Category: Blog

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2024 – K is for  Keep it to yourself

…

The trouble with being told to ‘keep it to yourself’ I’d that quite often, later, and unexpectedly, it comes back to bite you.

I was put in that position, once, by my younger sister Josephine when she started dating this charismatic older boy she met when he came to her college as a substitute teacher.

I met him once and I didn’t like him.  He was the sort of person that you just know is bad, if not evil.  I told her so, but that didn’t seem to have any effect.  Perhaps it was only men who saw it because all her friends agreed with her; he was dreamy.

It was not as if we had any idea she would do anything silly, because at college she was away, and very lax at reporting back that everything was fine, so as far as we knew it was.  Our parents had cut her some slack after she complained they were smothering her.

I thought there was a good reason for that, but she persuaded them, like she always did, to loosen the shackles as she called them.  It seemed to work, six months passed, and everything was fine.

Until…

I was going home, and I had to pass the college so thought I would surprise her with a visit.  I went to the cafeteria where she and her friends spent every waking moment only to find two of the girls she was studying with.

Jo was not there.  Two of her friends were Debbie and Anne.  I’d met them once before when I’d dropped in.  “How is she doing?” I asked, not what I was going to ask, which was, where was she?

“Oh,” Debbie said hesitantly, “I thought you knew.  She dropped out and said she was going home.  Didn’t she tell you?”

She knew I wasn’t at home and was not as regular at communicating as I should be.  It also appeared to me she knew more but was reluctant to say more.

“No.  But I’m always the last to know.  I’ll call home and talk to her.”  I knew Jo’s aversion to cell phones, so I couldn’t call her directly.  “But she did say the last time I was here, she was losing interest.  Thanks anyway.”

Walking from the cafeteria to the car park, I had a thought and made a slight detour via the main office.

There was no one at the counter, so I pressed the button on the counter and heard a distant buzzing sound.  Three or four minutes later an elderly lady shuffled out from behind a half-closed door.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.  I’m looking for my cousin, Albert Dmitri, he’s a teacher here.”

Her facial expression told me that she recognised the name, but her manner suggested that she didn’t like him.  She looked me up and down as people do when making an assessment.

“He no longer works here.”

The way she said it told me that there would be no further discussion, and that told me everything I needed to know, and probably not what I wanted to hear.  And the look she gave me, that being ‘tarred with the same brush’ made me shiver.

My initial assessment of him was right.

“Thank you for your help, ma’am.”

I don’t think I needed to ask any more questions.  I made it to the car and was just about to get in when I heard a voice calling my name.

I looked over the car roof to see Anne walking quickly towards me.  I waited until she arrived, slightly out of breath.

She took several deep breaths before saying, “She didn’t go home, not directly.  She had told me a week before she left that Albert had invited her to stay for a few days at his chalet in Banff.  She didn’t mention it again, just told me she didn’t like school anymore and was going home.  Nothing about Albert, which made me think she went.  She did say before she left that if anyone asked about Albert and her, I should keep it to myself, that it was nothing but a flirtation.”

‘You think it was more?”

“He was obsessed with her.  Certainly, he didn’t respect the boundaries between a student and a responsible adult, and she was not the only one.  I personally now think he’s a creepy guy.  You say you haven’t heard from her?”

“I haven’t, no, which is not exactly a red flag.  I’ll get home and see if she is there.  She probably is because our parents haven’t said anything otherwise.”

“I hope so. She hasn’t called or texted or written, which considering our friendship is unusual.  Let me know when you find out.  I’d hate anything to happen to her.  I told her once she was too trusting.”

“I’m sure everything will be alright.  And thanks. “

I always felt a sense of well-being the moment I walked in the front door of what I had always called home.  It was a house that had been handed down through the generations, and one day, it would be mine.

We had never known any other address, and I had grown up here, went to grade and middle school here, and had all my friends here, and family too.

