For the first time on this trip, we encounter problems with Chinese officialdom at the railway station, though we were warned that this might occur.
We had a major problem with the security staff when they pulled everyone over with aerosols and confiscated them. We lost styling mousse, others lost hair spray, and the men, their shaving cream. But, to her credit, the tour guide did warn us they were stricter here, but her suggestion to be angry they were taking our stuff was probably not the right thing to do.
As with previous train bookings, the Chinese method of placing people in seats didn’t quite manage to keep couples traveling together, together on the train. It was an odd peculiarity which few of the passengers understood, nor did they conform, swapping seat allocations.
This train ride did not seem the same as the last two and I don’t think we had the same type of high-speed train type that we had for the last two. The carriages were different, there was only one toilet per carriage, and I don’t think we were going as fast.
But aside from that, we had 753 kilometers to travel with six stops before ours, two of which were very large cities, and then our stop, about four and a half hours later. With two minutes this time, to get the baggage off the team managed it in 40 seconds, a new record.
After slight disorientation getting off the train, we locate our guide, easily found by looking for the Trip-A-Deal flag. From there it’s a matter of getting into our respective groups and finding the bus.
As usual, the trip to the hotel was a long one, but we were traveling through a much brighter, and well lit, city.
As for our guide, we have him from now until the end of the tour. There are no more train rides, we will be taking the bus from city to city until we reach Shanghai. Good thing then that the bus is brand new, with that new car smell. Only issue, no USB charging point.
The Snowy Sea hotel.
It is finally a joy to get a room that is nothing short of great. It has a bathroom and thus privacy.
Everyone had to go find a supermarket to purchase replacements for the confiscated items. Luckily there was a huge supermarket just up from the hotel that had everything but the kitchen sink.
But, unlike where we live, the carpark is more of a scooter park!
It is also a small microcosm of Chinese life for the new more capitalistic oriented Chinese.
The next morning we get some idea of the scope of high-density living, though here, the buildings are not 30 stories tall, but still just as impressive.
These look like the medium density houses, but to the right of these are much larger buildings
The remarkable thing about this is those buildings stretch as far as the eye can see.
It was an easy choice from the start, yellow is a colour, in any number of shades from very pale to very dark.
We have yellow egg yolks, yet another y word, and depending on whether the eggs are farmed in cages or free range, can dictate the shade of yellow. Free-range gives the brightest yellow, by the way.
We have yellow cabs, but oddly enough, these cabs are orange, not yellow, as in this country, though the same may not be the case overseas, particularly in New York. Good thing they are bright yellow so you can see them coming if you are crossing the road, perhaps illegally.
We have yellow bananas and lemons, probably the most common answers when asked, what is yellow? That, and perhaps the yellow rose of Texas.
Then there is a more sinister meaning of the word, and it is associated with cowardice, and cowards are said to have a yellow streak down their backs.
If you have yellow fever, then you are in a whole world of pain.
You can sometimes have what appears to be yellow skin, a sign of jaundice.
There is a yellow sea, and then there are the yellow pages, sometimes a substitute name for a telephone directory of businesses.
And lastly, an expression that comes out of the past, and not used so much these days, but people from Asia were thought to have yellow skin.
A convoluted explanation on the reasons for this memorial came down to it being about the deaths of those involved in the 1923 Erqi strike, though we’re not really sure what the strike was about.
So, after a little research, this is what I found:
The current Erqi Tower was built in 1971 and was, historically, the tallest building in the city. It is a memorial to the Erqi strike and in memory of Lin Xiangqian and other railway workers who went on strike for their rights, which happened on February 7, 1923.
It has 14 floors and is 63 meters high. One of the features of this building is the view from the top, accessed by a spiral staircase, or an elevator, when it’s working (it was not at the time of our visit).
There seems to be an affinity with the number 27 with this building, in that
It’s the 27th memorial to be built
to commemorate the 27th workers’ strike
located in the 27th plaza of Zhengzhou City.
We drive to the middle of the city where we once again find traveling in kamikaze traffic more entertaining than the tourist points
When we get to the drop-off spot, it’s a 10-minute walk to the center square where the tower is located on one side. Getting there we had to pass a choke point of blaring music and people hawking goods, each echoing off the opposite wall to the point where it was deafening. Too much of it would be torture.
