Category: blogging

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 2

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Finally, the ship got clear of the wharf, avoided a collision with a barge that strayed a little too close, and had me as captain of the Titanic, worried about people drawing parallels with the barge becoming an iceberg.

But…

I got the first two chapters done, more or less as I wanted them, but, as you would expect, once you start editing, there are minor shifts in the way it plays out.

It’s fine, however, and I’m not going to change it.

The story is running according to the script, and it worries me. You know how it goes, everything’s great until the engines break down.

Perhaps I should be more optimistic rather than pessimistic.

But, sadly, not so much written today as I’d hoped.

Smoother seas tomorrow one hopes!

“The Things We Do For Love” – Coming soon


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 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.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

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.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2020

“Return to sender” a short story

We all make mistakes, errors of judgment, stupidly or otherwise.

I’ve made a few, just like in the words of a song that rattled around in my head for a long time after.

Regrets, I’ve had a few, but there was one that, in the end, I didn’t.

But I guess it took a while to get to that point.

Sometimes it’s hard to work out why, sometimes because it’s simply time, others, well when you look back you realize that it should have happened for so many reasons, but at the time you couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

We were in a bad place.

I’d been spending too much time traveling in a job that I had begun to hate, and I could see our relationship slipping away.  It was not that neither of us cared for the other, or even stopped loving each other, it was simply the stresses of everyday life.

And it was not as if Chloe didn’t have a high-pressure job, the one she had always wanted, and the one, we agreed, nothing would get in the way if she was given the opportunity.

I was happy with that, and for her.  She was as entitled to have her dream job, as I was.  I thought, I think we both thought, and believed, that would be the foundation of a good relationship.

And it was, to begin with.

There’s a point where there is a catalyst, that action, or statement, or person, or moment in time that comes along like a wrecking ball, and sets a series of events in motion, and no one really knows where it’s going to land or it’s effect.

That event?

I came home early and saw an old friend of mine, Roger, leaving our house.  OK, not so much a big deal, except for the send-off.  Still, even then it might not be such a big deal, because I knew Chloe was a very affectionate, touchy feely sort of person.

It used to faze me, way back in the beginning, but she had said and proved, that I was the love of her life, and that others, well, she made them feel special.

I thought no more about it, of course, and I didn’t even mention it, though at the time when I did walk in the door, she seemed distracted.

And I would not have thought about it again until Roger’s wife, Melissa, called one morning, though why she would call me was a mystery, to say that she was planning to surprise Roger in Las Vegas.

OK, I was suitably surprised, thinking that she was suggesting that Chloe and I should both go and make a weekend of it.  We had done it before because Melissa was a travel agent, and sometimes got airline and hotel deals that made it affordable.

I remember saying that as far as I was aware Chloe was in Pasadena doe the week on a conference.

No, she said, Chloe was co-incidentally in Las Vegas and Roger had accidentally run into her.

Should alarm bells be going off, I wondered, when that sliver of memory of him leaving popped back into my mind?  No, it was just me, running around like a headless chook, failing to read her diary correctly.

I simply said, fine, and told her to make the arrangements.

It was going to be a surprise because I hadn’t seen Chloe for two or three weeks, time seemed to pass too quickly these days, and it would be good for the both of us to spend some time together, away from home and the stresses of our respective jobs.

…

I met Melissa at the airport.  Unlike Chloe, she was traveling light with only a carry-on bag.  I was used to moving fast and light with a bag that fitted in the overhead locker.

Sher had secured business class which was a treat because, in this day and age of economics, that perk had disappeared a while back and was only available to the senior staff.

Onto the fourth glass of champagne, she dropped her bombshell, whether deliberate or otherwise I was never sure.

“It was very nice of Chloe to find Roger a job in her company.”

Did she, I thought.  It was the first time I’d heard about it, and my expression must have given me away.

“You didn’t know.”

“Chloe never mentioned it, no.  But it is like her.”  She had also employed members of her family that, in my opinion, wouldn’t get a job anywhere else.

“Odd, don’t you think?  It’s been about a year now.  His company went broke, and all the employees were tossed out onto the street with nothing.”

A year was a long time to forget to tell someone.  “Has it.  Perhaps it just slipped her mind.  She doesn’t tell me everything that goes on, nor do I want to know unless she thinks it’s important.”

Except employing my best friend was important, and it surprised me that he hadn’t told me himself.  He was never backward in bragging about his achievements.  Odd, yes, that he hadn’t told me he’d lost his other job.

…

Melissa had found out the hotel they were staying in, how I had no idea and didn’t ask, and it was simply a matter of telling the front desk clerk their spouses had arrived, and without question, he handed over the keys.