Josephine and I were the only two who had strayed from town, seeking lives elsewhere as a part of the process of living our lives, but there was never any doubt we would come home.  Our brothers had always been content to stay, aspiring only to learn or work on the ranch, marry local girls, and start families.  My turn would come, one day.

The outside world, my father said, was just a distraction.  Everything we really needed was here.  I was inclined to agree with him.

Andy Barnes, one of the farm hands, was outside tending the kitchen garden.  Coincidentally, he was Josephine’s first love, and she had promised him that when she returned, they would be married.

He would wait until the end of the world, which was how much he loved her, but with this new fellow she was smitten with, I was not sure where that plan was. I wondered if she had said anything but wasn’t going to bring it up unless he did.

He didn’t, just waving and getting back to work.

I dropped my bag in the front hall and went through to the back of the house where my mother would be, or should I say where she usually was.

On the way, I steeled myself for the expected barrage of questions, mostly centred around why I had not found a nice woman I would want to marry and start a family, and my mother was not the only one to get on that horse.

So much for the surprise, she was not there.  But there was bread in the oven, and jam bubbling on the cooktop.  She wasn’t very far away.

I went over to the jam pot and had a peek.

“Ah, there you are.”  My mother had come inside from the back doorway with a basket of vegetables.  “Andy said you had arrived.  Did you see Jo on the way?”

I had told her I would drop in.  Perhaps I should have kept that to myself and made a mental note for the next time.  “I did, and she wasn’t there.  I spoke to her friends.  Busy, busy, busy.”

“Then you didn’t find out if she was coming home for Christmas.”

“I didn’t see her, remember.  Maybe I’ll be luckier when I return.  I’ll call her but you know what she’s like.”

She looked me up and down as mothers do, checking to see if I was taller, heavier, lighter, or stressed.  Everything was stressful on the roads these days.

“I’ll leave that in your hands.  You haven’t changed.”  She said the final verdict.  “Are you still working at that dreadful place?”

I’d taken on employment in a private detective agency that seemed to only deal with divorces and scandalous affairs.  I was getting quite adept at covert surveillance.

“It’s just a job,”

“You should be doing more with your life with those three degrees and such.”

She dropped the vegetable basket on the kitchen bench and stirred the jam, then gave me a welcome hug.

The bread had a short time to go.  Fresh bread and jam were looking good.

It seemed that Jo had not told our parents anything, so she could be anywhere, but my best guess was that she had gone with Albert Dmitri.  The only lead was Banff.  I would stay a day or two, then go find her, before our parents found out what she’d done.

Before I left home, I called my boss at the investigation agency and told him my suspicions, and he agreed to do a search on Dmitri.  I had a photograph of him with Jo taken when he didn’t know I had.  The first time I tried, he got very defensive, and that was one of the red flags that started to bother me.

He said I could do it when I returned, but I told him I was in the Banff area where Dmitri had a cabin, and if that was the case, I would go there.

He asked if I needed help from one of their enforcers, men who did the hard tasks like bodyguard, or backup in certain investigations when they were dealing with violent targets.

I thought it would be a good idea.  I had no idea what to expect.  He would meet me in Banff.

I think by the time I left home, sooner than I intended, and no matter how hard I tried to hide it, my mother knew something was wrong and that it involved Jo.

She gave me one of those looks, the one that said I know you’re not telling me something, gave me a hug, and said, call me when you see Jo, and let her know we love her.

“I think she already knows that.”

“Maybe so, but since you’ve both grown up, we don’t say it often enough.”

“Then I will.  I’ll get her to call you.”

What I received in my email several hours into the trip to Banff didn’t fill me with confidence.

From the photographs, the investigation of his case uncovered four different names and employment in various provincial universities or tertiary education institutions where there were missing girls.

We might have uncovered a serial killer, or at the very least predator.

The investigation into relatives and property was ongoing, but they needed to find out his real name because all they had so far were aliases.

