so many running around.

“They probably don’t get to see their parents as often,” she said, “with nannies and servants looking after them.  I was lucky my nanny cared, as did the domestic staff.  My father was away for business a lot, but my mother was always there.

“Then you were indeed lucky.  I’m not sure how I would categorise my experience other than that a lot of it was at boarding school.  My brothers loved it.  I hated it.”

“And yet here you are, and a lawyer as well.  My father always talked of sending me to University, but he died before I was of age, and my mother, bless her soul, didn’t believe in girls getting higher education, that our world was one of running a house and having children.  Can’t say the idea of that has appealed to me, but I’m sure that’s where I’ll end up, like it or lump it.”

“Do you work?”

A momentary flash of the eyes.  “Of course.  I have to support myself.  I have a great job in the drapery department at a large store in Gillingham.  Slade and Sons.  They allowed me to live there after my mother died, and the house we had wasn’t ours, so I couldn’t live there.  I’ve been at Gillingham almost since I turned sixteen.  I have been working towards becoming a milliner.”

Clearly, she could see that as a man, I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I design and make hats for ladies, and sometimes they let me work on dresses.  I make all my own.”

For a confessed shop girl, she was so much more.  It explained the hat.  It explained her undeniable elegance, manner and self-confidence.

“Lady Penelope would absolutely love that blue hat you were wearing the day we boarded the ship.  It certainly stood out.”

She smiled.  “Thank you.”

Lady Penelope would like her dresses, too. “Perhaps if I give you an address, you could send a card.  I’m sure Lady Penelope would like to see what you can do for her.  She would definitely like your style.”

Understated but elegant, and yet I was sure Penelope would like to have a personal dress maker that wasn’t trying too hard to make a statement, the gist of her rant the last time she visited and bent my ear on a subject, there was no proper answer I could give to what I discovered was a rhetorical question.

I could see that the magazine she brought with her was about fashion.

“Again, thank you.  It is something I intend to explore when I go home.”

A steward appeared, and we ordered drinks.  I politely requested her to let me pay, but not in any way an obligation on her part for recompense.  I had an arrangement my father had set up, and why not lean on his generosity?

She accepted graciously, but I knew she would find a way to repay me.  It was going to make the voyage all the more interesting.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026

In a word: Angle

We all know this to be an intersection of two lines like a crossroad is at a 90-degree angle

But…

It’s an angle bracket that keeps the shelf up, hopefully with books on it.

Did you know that it was something someone did in order to get something?

She began to angle for an invitation to a party that she would not normally be invited to, or he has angled his answers to the prospective employer in a bid to be more likely to be selected for the position.

It can also refer to a position, or judgement, so that someone might say, try and see it from my angle, or another angle.

Or that it refers to fishing, and the fisherman or woman is known as an angler.

It can be a position from which something is viewed, or in crime parlance, the CSI people will work out the angle of the bullet’s entry do they can locate the position of the shooter.

Angle can refer to people of Germanic origin, such as an Anglo Saxon

And, here’s something even I didn’t know, in Astrology, it is each of the four cardinal points of a chart, from which the first, fourth, seventh, and tenth houses extend anticlockwise respectively.

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

strangerscover9

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 6

Let’s pause a minute, in space, to get it some measurements right

…

Out there, in space, it’s not like being on the highway, going from one side of the country to the other.

That, effectively, is only a few thousand miles, or kilometres as we now measured distance, the influence of the European countries attached to the space alliance.

But late at night, and astrophysics, or astrology, or whatever the science of space is called, is not a subject to take up, particularly when you’re tired.

The other night I was tired, and confused, and hence got all my numbers muddled up. The thing is, when numbers go up to billions, with all of them zeros, it could be confusing for everyone.

Or maybe it was just me.

But, the first constant is the speed of light. That’s approximately 1,079,251,200 km per hour, Pretty fast, eh.

But, as I’m told, nothing can go faster than the speed of light.

So, in this story, it’s a given.

Spaceship speeds, in this story, are measured as SSPDs.

SSPD 1,000 is the speed of light.

This new spaceship will not go that fast. It is capable of SSPD 5, but even then, it’s not recommended. So, we are, from the beginning, are going to accept that it will go SSPD 4.

Trials got it to 4.5, but that was when the design engineers were aboard and could fix any problems.

So how fast are the SSPD increments?

SSPD 1 is 1,079,251 km per hour. SSPD 2 is double that. That’s the fastest cruising speed the current ships can travel.

This new ship goes twice as fast so at SSPD 4 it can cruise at 4,317,004 km per hour.

Now, where I got everything wrong, is the distance of the planets from Earth, and the time it would take to get there.