But, back to the tower…
It has 14 levels, but no one seemed interested in climbing the 14 or 16 levels to get to the top. The elevator was broken, and after the great wall episode, most of us are heartily sick of stairs.
The center square was quite large but paved in places with white tiles that oddly reflected the heat rather than absorb it. In the sun it was very warm.
Around the outside of two-thirds of the square, and crossing the roads, was an elevated walkway, which if you go from the first shops and around to the other end, you finish up, on the ground level, at Starbucks.
This is the Chinese version and once you get past the language barrier, the mixology range of cold fruity drinks are to die for, especially after all that walking. Mine was a predominantly peach flavor, with some jelly and apricot at the bottom. I was expecting sliced peaches but I prefer and liked the apricot half.
A drink and fruit together was a surprise.
Then it was the walk back to the meeting point and then into the hotel to use the happy house before rejoining the kamikaze traffic.
We are taken then to the train station for the 2:29 to our next destination, Suzhou, the Venice of the East.
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’.
Day 126 – The ‘we need a plan, and not enough time’ scenario
…
The Parkinson’s Paradox: Why You Need to Fake a Deadline to Actually Start Writing
If you gave a writer an entire year to finish a novel, they wouldn’t produce a masterpiece. They would produce a year’s worth of frantic, last-minute scribbling—preceded by eleven months of intense research into the mating habits of Victorian earthworms and the tactical evolution of the 1920s cheese grater.
It’s the writer’s curse: Parkinson’s Law.
The law states that work expands to fill the time available for its completion. If you have all the time in the world, the task becomes bloated, abstract, and paralyzingly heavy. We don’t write because we have time; we write because we have run out of it.
But what happens when the deadline is invisible? What do you do when you are your own boss, your own editor, and your own project manager? If you’re waiting for the “perfect moment” or the “clear schedule” to start your work, you are waiting for a ghost.
To produce, you must manufacture urgency. You have to trick your brain into believing the ship is sinking. Here is how to create an artificial “plan and not enough time” scenario to force your creativity into the light.
1. The “Public Humiliation” Pact
Nothing creates a sense of scarcity like the fear of looking incompetent. Put your money—or your pride—where your mouth is. Use a site like StickK or simply text a friend: “If I don’t send you 500 words by 5:00 PM today, I am Venmoing you $50.”
When the stakes move from “I’d like to do this” to “I am losing actual currency,” your brain stops dilly-dallying and starts typing.
2. The “Short Window” Sprint (The Pomodoro on Steroids)
We often procrastinate because the task feels infinite. To fix this, trap yourself in a corner. Tell yourself: I am going to work for exactly 45 minutes. When the timer hits zero, I am closing the laptop, regardless of whether I finished the sentence.
By creating an artificial endpoint, you turn writing into a sprint rather than a marathon. You no longer have the “luxury” of overthinking that paragraph structure because you only have six minutes left to get it down.
3. The “Accountability Partner” Ambush
Schedule a meeting or a check-in with someone before the work is actually ready. If you tell an editor or a writing buddy, “I’ll have the draft sent over by Thursday at lunch,” you have created an external deadline.
The pressure isn’t just about finishing; it’s about showing up. When you know someone is waiting for your email, the temptation to surf the internet loses its lustre.
4. The “Zero-Draft” Rule
Part of the reason we procrastinate is that we treat every writing session like a final draft. We edit as we go, which kills our momentum.
Instead, force an artificial “time crunch” by committing to a Zero Draft. Tell yourself you have to finish the entire piece in one sitting because “you’re leaving for the airport” (or whatever metaphor works for you). This forces you to ignore the inner critic and focus entirely on velocity. You can fix the typos later; you can’t fix a blank page.
The Bottom Line
Creativity thrives on constraints. When you have all the time in the world, you have no incentive to be decisive.
Stop waiting for the right moment. The right moment is a myth. The “perfect time” is an illusion that keeps you trapped in the cycle of research, surfing, and doodling. Stop playing the long game. Create a trap, set a timer, and make yourself run out of time.
You’ll find that when your back is against the wall, you don’t just write—you soar.
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.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now it looks like he’s been renditioned by his own people.
Seeing Colonel Bamfield made my blood run cold.
This wasn’t an old commanding officer coming to see one of his protégés after being almost killed in a bad accident.