They were staying on different floors which to me made sense.  I wasn’t expecting they would be staying together, but I had an awful feeling Melissa had.

On the floor, I went to the room and knocked on the door.

A minute later the door opened.  Chloe, still in her nightgown, and an expression which lasted a fraction of a second before it registered surprise.

“Tom!”

Any other time, I might have thought she was expecting someone else.

Then my phone buzzed, an incoming message and I looked at it.

From Melissa.  “Lobby, now.”

I looked up, thought how beautiful she still looked, and said, “Hold that thought.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then I closed the door and headed for the elevators.

Once inside and going down, my brain finally registered what it had just seen.  A woman prime for sex with that lustful look she used to have when we were first married.  Yes, she had been expecting someone, only not me.

Yet, in that moment of realization, I wasn’t mad at her or angry.  She was exactly where she was because of me, and my lack of consideration.  I had several opportunities to toss in the job that was clearly causing us issues, and I didn’t.  It was inevitable we were going to end up here.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I looked for Melissa, but she was not immediately noticeable.  Then, a further scan showed she was outside, and not in a good state.  When I reached her, it was evident she had been crying, and she was angry.

“Is it what I think you’re going to say?”

She nodded.  “When he opened the door, his first words were, “Chloe you sly fox, back for seconds?  And then nearly had a heart attack when he saw me.

“I’m sorry.  But did you have an idea this might happen?”

She nodded.

It explained everything, the hints, the sadness, the trip.  Obviously, she had known about it for some time.

I gave her a hug, and she melted into my arms, and we stayed that way until I saw Roger coming out of the elevator, looking around.

“Roger’s coming,” I said.

“I don’t want to see him, much less talk to him.”

“Then I’ll head him off.  Do you want to go home?” Again she nodded.  “Then get a taxi to the airport and I’ll be along in a short time.  I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”

A quick look in Roger’s direction, she headed to the taxi rank, and just as Roger came out the door, her taxi departed, leaving him standing there.

He saw me coming towards him, and to give him credit, he didn’t run.  It would be difficult for him to know exactly how I might react.

“Tom.”

“My best friend, Roger.  I might have been able to cope if it was some random guy, but not you.”

“Look…”

If he was going to try and justify himself, or make excuses, I didn’t want to hear it.  “Now is not the time.  I’m going to take Melissa home, and I suggest you take the time to figure out how you are going to deal with her because I’m not the problem.”

He was going to reply but possibly thought twice about it.  Instead, he shrugged.  “Later then.”

I watched him go back inside.  What I should have done, then, was go back to see Chloe.  The thing is, I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want the conversation to descend into blame, or worse.  Better I just head for the airport and come to grips with what I was going to do next.

…

As expected, about five minutes after the taxi had left for the airport, Chloe called.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said.  Her tone was not confident, but a little bit hesitant.

“Sorry.  Roger came looking for Melissa, and seeing him, well, that just threw me.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you?”

“About?”

“Going to Pasadena.  I came here to end it because it made me realize what was missing between us, and I wanted it back.”

“And if Melissa hadn’t played out her worst fears that would have worked.  The world, it seems, works in mysterious ways.”

If I thought about it, I might have had suspicions, but I was not the sort of person to let them get the better of me.  And had it not been for Melissa, my ignorance would have been bliss.

“What is it telling us, then, Tom?”

“That we need to take a step back.  I know that I’m to blame as much as anything else, and although you might find it hard to believe, I don’t hate you, nor am I angry with you.  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.  I saw the signs and I didn’t do anything about it.  We’ll talk when you come home.”

I disconnected the call.  My voice had broken, and I hadn’t realized just how much it had affected me, suddenly overcome with great sadness.

…

I didn’t go home.

On the plane back, I realized that where I lived was just a house.  It wasn’t mine, Chloe’s success had contributed most towards it, and everything else.  If I was to be objective, there really wasn’t anything of me there.

It was easy to walk away.

When Chloe came home and found me missing, she called, three times before I answered.  I had thought long and hard about what we had together, and whether or not we could get over what had happened.  Perhaps, if she hadn’t lied about where she was, perhaps if it had not been Roger, my best friend, who, by the way, was no longer my best friend, I might have considered we had a chance.

But the trust was broken, and I’d always be wondering.  She was successful, she had everything she ever wanted, and she was a grown woman who had to take responsibility for her actions.

She would always be the love of my life; it’s just I couldn’t live with her.  We spoke about divorce, but it never seemed to happen.  I think she always had the notion that we would eventually get back together.