Mars: about 56 million km when in line between the earth and the sun, but has a min of 54.5 million km

Venus: between 38 million and 261 million km

Mercury: averaging about 77 million km to a max of 222 million km

Jupiter: from a min of 588 million to a max of 968 million km

Saturn: from a min of 1.3 billion to 1.7 billion km

Uranus: from a min of 2.57 billion to 3.15 billion km

Neptune: from a min of 4.3 billion to 4.7 billion km

Since in the story, it’s possible the ship might be stopping at Mars briefly, the time it could possibly take, given the position of Mars at the time (about 60 million km), is about 14 hours.

As for the ultimate destination, Neptune, at 4.5 billion km approximately, it is going to take 1,042 hours, or 43.5 days.

Hopefully, I’m now over some of the confusion of distances between the planets, and will have some semblance of credible measurements and times.

…

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 25

This is an old chateau at the foot of a skiing area on the north island of New Zealand. It was once predominately advertised as a guest house for hikers in the summer months.

chateautongoriro

However, with fertile imaginations, we can come up with a whole different scenario.

Like, for instance, a haunted house, owned by an old and some might say creepy family, a place where few are invited, and those that are, approach the front door with trepidation.

It could be the family estate, the sort of place grandparents live, and their children consider themselves lucky to have escaped and their children, in turn, hate going there.

Of course, the opposite to that is that everyone loves going there for the holidays when the whole family gets together.

Then, a murder occurs…

It might also be a hotel in an unusual backdrop, where fugitives come to hide, or just one person from the city, trying to get away from a bad partner, or someone working there seeking a fresh start.

The truth is, there are any number of possibilities.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 44

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

I leaned back in the chair and shuddered.  It was not so much the cold as the stark realization before me, well, before all of us really.

The USB was gone.

But it was going to be impossible to convince any or all of Severin, Maury, and Nobbin.  Or for that matter Monica.  None of them were going to believe the explosion in the café was a deliberate act.  

But it did raise a question.

“How did whoever placed the bomb in the café know you and your contact were going to be there, and, for that matter, that either of you might have the USB?”

O’Connell seemed lost in thought.  After prodding him, I asked the question again.  His hesitation seemed to suggest that what he’d told me might be a lie, or a half-truth because the more I thought about it, the more implausible it sounded.  The other side of that was, what did he have to gain by lying?  Of no doubt, there was more to this story.

“There are more people involved in this than what you know.  Dobbin had me looking into a biological laboratory, one that was reportedly doing research on cures for various coronaviruses, like SARS.  The thing is, they had a store of nasties they were using as candidates for finding cures.

“The laboratory had been getting funding from the military so that to me meant they’d been working on weaponizing one of those nasty viruses, but there had been containment breach leading to a review, and they lost their funding.

“That, in turn, leads to the head of the company seeking funding from elsewhere, and that it was going to be an overseas government institution, one which they claimed commercial confidence so the donor could not be released.  Of course, our intelligence services went into a spin, thinking the worst, that it was either Russia or the Chinese, or some other rogue regime, and if they got their hands on those candidates, well, you can imagine the paranoia.

“There was also the problem of hacking, where various countries and/or individuals are looking for information to use for their own benefit, or to sell to the highest bidder.  That as far as I can tell is what happened here; it was not a case of external hacking, this was internal by one of the staff, downloading sensitive information onto the USB and smuggling it out.

“As soon as the breach was discovered, it triggered an internal review, which had a member of the military on the panel, and it concluded it was one of three ex-employees.  Dobbin gave me the three names, and I tracked them down.  One of the three had stolen the data, but far from stealing it to sell to the highest bidder, he had stolen it to pass on to a newspaper reporter, the person I was going to see.

“He could see the information was not the sort to be disseminated to the general public and wanted it returned.  I was going to get it.

“So, in answer to your question, it was possible that someone else had done the same as I had after I had visited each of the three, and decided to deal with the problem decisively.  But it would have required planning and an organization with infinite resources to pull it off.  Top of my list is the owners of the laboratory, simply because, they were not interested in getting the copy back, and the fact they didn’t want to have any witnesses, which meant the reporter and had to be silenced.”

“And the person who stole the information?”

“Burned to death in a house fire.  The fire department concluded it was a gas leak.”

“Helped by a person or persons unknown.”

“Given the distribution list of that final report, unless Dobbin has been moonlighting as an assassin, there’s only one other name on the list.”

No need to say it out loud.  That left one question, and probably a hundred others that wouldn’t get answers.

“What’s it to do with Severin and Maury?”

“That’s not their names.  Severin is really David Westcott, and Maury is Bernie Salvin.  Both used to be in the security detail at the company about three years ago when several biological entities were being researched, both of whom were assigned by the military to keep an eye on their investment.

“When the accident occurred, they were reassigned, but I suspect, at the time, they knew exactly what had happened, and what is involved.  It’s not a leap to come to the conclusion they had a shift in allegiance and may have helped the person who stole the information because there was no way the person who stole it had the knowledge to get it out.