This was a man checking up on me, and whether or not I had relayed any of the details of my incarceration at the mystery camp in the desert.
The thing is, he didn’t have to come calling if I had said anything Breeman would have reported it directly to her superiors.
No, he was here for another reason, and one I had no doubt I was not going to like.
Firstly, it was apparent the feelings of dislike and mistrust ran deep between the two, and I could see, on first sight, there had been something between them once, and it had exploded on someone, and I suspect it was Breeman.
Male officers of Bamfield rank rarely got into trouble for fraternising with lower ranked female officers. It was, I was told once, a man’s army, not for women.
And I expect Bamfield was old school.
He looked at me then at her. “How is our patient?”
Our patient? How did he have anything to do with me, unless he was reclaiming me for his command.
“Sergeant Digwater has a name, and he is not your patient.” The accompanying look on her face told me that Bamfield better be ready for war.
“Perhaps that might be the case for now, but I have given orders to temporarily detach Sergeant Digwater from this command and assign him temporally to mine so that he can be sent to our medical facility in Germany before being sent home. The sergeant has done enough for his country.”
Had I? It was customary to patch soldiers like me up if the injuries were not life-threatening, and then send them back to the front line. I had, as far as I was aware, a few broken bones, and nothing that a month or two of physical therapy wouldn’t put straight.
Besides, as a loner, I had made the Army my home, and where most of the people I knew were. As a civilian, I would be like a fish out of water.
“Do I get to choose what happens to me?” I spoke for the first time, directly at both of them.
Bamfield answered. “No.” Then gave me a genial look. “How are you, Sam. I’ve spoken to the doctors, and they say all you need is rest and recuperation and you’ll be as good as new. But I want to know how you feel?”
I gave him a measured look. “I would have to say a lot worse than a few days ago.”
His expression changed as a result of those words. Breeman’s expression was a lot more interesting, processing what that statement might mean.
She was about to ask when he interrupted her. “Understandable, since you were found unconscious in the cabin of the crashed aircraft. A case perhaps of a delayed reaction. You should tell the medics you need more pain killers.” He then turned to Breeman. “The sergeant will be evacuated at 0800 hours tomorrow morning. Until then, no one is to visit him until he is debriefed. Am I clear?”
Breeman stood. She was a good six inches shorter than Bamfield in stature, and at least 100 pound in weight. Still, she projected a formidable opponent.
“I take it that does not include me?”
“What part of everyone did you not understand?”
Fighting words and she was ready to take up the battle. Except, I think she knew she was outranked, and if push came to shove, it was not worth losing her command over the visiting of a lowly Sergeant. This was pulling rank at its worst.
“Something’s not right here,” she said. “And you can be assured I will get to the bottom of it.” A final glare in his direction and she left, almost slamming the ward door behind her.
Bamfield waited a moment to make sure she had left, then addressed me.
“What have you said about your time missing?”
“Nothing. If anything I was almost sure you’d turn up. I had no intention of telling her what happened to me because I’m not sure myself. I don’t remember having any broken bones.”
“You had to look like you were in a crash, not sitting in a cell for the time you were missing. I suggest you keep our discussion to yourself, and remember, we could have sent you back in a body bag. The debriefing crew will be here in an hour or so.”
“What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Whatever you want. It won’t go any further than them because they are assigned to me. Now, I have to work to get back to. I might see you again in Germany, but if I don’t, enjoy the rest of your life.”
The way he said it, I didn’t think this visit would be the last time I saw him. Like Breeman said, something was not right.
He had a brief word to the guard, another soldier he had brought with him, and left him on guard outside the ward door. It looked to me like he didn’t take Breeman at her word she wouldn’t return.
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledged that something had happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive, she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realises is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
Cecelia leaned against the door to close it. I was about three steps in front of her. Juliet had moved to stand behind the two women, each standing to the side and back far enough that if they were not deadly accurate, if they pulled the trigger, the bullets could go anywhere.
I put my hands out. No point looking threatening.
“Well,” I said, “This is about as good as it gets.”
The countess looked at me. “How so?”
“My brief.” I nodded towards Cecelia. “Our brief was to find you. We’ve found you. That’s it. We can go back to our lives now. You have no idea how much that pleases me.”