We parted friends but never seemed to travel in the same circles.  On our twentieth wedding anniversary, she sent me a letter, perhaps thinking it was the only way she could speak to me, I had long since traded my old phone in for a new one, in another country.

I toyed with the idea of reading it, but in the end scrawled on it black capital letters, “Not known at this address, return to sender”.  It was time to move on.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

I find myself in a very strange world

And I don’t know how I got here. I have a sneaking suspicion that I stepped through a portal, only I didn’t recognise it as one until I reached this side.

I say this side because the world I’m in now is not the world I remember from a while back, well, perhaps a year or so. Time passes very slowly here.

Before everything made sense, China didn’t hate us, and we had just finished touring some of the most remarkable sights of that very country.

There was no coronavirus and I didn’t fear for my life, and the fact I had a compromised immune system didn’t matter a hoot, except for the constant pain in my lower back and hands, the result of psoriatic arthritis going berserk as I get older.

My grandchildren were in school, alternately loving and hating it, and every Friday I would get one from school and she would tell me how her world was hell, and I had no idea what it was like.

Another would start all her sentences with ‘basically’, and the other would end hers with ‘like’.

I would lament the fact our schools no longer teach proper English, and we could sit around and talk about the YA novel I was writing for them, and that they were the characters in this mythical kingdom. And, yes, they are princesses, if not crotchety one day, and all smiles and goodness the next.

And, in an instant, that whole world was blown away.

Am I angry? I was. A year is too long to be mad at everyone and everything.

Have I a different outlook on life? Yes, I live every day as if it was my last, because the truth is, it just might be.

Can I travel anywhere? No. There’s too much risk in a world where few people under the age of 65 care about consequences.

Is there a reason to live? You may well ask.

I have thought about this often, lying awake in bed every morning, asking myself why I would bother getting up. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do very much.

But…

We have here an almost remarkable record in keeping the coronavirus at bay, so we have some freedom. We can’t leave the country, and every other month a state or two closes its borders, so travelling outside the state is too risky. The schools are back, and I resumed pick-up duties last Friday, and, yes, the sweetness of the complaints about school life is like music to my ears.

Have I a reason to live? Yes. There are three girls, and grandchildren, one 13, one 16, and one 19. The 13-year-old is in the first year of secondary school, the 16-year-old lamenting the fourth year of secondary school, and the 19-year-old is about to embark on the terrors of tertiary education. She can also drive herself, a shred of independence that has changed her outlook, going from a child to someone more mature.

I hadn’t realized how much their lives were in such a constant state of change. Nor had I realized how much they prefer to tell me about it rather than their parents.

So, the answer to that deep and meaningful question is, is there a reason to live?

Yes. We can have so many things we think are essential to living our lives taken away, but in the end, they are all but superficial. You can lose a car, some of your mobility, a house, or any sort of chattel, but they are insignificant. What matters most, and always will, is family. I’m lucky, and indeed, extremely grateful, to have mine so near.

Now I suppose I should be getting to bed. Tomorrow, I have just been informed, I’m rostered on in what is known as ‘poppy’s taxi’.

And ready to hear the next enthralling episode of school life these days.

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

Back on the alien vessel

…

Here’s the thing.

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

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

“Sir?”

“Are you still with the alien group?”

“Yes sir, awaiting orders?”

“Is the spokesman for the prisoners nearby?”

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

“You wish to speak to me?” 

An odd thought, they all sounded the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

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

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

“And this leader…”

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

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

“Sir.”

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

“Sir?”

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

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

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

“Under protest, but I understand.  Sir.”

“Number one?”

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

“Second?”

“Sir?”

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

“Understood.”

It was the precise moment the alien captain returned.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you are prepared to return the prisoners.”

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

“And if that’s not possible?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Members of the high council?

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 3

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Overnight I had a brainstorm. You know how it is when you start editing, you get to the end of a chapter, and thoughts turn to the next chapter, or, quite possibly the overall structure of the book.

This part I’m working on now seems to lend itself to a separate section, and I’m tentatively calling this Part One, it will deal with a specific set of events that will lead into the start of the main story, which, at the moment will seem like we’re in a different world.

But that’s the inevitable situation when you are charting the two major characters, one who comes from the very sort of background the other aspires to get into. When we pick up his character, it’s in a place he never expected to be and has to try and move on from there.

However, I’m not even ready to edit that part of the story, and I have to get my mind back in the current game and come back to that later.

The trouble is my mind is not going to stop fretting about it, and I hope it doesn’t affect what I’m trying to edit now.