“It was not something he would tell me.  That, he said, if he told me, would sign his death warrant.”

Which it did.  Was the original thief killed before or after the explosion?

“Do we Assume Severin is the man in charge?”

“No.  They’re basically blunt instruments, giving orders, and doing what they’re told.  We all are, to a certain extent.  This operation had someone else, someone far more clever, and connected.”

“But they did create a whole unit and train them in an existing facility without anyone knowing.”

“Is that you they told you?  And you believed them?  Nothing goes on in that place with an official sanction.  No.  Your operation was created on the books, but on the quiet so if anything went wrong, they could disavow any knowledge of it.  It went south and what happened?”

“They disavowed any knowledge of it.”

“And kept you on, only reassigned?”

“Those of us who survived, yes.”

“Then I suggest you watch your back and keep all of them at arm’s length.  You’ll only be useful until the USB is found, so you have to keep them believing it’s missing.”

“We’re not going to be able to do that forever.”

“No.  Which makes it imperative we find out who Severin and Maury’s bosses are and chop of the head.”

All while pretending he was dead.  Easier said than done.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Second Story 6

More about my second novel

…

OK. So the story is about Alistair’s mother seeking revenge on Zoe for killing her son.

She’s not the only one.

Zoe is or was an assassin. She had a substantial number of kills to her credit, but she doesn’t share numbers, so we won’t find out exactly how many, and others seek revenge, too.

One is co-incidentally, the head of the intelligence service John’s friend Sebastian works for, a man by the name of Worthington, who had a twin brother whom she killed by mistake.

He has been using his position in intelligence to track the woman who executed his brother for some time, and being in Venice at the time of the Alistair affair, he catches sight of Zoe recovering in a hospital after requesting to meet Sebastian’s newest recruit.

Of course, Sebastian is playing fast and loose with the truth, as always, but the damage is done.

Zoe, aka Mary Anne, aka Chantal, is now being hunted by three different people and has just had a bounty put on her head, guaranteeing even more people searching for her.

All while heading to a meeting in Marseilles about a freelance hit.

Yes, it’s going to be the proverbial rollercoaster ride…

If I only had one day to stop over in – Prague – what would I do?

One‑Day Stopover in Prague? Spend It All at Prague Castle

If you’ve only got a single day to soak up the magic of the Czech capital, there’s one place that will give you a crash‑course in history, architecture, and breathtaking views—all in one unforgettable stop.

Why Prague Castle is the Ultimate One‑Day Highlight

What you getHow it fits a tight schedule
A panoramic cityscape – From the castle’s highest towers you can see the Vltava River snaking through the red‑tiled roofs, the spires of St. Vitus, and the iconic Charles Bridge.Compact “must‑see” circuit – The main attractions (St. Vitus Cathedral, Old Royal Palace, Golden Lane) are within a 15‑minute walk of each other.
Layers of history – From a 9th‑century wooden fort to Habsburg‑era palaces, you’ll walk through more than a thousand years of Czech story in a couple of hours.Flexible timing – Even a 2‑hour “quick tour” feels complete; a deeper dive can stretch to 4‑5 hours if you have the time.
Iconic photo‑ops – Sunset over the city, the gilded Saint George statue, the winding golden lane – Instagram‑ready moments at every turn.Easy access – A short tram ride (or a 20‑minute walk from the Old Town) drops you right at the main gate; the castle is free to explore the courtyards, and ticketed sections are clearly marked.
Café culture – The castle grounds host charming cafés where you can sip a Czech “kafe” while the city bustles below.No language barrier – Audio guides in English (and many other languages) are available at the ticket windows, so you won’t miss a thing.

How to Make the Most of Your Castle Visit

1. Start Early – Get the Tram (Line 22) to “Pražský hrad”

The first tram out of Old Town Square (stop “Staroměstská”) arrives at the castle gates by 9 am. Beat the tourist crowds and the midday heat, and you’ll have the terrace of St. Vitus Cathedral all to yourself for that perfect sunrise shot.

2. Grab a Fast‑Pass Ticket (or Skip‑the‑Line App)

If you’re travelling in peak season (May‑September), buy a “Castle Pass” online before you land. It gives you priority entry to the St. Vitus Cathedral, Old Royal Palace, and Golden Lane—the three “must‑see” interiors. The pass costs about €12 and saves you 30‑45 minutes of waiting.

3. Follow the “Three‑Spot Circuit”

SpotTime NeededWhat to Spot
St. Vitus Cathedral30–45 minGothic spires, the stunning Astronomical Clock (different from the one in the Old Town), the royal tombs.
Old Royal Palace & Vladislav Hall30 minThe grand hall where coronations once took place; a glimpse of medieval frescoes.
Golden Lane20 minColorful tiny houses that once housed castle guards and later Alphonse Mucha’s studio.