The Banff police had been notified of the investigation, and I was told to visit an RCMP officer who had been working on the theory that the university disappearances were connected.  He was very interested in speaking to me and was laying the necessary groundwork to make Jo an official missing person, though I had to ask him to hold off until we had more on Dmitri because we had the advantage of knowing about him and he not knowing we had that information.  Publishing it would spook him, and he would disappear.

There was more available when I arrived at the Banff police station, I had Dmitri’s real name, and the fact his father, now deceased, owned a cabin in Canmore near the Palliser Trail.  That was conveyed to me but the company agent that had been sent to help me, and we agreed not to tell the police yet.  The agent, Phillip Rogers, was going to conduct discreet surveillance on the cabin and see if he was there or anyone else.  At the very least, he was hoping to thoroughly check the cabin itself while I was talking to the Police.

The officer’s name was Hercule Benoit and was a specialist in finding missing persons.  He’d been working on what he called the university disappearances for two years and had uncovered 13 cases, some of whom simply left, for various reasons, without telling anyone, and later found alive.  Two were dead, not necessarily murdered, but there were six missing possibly dead.  For us to eliminate you from our enquiries, we will require you to tell us where you were for five specific periods in the past seven years.

Jo was one he didn’t have on his list, simply because she left after telling those closest to her what seemed to be the truth, and everyone took it for granted.  Other cases in his book had done the same, suggesting a pattern.

And yes, each could be assumed to be connected with the departure some weeks later of a teacher, young, and able, though the descriptions were different, the base details were the same, height, weight, and mannerisms.  The differencing details were hair colour and length, beard, moustache, eye colour, glasses, dress style, and speech patterns or language.

Dmitri spoke like a refined Russian immigrant.  Another had a French accent, and one had none.  To my mind, Dmitri had theatrical training and could disguise himself, and I suspect the girls he took with him altered their appearance too. I was expecting Jo to look very different.

The question would be whether she was under his spell or if she was coerced or threatened.

It was Benoit’s plan to visit the cabin where I believed we would find Dmitri.  I was not going to tell him and take Rogers with me, but I had second thoughts because it might prejudice any chance of getting the truth, or later justice if we made a mistake.

There was also the possibility that Dmitri would run once alerted we were on to him, and we’d never find him, or Jo, though right now I was more hoping that believing she would be unharmed.

So, the new plan Benoit and I would visit, and Rogers, whom I had not told Benoit about, would maintain surveillance, and if Dmitri tried to run, he would stop him.  I didn’t ask him how he would do it. It was best not to know.

Then, suddenly, we had stopped outside the cabin, next to a RAM 2500, which Rogers had texted belonged to the man in the photograph he had sent me, a man who looked like Dmitri but was externally different.

This time, he had very short blonde hair and was wearing thick glasses accentuating blindness and was about 20 to 30 pounds lighter.  Out of the business suit and dressed like a lumberjack, unless you could be positive, he was hardly recognisable.

That same man answered the door, taking in the police vehicle, the RMCP officer in uniform, which was quite daunting even for me, and then he looked at me, squinting through those glasses.

Perhaps he hoped that flicker of recognition would be hidden behind the layers of glass, but it was not.  I glared at him until she turned back to Benoit.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

“There might not be.  Do you mind if we come in, Mr Francois?”

The office had discovered that the photo of Dmitri was that of Antoine Francoise, originally from Montreal and the grandson of Albert Francoise, the heir to a fortune the family had made from the Railways and shipping.

Dmitri or Antoine didn’t need to work, and it appeared kidnapping and murdering college girls was his hobby.  Perhaps he had the belief that being rich, the laws didn’t apply to him.

“Not unless you have a warrant or evidence, I’ve done anything wrong.”

And the arrogance to go with it.  I saw Benoit’s expression change and not for the better.

“If that’s the way you want this to go, Mr Francois, so be it.” He pulled out his cell phone and started dialling a number.

Perhaps the notion of giving a dozen police crawling all over his property changed his mind.  “I’m sorry.  I can be a little prickly in the morning.  By all means, come in.” He stepped to one side, and we went in.