“And me,” Cecelia added. “I much preferred working in Venice. Why couldn’t you have gone to Venice, or Paris, or Athens? It’s time to go.” She put her hand on the door handle and started to open the door.
Vittoria was watching us the whole time, and her expression was getting more incredulous. “Not so fast. What are you talking about?”
“Vittoria, I presume,” I said to her. “You might want to put the guns down. We’re not here to hurt you, or take you away, or do anything, other than find you so I can tell my boss everything’s fine. Well, not you exactly, but the countess.”
“How do you know I want to be found,” the countess said, a look of surprise on her face also.
“That makes things a bit difficult now that we have. I must tell Mrs Rodby because she’s adamant something’s happened to you.”
I could hear the door close again and Cecelia took her hand off the handle. She might be a little confused but knew well enough to run with me. I wasn’t expecting the countess or guns. Nor had there been any pushback from Juliet against us coming to her flat, and she had to know her mother was waiting. Perhaps she didn’t know about the countess.
“She can be a busybody.” The countess sighed.
I felt a vibration in my pocket, the organisation’s standard-issued cell phone, supposedly untraceable. Supposedly. “Just give me a second.”
I pulled it out and swiped the screen. Alfie. ‘Is she there?’
So much for being untraceable. That being the case, I had the impression he could not hear anything, so we had a slight advantage, though he would be nearby, and he would know we had met up with Juliet. I typed in, ‘Hold your horses, outside the door!!!’. I hoped he got the inference, that barging through doors could be dangerous.
And it alerted me to a new problem. Rodby didn’t trust me to tell him, and that meant he had been hiding something from us.
“Alfie?” Cecelia asked.
“He knows we’re here.”
“How?”
“How, exactly.”
“Damn. You sure know how to give a girl a good time.” She pulled out her cell phone and was about the dismantle it when she saw me shake my head.
“What is…” the countess started to say.
I put my finger up to my lips as a sign for her not to talk.
I called him. “Something else Rodby forgot to tell me about, you becoming our shadow.”
“What can I say, Rodby knows you sometimes go off book, and this is Juliet.”
“Does he think I still have a thing for her? After Venice? The man has rocks in his head. You might want to remind him the next time you speak to him that I didn’t want to go on this rabbit hunt in the first place. My life was fine without a countess in it.”
The expressions on all three of the women’s faces were past incredulous, wondering what was going on.
“Is she there?”
“I’ll ask Cecelia, she just got back. She thought she saw both Juliet and the countess, but it’s dark and the lighting in the building isn’t that great. I’m in the flat now, and I’m sure the countess was here. I remember her perfume”.
Cecelia chimed in. “They got away. It was the countess. She’s fine though I don’t know why they would run from us. What are you not telling us.”
When I didn’t hear a response, I saw that he had hung up.
The countess lowered her weapon and turned to Vittoria. “Lower the gun. He’s not here to cause problems.”
“You know who he is?” She lowered the weapon but not so far that she couldn’t use it if I became a threat. She’d been around guns which made it a curious skill for a once servant girl.
“Yes. He escorted me to the opera. I suspected you might be one of Rodby’s agents.”
“Ex. He seems to think I want to do this search and rescue instead of retiring. He’s wrong. Retirement suits me. Right now, I’m, missing out on salmon fishing in Scotland. Oh, and going on a whiskey trail. But for the moment that’s the least of our concerns.” I looked at Juliet. “Do you have another way out of this place?”
“What do you think. You’re not the only one who thrives on paranoia.”
I’m sitting at my desk surrounded by any number of scraps of paper with more storylines, written excerpts, parts of stories, and a number of chapters of a work in progress.
Does this happen to anyone else?
The business of writing requires a talent to keep focused on the one project and silence all the other screaming voices in your head, pouring out their side of the story.
But it’s not working.
I try to be determined in my efforts to edit my current completed novel, after letting it ‘rest’ in my head for a few months.
I planned to have some time off, but all of those prisoners in my head started clamouring for my attention. A story I started some time ago needs revising, another story I wrote last year of NANOWRIMO has come back to haunt me, and characters, well, they’re out in the waiting room, pacing up and down, ready to tell me their life stories.
Is the temporary cure coffee or wine?
Now I think I really do need a holiday
Or a trip to the asylum. Thank God this is not the early 20th century, or I might never return. And if it’s named Bellview, it would be just another story to be written.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 