I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a 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
Jan hailed a taxi and had it drop us off a block from her building. It was agreed that we would not just arrive out the front and trust to luck that everything would be fine.
I had a feeling that Nobbin would have come to the same conclusion I had, that it was possible the USB might be in the neighbor’s flat. I’m sure Josephine hadn’t thought of that possibility. Severin had, but I suspect he might not know of the cat.
Nor would Nobbin.
We did a circuit of the building before going in. There were no suspicious cars, nr anyone lurking in the shadows. If we had surveillance, it was really good, or there was none. I preferred to think the latter option was right. After all, neither Nobbin nor Severin knew exactly where I was.
Jan unlicked the front door and we went into the brightly lit foyer.
During the day there was a concierge sitting at the desk. At night, it was empty. The building manager couldn’t afford 24-hour security, beyond the bright lights, and camera in each quadrant recording the comings and goings of residents. I’m not sure how Josephine got in, but I would have like to have the time to go through the old footage to check on O’Connell in the past, and Josephine, if she came through the front door, recently.
I glanced at the monitor, at present on screen saver mode, then followed Jan to the elevator lobby.
She pressed the button to go up, and the doors to the left-hand elevator opened. We stepped in, she pressed the floor button, the doors closed, and we slowly went up.
It hesitated at the floor, jerked up about an inch or two, then a click signified it was level and the doors opened.
I could see her door from the elevator. As we got closer, I could see it was open, ajar by about half an inch. There was no tell-tale strip of light behind the opening so it could mean someone was in her flat searching by torchlight, or there was no one there.
After a minute waiting to see if there was a moving light somewhere in the flat, it remained dark.
Standing behind me, I could see she had pulled a gun out of her handbag and had it in one hand ready to use. She could have used it any time since we first met, but she hadn’t.
I pushed the door open slowly, and thankfully it didn’t make a creaking sound. Wide enough to walk in, I took a few tentative steps into the first room. There was little light, and my eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness.
I could feel her going past me, further into the room, and with the gun raised and in two hands to steady the shot. She took more steps, slowly towards the passage leading to her bedroom, I assumed, as it was a reverse copy of that next door, O’Connell’s.
There was no one in this part of the flat, and she had disappeared up the corridor and into her room. Nothing there either.
“Clear,” she called out.
I stepped back to close and lock the door. At the same time, she switched on the main room light and for a second it was almost blinding.
When my sight cleared, I could see the signs of a search, furniture tipped over, books dragged from the shelves, other items tossed on the floor, one of which was a vase, now broken into a number of pieces.
“Looks like they were in a hurry,” she said.
“Or frustrated.” I could see clear marks of an item that had been thrown against the wall and dented the plasterwork. The broken shards of the ornament were on the ground beneath the indentation.
I heard her sigh when she saw the broken pieces.
“Not the best way to treat a genuine Wedgewood antique.”
She disappeared into the bedroom again, and I could hear her calling the cat, Tibbles. Interesting name for a cat.
I didn’t hear it answer back. It was probably traumatized after the breaking and the smashing of crockery.
I had a quick look in places I thought the cat might hide, but it was not in any of them. And, oddly enough, no traces of cat hair. Usually, cats left fur wherever they lay down. At least one cat I knew did that.
She came back empty-handed.
“I think it’s done a runner,” she said. “He’s not in the usual place he hides, nor under the bed, or under the covers, as he sometimes does, usually when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Well, it was a good idea. We might have to search outside. The cat was allowed to go outside?”
“He’d escape, yes, but no. O’Connell thought if he got out, he’d get run over. It’s a reasonably busy road outside.”
“Better out there than in here, though. Open windows?”
She did a quick check, but none were open.
“Did O’Connell ever come in here?”
“Once or twice, but he only dropped in if he was going away to ask if I would look after the cat, or when he came back. Never further than the front door.”
“Knowing who is was, now, do you think he might have come in and hidden the USB in here?”
“He might, but there isn’t anywhere I could think he could put it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
Both of us heard the scratching sound at the front door, not the sort made by a cat trying to get in, but by someone using a tool to unlock the door.