Tip: Walk the circuit clockwise. It follows the natural flow of the historic layout and keeps you moving forward without backtracking.

4. Take a Break at Café Mlejnice (or the Castle’s “Cafe Kavárna”)

Around noon, let the castle’s own café treat you to a warm bowl of goulash with dumplings or a simple Czech pastry. Pair it with a mug of locally roasted coffee while you watch the city spread out below.

5. **Don’t Miss the Sunset from Rudolfinum Tower

If your schedule allows, stay until the late afternoon. The Rudolfinum Tower (a short 10‑minute walk from the main gate) offers a 360° view that transforms the city into a golden‑glow canvas—ideal for that final, memory‑making photo.

Quick Logistics Cheat Sheet

ItemDetail
Opening HoursCastle grounds 24 h; ticketed sites 9 am–5 pm (last entry 4:30 pm).
Entry FeeFree for the courtyards; €10–€12 for the “combined ticket.”
Getting ThereTram 22 (or 20) from Old Town → “Pražský hrad.” Walking distance from the Charles Bridge (≈20 min).
What to WearComfortable shoes (cobblestones), light rain jacket (prague weather is unpredictable), a small day‑pack (no large bags allowed in some interiors).
Nearby ToiletsPublic WC at the “Růžový palác” (Rose Palace) near the main entrance – free with ticket.
Kid‑FriendlyThe Golden Lane feels like a storybook; there’s a small kids’ treasure hunt map at the ticket office (free).

The One‑Day Itinerary (All Clock‑Times Approximate)

TimeActivity
08:30Arrive in Prague (airport or train). Grab a coffee and a quick bite at a bakery near the main station.
09:15Tram 22 to “Pražský hrad.”
09:45Enter castle gates, start the Three‑Spot Circuit (St. Vitus → Old Royal Palace → Golden Lane).
12:15Lunch break at the castle café (or a nearby traditional Czech restaurant in Malá Strana).
13:30Walk down the historic Lobkowicz Palace gardens (optional, free) toward the Charles Bridge.
14:30Stroll across the Charles Bridge, snap photos of the statues, and explore the Old Town Square if time permits.
16:00Return to the castle’s Rudolfinum Tower for sunset views.
17:30Head back to the airport/train station via tram 22 (or a taxi if you’re in a hurry).

Pro tip: If your flight departs late in the evening, you can swap the sunset view for a twilight walk along the Vltava’s embankment, enjoying the city lights reflecting on the water.

Wrap‑Up: Why One Spot Beats Ten

A bustling city like Prague tempts you to “see it all,” but a single, well‑chosen landmark can give you the essence of the place without the stress of a rushed checklist. Prague Castle packs history, culture, panoramic scenery, and that palpable sense of being at the heart of Europe—all in one compact, walkable area.

So, when your itinerary shrinks to a single day, set your compass for the castle walls, and let the city’s story unfold beneath your feet.

Ready to make your stopover unforgettable?
Book your tram ticket, snag a fast‑pass, and let Prague Castle be the unforgettable centrepiece of your Czech adventure.

Happy travels—and don’t forget to tag your sunrise castle photos with #PragueInADay!

What I learned about writing – Editing – 1

The message I’m getting from the inspirational piece is quite bluntly telling you, the author, to be ruthless.

But, is it as much about cutting words as it is about rearranging those you have better?

Some writers write chapters instead of paragraphs, paragraphs instead of sentences, and end up with a book the size of War and Peace. That is not to say Tolstoy should have taken a blue pencil to his work and made it 250 pages. It would not have made sense.

A friend of mine once told me that Harold Robbins was one of those writers who needed to be concise rather than verbose. I didn’t agree with him. I read all of Robbins’ books and loved them.

But…

It is always suggested that first, you write the story. Just get it all down on paper, or in a file on your computer. However long it takes to get it there. One of mine came in at 85,000 words. At the time, I was told the optimum size was around 50 to 60,000 words.

So, it came time for the first edit. I reduced it to around 45,000 words by tasking out what I first deemed unnecessary verbosity. Then I sent it to the editor, who told me there were gaps, gaps that ruined the continuity. He then asked for the missing pages.

I then made the second edit, and it came back at 78,000 words.

Three visits to the editor and four rewrites, the story now has 85,000 words again, but it reads much, much better. It was, in fact, a story I wrote originally about 50 years ago, at a time when love was new to me, and I didn’t understand girls or the myriad of mistakes you could make, and I think what I did back then was chronicle the path I took.

If I was hoping it would make it easier, I was wrong. It was not a revelation to discover that all women are different.

But I digress…

Editing can be about ruthless cutting, but it can also be about adding for clarity and continuity or to make a part of the story clearer by using context or backstory.

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025