Ok, Chapter Five…

Searching for locations: Vancouver, Canada – 3

It’s always a given that whatever city you stay in unless it’s overnight, you go on a tour and see the sights.

Even when you’re staying a short distance from the city, you may make the effort to catch a train or bus, then get on the hop on hop off tour.  There’s always one in just about every city you visit.

Vancouver was no exception.

Except…

We arrived in the rain, went to sleep while the rain came down, woke up to the rain, and a heavy dose of jet lag or perhaps it was more that we had spent 24 and a half hours traveling from Brisbane to Vancouver via Shanghai.

We had an excellent view out the window of our room looking towards the shopping mall, and the steady falling rain.

 I felt sorry watching the construction workers on the building site that was the main vista we had to look at.

It could have been worse.  Endless mountains with snow on them.

What to do.  Venture out in the rain and go on the tour, on pop over to the shopping mall and pick up a few boxing day bargains, no, sorry, boxing week bargains.

We have had some experience going on hop on hop off tours in open-top buses in the rain.  And the last time was not a pleasant experience, even though we learned a valuable lesson, not to stand in front of a cannon and yell ‘fire’.  Apparently, that’s how Admiral Nelson lost his arm.

But…

The shopping mall won.

We’d wait and see if the weather improved.  Hang on, isn’t Vancouver near Seattle and doesn’t it rain 300 days of the year?

Not holding my breath.

I feel sorry for the construction workers again.  Still raining, still cold, and still no reason to get out of bed.

Day 2 in Vancouver turned out to be the same as day 1.

Hang on, there’s a development.

We’re on the 16th floor and up at those lofty heights, we can see not only the rain but intermingled with it a few flakes of snow.

Whilst we procrastinate about what we’re going to do, the snowflakes increase into small flurries.

Yep, we’re off to the mall again and go for a walk in the snow.

On the way back we drop into the Boston Pizza, which has a sports bar and there you can sit, drink, eat, and watch the ice hockey, or whatever sort is going at the time.

Today it’s a junior ice hockey tournament, but Canada was not playing.  Just the same, a long cold beer and ice hockey? How close to heaven is that?

I can now cross that off the bucket list.

Day 3, we’re going on a great rail journey, well, we are going to get the train to the city and collect the rental car, a car on the booking form that was supposedly a Jeep Grand Cherokee or similar.

Of course, ‘or similar’ are the words to be feared here because in truth the rental company can throw anything at you, so long as it matches the brief, three people and three large suitcases.

And, you guessed it…

The ‘or similar’ got us a Fort Flex.

Sounded like some place where exhausted soldiers were fending of the Indians in a last ditch battle.

Perhaps one or two too many American movies I think.

Burning the midnight oil

It’s an interesting phrase, one that means someone is working overtime at the office till late at night, or early next morning.

You know, “Been burning the midnight oil again, Frank?”

It prompted me to look up its real meaning.  It goes back to the days before electricity where a worker toiled into the night using only an oil lamp or candles.

In my office, I now have LED lights that are reasonably bright, not like the neon lights I used to have that made me feel like I was in a television studio.  Either way, it’s not quite the atmosphere needed when looking for inspiration.

That inspiration might be better attained in a more subdued atmosphere, perhaps even using candles.  In one of the other rooms, we have a wood fire and that projects a very soothing glow, as well as providing warmth, and there I sit sometimes, Galaxy Tab in hand, writing.

But all of that aside, those hours leading up to and after midnight are the best time for me to write.

At times the silence is deafening, another rather quaint but relatively true expression.

At others, there are what I call the sounds of silence, which for some reason are much easier to hear than during the daylight hours.

The bark of a dog.

The rustle of leaves in the trees.

The soft pattering of rain on the roof.

The sound of a train horn from a long way away.

The sound of a truck using its brakes on the highway, also a long way away.

The sound of people talking in the street.

I’ve never really thought about it until now, but it will be something I can use in one of my stories.

Perhaps it will be the theme of another.

Damn, sidetracked again!

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 14

Larry has a plan

…

I watched Juliet head back towards the hotel, joining the throng of tourists out walking in the refreshing night air before going back to their hotels.

The walk along the grand canal was particularly good and I’d taken it more than once over the years.  Perhaps I would again, tonight, before retiring to contemplate the next move in what was becoming a chess game.

Why had Larry decided after all this time to come after me?  And why the softly softly approach?  In bringing up Kerry’s mother in the conversation, it gave me the idea that perhaps I could ask her.

Of course given the fractious nature of the relationship between her and her son she might not know, but it was worth calling her if only to touch base after so long.  I was sure she would know about what happened to Violetta and understand.