Who Should Tell the Story? Choosing the Right Narrator for Maximum Impact
Every story begins with a voice. Whether it’s a whisper from the shadows, a confession shouted from the rooftops, or a quiet journal entry scribbled at midnight, the way a story is told is just as important as what happens in it. One of the most crucial decisions a writer makes—often before writing a single sentence—is who will tell the story.
Will it be the protagonist, standing front and centre, eyes wide open to every triumph and tragedy? The casual observer, sipping tea on the periphery while chaos unfolds nearby? Or perhaps a bit player—the stagehand who sees everything but is barely seen?
Each narrative perspective offers unique strengths, limitations, and emotional textures. Let’s explore the three classic choices and discover when each one shines.
1. The Protagonist: The Heart of the Storm
When the main character narrates their own story, readers are granted intimate access to their thoughts, fears, dreams, and flaws. Think of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye, or Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games. We don’t just witness the journey—we live it.
Strengths:
Deep emotional connection. Readers bond with the narrator through raw honesty and vulnerability.
A strong voice and personality can elevate the entire tone of the story.
Immediate stakes. When the protagonist speaks, every danger feels personal.
Best Used When:
The story is about personal transformation or internal conflict.
Voice is a critical element (e.g., a sarcastic teen, a traumatised veteran).
You want readers to empathise deeply with the character’s choices—even when they’re flawed.
Caution: A protagonist-narrator can be limited by their own biases and blind spots. You lose the ability to show scenes they weren’t present for, and if the character isn’t compelling, the whole narrative risks falling flat.
2. The Casual Observer: The Quiet Witness
This narrator isn’t swept up in the central action, but stands just close enough to see—and interpret—it all. Think of Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, watching Gatsby’s rise and fall with a mix of fascination and detachment. Or Dr Watson, chronicling Sherlock Holmes’ genius with admiration and occasional bewilderment.
Strengths:
Offers a more objective lens while still being emotionally engaged.
Can provide commentary and reflection, adding layers of meaning.
Freedom to step back and describe the bigger picture or societal context.
Best Used When:
The protagonist is mysterious, unreliable, or larger-than-life.
You want to explore themes like perception, memory, or social critique.
The story gains power through contrast—what the observer sees versus what they understand.
Caution: It’s easy for an observer to become passive. To work well, they still need their own arc, stakes, and reasons for telling the story. Otherwise, they risk feeling like a camera on a tripod—recording, but not quite living.
3. The Bit Player: The Unlikely Truth-Teller
These are the characters we might overlook—the secretary, the neighbour, the childhood friend who drifted away. Yet when they take the microphone, their perspective can be revelatory. Consider “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” by Agatha Christie, in which the seemingly minor character of Dr Sheppard upends everything through his narration.
Strengths:
Surprise factor. Readers don’t expect depth or insight from minor characters—so when they deliver, it’s powerful.
Access to multiple characters and private moments without being the centre of attention.
Can subtly manipulate tone and truth, especially if they have hidden motives.
Best Used When:
You want to subvert expectations or play with unreliability.
The story benefits from a grounded, realistic perspective amid larger-than-life events.
The theme involves invisibility, power dynamics, or the unnoticed threads that hold society together.
Caution: A bit player narrator must be given enough presence and reason to tell the story. Why them? What stakes do they have? Without proper setup, their narration can feel contrived.
So, Who Should Tell Your Story?
Ask yourself:
Whose journey matters most? If it’s deeply personal, go with the protagonist.
Is the truth elusive? An observer or bit player might reveal it more effectively.
What tone do you want? Intimate and urgent? Detached and reflective? Ironic and unreliable?
Sometimes, the magic isn’t in who lives the story, but in who tells it. The same event—a betrayal, a wedding, a war—can feel entirely different depending on whether it’s recounted by the hero, the bystander, or the one who cleaned up the aftermath.
The voice you choose doesn’t just shape the narrative—it shapes the reader’s soul.
So next time you begin a story, don’t just ask, What happens? Ask, Who gets to say it happened?
Because in storytelling, perspective isn’t just everything— It’s the only thing.
A Day in Venice: Making the Most of Your 24-Hour Stopover
Venice, the City of Water, is a place that has captivated the hearts of travellers for centuries. With its stunning architecture, rich history, and unique culture, it’s no wonder that Venice is a top destination for many. But what if you only have a day to spend in this enchanting city? Is it possible to make the most of your 24-hour stopover and create unforgettable memories? The answer is yes, and it all starts with visiting one iconic place: St. Mark’s Square.
The Heart of Venice: St. Mark’s Square
Located in the heart of Venice, St. Mark’s Square (Piazza San Marco) is the city’s most famous landmark and a must-visit destination for any traveller. This stunning square is surrounded by breathtaking architecture, including the magnificent St. Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace, and the Campanile di San Marco (St. Mark’s Bell Tower). As you step into the square, you’ll be struck by the sheer beauty and grandeur of your surroundings.
Why St. Mark’s Square is a Must-Visit
So, what makes St. Mark’s Square the perfect place to visit during your one-day stopover in Venice? Here are just a few reasons:
Unparalleled Architecture: The square is home to some of the most stunning examples of Byzantine architecture in the world, including the intricate mosaics and golden domes of St. Mark’s Basilica.
Rich History: St. Mark’s Square has been the centre of Venetian life for centuries, with a history dating back to the 9th century. You can almost feel the weight of history as you walk through the square.
Cultural Significance: The square is a hub of cultural activity, with street performers, musicians, and artists adding to the lively atmosphere.
Accessibility: St. Mark’s Square is easily accessible by vaporetto (water bus) or on foot, making it a convenient destination for travellers with limited time.
Tips for Visiting St. Mark’s Square
To make the most of your visit to St. Mark’s Square, here are a few tips to keep in mind:
Arrive Early: Get to the square early in the morning to avoid the crowds and enjoy a more peaceful atmosphere.
Dress Modestly: Remember to dress modestly when visiting the basilica, as it’s a place of worship.
Take a Guided Tour: Consider taking a guided tour of the square and its surrounding attractions to get a deeper understanding of the history and culture.
Enjoy the Views: Don’t forget to take in the stunning views of the square from the top of the Campanile di San Marco, which offers breathtaking vistas of the city.
Conclusion
In conclusion, St. Mark’s Square is the perfect destination for travellers with a one-day stopover in Venice. With its stunning architecture, rich history, and cultural significance, this iconic square is sure to leave a lasting impression. By visiting St. Mark’s Square, you’ll be able to experience the essence of Venice and create unforgettable memories of your time in this enchanting city. So, make the most of your 24-hour stopover and head to St. Mark’s Square – you won’t regret it!
Today, under the guise of words of wisdom, we have a concept that if he wrote it, he could get rid of it.
OK, does that mean the writing goes from the pad straight into the bin? I’m sure all of has had a moment like that more than once.
Or is there something a lot deeper going on here?
I’m going with deep because there is another line. He had gotten rid of many things by writing them.
So does that mean if I write about the things that bug me, they’ll go away?
Sounds interesting.
My slant on this is. If you could write out all your problems and imagine a different, happier ending to all of them. I mean, I don’t really want to send my younger brother to the moon, but the thought is there.
I’m thinking that it might be a way to not pay expensive shrinks to analyse your problems, you could do it yourself, write the problems down like a quadratic equation, and solve them yourself.
Or work out how to send your brother to the moon yourself without having to plead with or pay millions of dollars to NASA.
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!
Parisian Odyssey: Making Memories in 24 Hours at the Eiffel Tower Subtitle: How to Craft an Unforgettable Day in the City of Light
Paris—the city where every cobbled street hums with history, every café table holds a story, and every landmark feels plucked from a dream. But when time is your most coveted luxury (and you’re stuck with just 24 hours), where do you begin? While the Louvre, Notre-Dame, and Montmartre all clamour for attention, there’s one icon that transcends mere sightseeing: the Eiffel Tower. More than a landmark, it’s the heartbeat of Paris. Here’s how to make your brief stopover a day you’ll remember forever.