Just before she disappeared from sight I could see her answering a call on her cell phone.  No doubt Larry was looking for more information after the revelations she had relayed to him.

Doing what I had was the equivalent of a double-edged sword, as the saying goes.  On the one hand, he might consider her had the advantage of knowing when and where I was going, but on the other, I knew he would be waiting, and therefore be prepared, though often preparation counted for nothing with unpredictable people like him.

Still, it was done now.  It also threw up another interesting sidebar, that Juliet didn’t like Cecilia if only for the reason she was with me.  Was it jealousy?  Surely she could not still have any feelings for me after all this time, and what she had gone through?

But, in normal circumstances, had she not been involved in this charade, and I had accidentally run into her in the street, what might my feelings be?  They had been all over the place that last time, following a near-death experience, and when my service was in its infancy.  It was a time when a lot of young agents got caught up in the euphoria of action, and some made fatal mistakes.

I had used one of my nine lives then, and several more since, before retiring.  I had never intended to return, but circumstances change, and whatever I may have wanted might have to take a back seat until this matter was sorted.  Then Rodby would make his play, as he always had, citing the losing battle we faced without people like me steering the ship in the right direction.

He was great with analogies, and praise, and putting you in a position where saying no was almost a crime against the state.  A bridge I would have to cross eventually.

The restaurant was closing for the night and a waiter came to gently tell us to leave.  It wasn’t late, but it was time to go.

I didn’t get far before a message appeared on my phone, a rendezvous outside the Doges Palace.  Alfie no doubt had the gist of the incoming call Juliet received not a half-hour before.

He was loitering inconspicuously when I found him, pretending to have an animated conversation with someone on the other end of his cell phone, speaking and gesturing as all Italians seemed to do.

He waved when he saw me, then wound up the fictitious call.

“Perhaps you should also be in the movies.  That was a very eloquent performance.”

He smiled.  “It wouldn’t fool too many people.”

“Is this about Juliet’s call?”

He looked surprised.

“I saw her get a call after she left me to go back to the hotel.”

“Of course.  And, yes.  He seems very upset you called him a moron.”

“If the shoe fits…  Don’t tell me he rang her just to vent over me calling him names.”

“No.  Just to tell her where and when she had to take you to your impending doom.  Seems the wait is over, and since you announced you’re going to visit his mother, he thought it was a perfect opportunity.”

I thought later, after I mentioned it, that it might present him with the means, and to use Juliet of who I would not suspect of luring me into a trap.  It was, in a way, on his part, very clever.

“What was her response?”

“A few choices words, and the fact she was not that close she could make such a request.”

“And let me guess, if she wants to see her brother again, come up with a plan?”

“More or less.  Do you really want to do this, this way?”

“Forewarned is forearmed.  It’s better than going in blind.  Is Cecilia a trained sniper?”

Many years ago Rodby insisted all his agents be trained to the highest proficiency in using a wide variety of guns.  I was in the first intake to benefit, and I had to say, sniper work was the best.

“She is.”

“Then I’ll talk to her. And get her there ahead of time, you too if possible, unless your operating Rodby’s chessboard in Italy.”

“No, I can take time out.  But I insist we have a solid plan before doing this.  No ad hoc, spur-of-the-moment stuff that Rodby tells me you’re famous for.”

Sometimes it was the only way, because the more people who knew, the less chance of success, particularly if there was a foreign mole in your midst.

“You’ll know everything as soon as I do.  Trust me.”

His look told me she did everything but trust me.  “You think you might get a visit in the night?”

“Should I sleep with Cecilia just to make it more interesting?”

“She’s not your personal toy to play with.”

“Wasn’t going to.  It’s just to make Juliet edgier, which, if she saw Cecilia in her pajamas, might push a button and catches her off guard.”

“It’s your call.  Let me know when the plan is set.”

Another thought came to mind, something I’d been thinking about.  “We don’t know where Larry has the bother holed up?  As I understand it, his on a video link so it’s not out in the wide-open spaces.”

“Not at the moment, but we’re working on it.  If it’s relevant I’ll let you know.  It would give us an advantage if we had him, but at the moment, it’s not on the table.  If and when you meet up with  Larry, he will be asking you a lot of questions.

And, as if he hadn’t been there at all, he was gone.  What was worrying was the reappearance of the Frenchman, nearby, and it was clear he had been following either me or Juliet.  There was no doubt he’d seen me with Alfie, but since the whole conversation had been conducted in Italian, it was hard to tell what he would have made of it.

Time would tell.  I would take a walk, consider the options and then go back to the hotel.

© Charles Heath 2022