Morning: Conquer the Iron Lady
Start your day early at the Eiffel Tower to avoid crowds. A pre-booked ticket to the top is non-negotiable—trust us, skipping the queue will save precious minutes. Ascend the 125 meters to the second floor for a panoramic view of the city: the Seine slicing through neighbourhoods, the distant dome of Sacré-Cœur, and the green sprawl of the Bois de Boulogne. If you’re energetic, the 164 steps to the first level (1,710 total to the top) are free, though the lift is worth it for efficiency.
Pro Tip: Grab a pastis or croissant from one of the restaurants on the first floor. It’s breakfast with a view!
Midday: Stroll the Champs-Élysées Backdrop
The Eiffel Tower isn’t an island—it’s a focal point for some of Paris’s most iconic scenery. Walk west toward the Champs-Élysées, a 1.2-mile boulevard that’s the epitome of Parisian glamour. Stop at the Arc de Triomphe for a photo (and climb for an even more divine view), then cruise past luxury shops like Dior and Louis Vuitton. You don’t need to spend a cent—just bask in the je ne sais quoi of Parisian elegance.
Unexpected Detour: Veer south to Trocadéro Gardens, a sprawling park with fountains and shaded paths. It’s a peaceful respite and the perfect spot to picnic with a baguette and fromage from a nearby market.
Afternoon: Seine Secrets and Hidden Gems
By 3 PM, head to the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower is visible from nearly every bridge here, but two spots are must-sees:
Pont d’Iéna (military museum) for a photo-perfect view of the tower against the sunset.
Rive Gauche Promenade for a leisurely walk past Left Bank cafés and the Institut de France.
If time allows, hop on a 1-hour Seine River cruise. As the boat glides past bridges and monuments, the Eiffel Tower will loom like a guardian, its silhouette contrasting with Haussmann-era architecture.
Evening: Twilight Magic and Farewell Glows
As dusk falls, make your way to Port de la Conférence (just south of the Eiffel Tower) or Pont National. Here, you’ll witness the tower’s daily ritual: a sparkling display every hour, where over 20,000 bulbs twinkle for five minutes. It’s romantic, awe-inspiring, and utterly unique to Paris.
Culinary Finale: Dine at a Seine-side restaurant like Le Jules Verne (inside the Eiffel Tower, reservations essential) or Café de l’Escargot for a jazz-tinged bistro vibe. Either way, you’ll cap off your day with the tower as your backdrop.
Why the Eiffel Tower?
In a day, you can’t do everything in Paris. You can’t visit every museum, every bakery, or every cabaret. But with the Eiffel Tower as your anchor, you’ll experience the city’s soul:
Iconic Energy: It’s the symbol of Paris you’ll recognise in movies, music, and literature.
Versatile Vibe: From bustling tourist hub to tranquil riverside retreat, it adapts to your dream.
Time Efficiency: Its centrality lets you explore adjacent neighbourhoods without exhausting yourself.
A 24-hour stopover is fleeting, but a day spent weaving through the Eiffel Tower’s orbit? That’s an hourglass filled with light, history, and memories.
Final Thought: Paris isn’t just seen—it’s felt. Choose the Eiffel Tower, and let it sweep you off your feet. After all, you’re not just visiting a city. You’re stepping into a masterpiece.
Who Should Tell the Story? Choosing the Right Narrator for Maximum Impact
Every story begins with a voice. Whether it’s a whisper from the shadows, a confession shouted from the rooftops, or a quiet journal entry scribbled at midnight, the way a story is told is just as important as what happens in it. One of the most crucial decisions a writer makes—often before writing a single sentence—is who will tell the story.
Will it be the protagonist, standing front and centre, eyes wide open to every triumph and tragedy? The casual observer, sipping tea on the periphery while chaos unfolds nearby? Or perhaps a bit player—the stagehand who sees everything but is barely seen?
Each narrative perspective offers unique strengths, limitations, and emotional textures. Let’s explore the three classic choices and discover when each one shines.
1. The Protagonist: The Heart of the Storm
When the main character narrates their own story, readers are granted intimate access to their thoughts, fears, dreams, and flaws. Think of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye, or Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games. We don’t just witness the journey—we live it.
Strengths:
Deep emotional connection. Readers bond with the narrator through raw honesty and vulnerability.
A strong voice and personality can elevate the entire tone of the story.
Immediate stakes. When the protagonist speaks, every danger feels personal.
Best Used When:
The story is about personal transformation or internal conflict.
Voice is a critical element (e.g., a sarcastic teen, a traumatised veteran).
You want readers to empathise deeply with the character’s choices—even when they’re flawed.
Caution: A protagonist-narrator can be limited by their own biases and blind spots. You lose the ability to show scenes they weren’t present for, and if the character isn’t compelling, the whole narrative risks falling flat.
2. The Casual Observer: The Quiet Witness
This narrator isn’t swept up in the central action, but stands just close enough to see—and interpret—it all. Think of Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, watching Gatsby’s rise and fall with a mix of fascination and detachment. Or Dr Watson, chronicling Sherlock Holmes’ genius with admiration and occasional bewilderment.
Strengths:
Offers a more objective lens while still being emotionally engaged.
Can provide commentary and reflection, adding layers of meaning.
Freedom to step back and describe the bigger picture or societal context.
Best Used When:
The protagonist is mysterious, unreliable, or larger-than-life.
You want to explore themes like perception, memory, or social critique.
The story gains power through contrast—what the observer sees versus what they understand.
Caution: It’s easy for an observer to become passive. To work well, they still need their own arc, stakes, and reasons for telling the story. Otherwise, they risk feeling like a camera on a tripod—recording, but not quite living.
3. The Bit Player: The Unlikely Truth-Teller
These are the characters we might overlook—the secretary, the neighbour, the childhood friend who drifted away. Yet when they take the microphone, their perspective can be revelatory. Consider “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” by Agatha Christie, in which the seemingly minor character of Dr Sheppard upends everything through his narration.
Strengths:
Surprise factor. Readers don’t expect depth or insight from minor characters—so when they deliver, it’s powerful.
Access to multiple characters and private moments without being the centre of attention.
Can subtly manipulate tone and truth, especially if they have hidden motives.
Best Used When:
You want to subvert expectations or play with unreliability.
The story benefits from a grounded, realistic perspective amid larger-than-life events.
The theme involves invisibility, power dynamics, or the unnoticed threads that hold society together.
Caution: A bit player narrator must be given enough presence and reason to tell the story. Why them? What stakes do they have? Without proper setup, their narration can feel contrived.
So, Who Should Tell Your Story?
Ask yourself:
Whose journey matters most? If it’s deeply personal, go with the protagonist.
Is the truth elusive? An observer or bit player might reveal it more effectively.
What tone do you want? Intimate and urgent? Detached and reflective? Ironic and unreliable?
Sometimes, the magic isn’t in who lives the story, but in who tells it. The same event—a betrayal, a wedding, a war—can feel entirely different depending on whether it’s recounted by the hero, the bystander, or the one who cleaned up the aftermath.
The voice you choose doesn’t just shape the narrative—it shapes the reader’s soul.
So next time you begin a story, don’t just ask, What happens? Ask, Who gets to say it happened?
Because in storytelling, perspective isn’t just everything— It’s the only thing.
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’.
Firstly, of course, means definitely so, and can be said when a revelation is realised, or sarcastically if the answer is obvious.
Then there’s a course, like a golf course where people chase a small usually white ball, sometimes to be found on a fairway, but more often than not in a bunker, in the water, or in the thicket.
It’s meant to be calming, but I’m betting more than one heart attack has been brought on by a slice, a six shot bunker exit, or any more than three putts on the green.
There’s also mini golf courses, less challenging, sometimes.
That course could also be the part of a creek or a river.
It can be a set of classes that makes up a course, I did a course in English literature
Then, rather topically, over the course of the election there was [you fill in the rest]
Then there’s my favourite, a four course dinner
Or when I’m unwell a course of antibiotics.
And lastly, in a supermarket how often does the trolley in front of you unexpectedly and randomly change course?
This is not to be confused with coarse
Which to be honest can be used sometimes to describe people who swear or are abrupt. They were coarse people, that is unrefined. These people often use coarse language and tell course jokes, meaning crude and offensive
It had a coarse texture, ie it was rough not smooth
And then there’s Corse which is not exactly an English word, but can refer to a corpse or dead body.
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.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 