“Good choice.”

The cabin looked to have a main room with a kitchen, a dinner table, set for one, a fireplace and two chairs, one looking very used, the other less so, and a bedroom, door open, bed unmade, what one might expect of a single man living on his own.

“What’s this about?”

“A man with similar features to you has been identified as a suspect in a kidnapping case, well, more than one.  You are one of three men picked out of a set of photographs of male teachers who worked at various colleges and universities where girls have disappeared or been found dead.  For us to eliminate you from our enquiries, you will need to tell us where you were for five specific periods over the last seven years.”

I was watching Antoine carefully, and he was good, showing no emotional response to what was tantamount to an outright accusation.  Didn’t bat an eyelid, as the saying goes.

“That’s a particularly tall order, as you can imagine.  But, I’m sure you are well aware of who I am, and as it turns out, a philanthropist with an office and a gaggle of assistants running it, shouldn’t be too hard.  I will make a call and have that information on your desk tomorrow morning.  Is that all?”

“We’d like to have a look around?”

I watched Antoine very carefully as Benoit asked the question, and had I not been carefully watching his eyes, which flicked to a carpet square under the dining table for a fraction of a second, I would have missed it.

“Here?  There’s only two rooms, what you see is all there is.”

Benoit shrugged and perhaps conveyed the fact a demolition team could beg to differ in his expression because a moment later Antoine waved his hand, “Search away.”

Benoit missed the inference, but I didn’t.  Why use the word search when there was no reason for us to, if he was not guilty.  I would mention it to Benoit after we left.

The search took all of a minute.  There was nothing to confirm anyone, but Antione lived there, and then only temporarily.  There was a half-filled suitcase on a corner and a few items hanging in a closet.  He had not been there long nor apparently staying.

“Thank you, Mr Francois.  I will be expecting your communication tomorrow.  We will speak further on this.”

Antoine was eager to get us out the door, but she didn’t push it.  He was, in my opinion, slightly agitated and definitely guilty of something.

Of course, it might be my imagination, or simply that I wanted it to be him, inventing in my mind those two tells, but it felt like it was him because I had that creepily feeling when I saw him after opening the door, and initially reactions were usually right.

He remained on the doorstep watching us leave.  I watched him watch us.

“It’s him,” I said. “I’m sure of it.  Innocent people don’t ask for search warrants.”

“You’d be surprised. If it is, he’s long practised at being what I would call detached.  And he’s had a string of assault charges, all dismissed.  Money talks, especially lots of it.”

“What’s the next step?”

“Wait for his alibi.  He’ll already have one for each of the dates with photographic evidence.  Mark my words.  People like him have alibis before they need them.  The thing about that cabin is that it’s a manufactured scene, everything in its place, and a place for everything.  In other words, staged.  He knew we were coming.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2024

…

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 92

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20160922_162007

This is Chester.  He’s been missing a lot.

It’s the confined to quarters thing he doesn’t understand.  We had the discussion about the coronavirus, and the need to stay at home and only go out when there is a reason to go out, like to get food.

Which brought up another concern that he didn’t let go of,  that he didn’t think we had enough cat food or cat litter, or treats, though he didn’t define what he meant by treats.

I assumed it was real fish.

I didn’t tell him that it was a treat for us too, the cost of Barramundi and Salmon just a little expensive for pensioners.

Not that he remembered that we have been pensioners since April last year.

I swear that cat is getting more forgetful.  And, yes, that was another heated debate, whether he was getting dementia.

So, now he’s been taking to his hiding places, and keeping away from me, coming out only to get a pat or two from my other half, and give me the daggers look.  And eat, though some nights he turns his nose up at it.

You can tell his displeased because some of it ends up in his water bowl, and then sits by the water bowl and moans and groans till the water’s replaced.

I swear I’m going to go bonkers if we are forced to stay in the same place much longer.

His annual visit to the vet is coming up, and maybe I can get something for his grumpiness.

 

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 41

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

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

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

Chasing leads, maybe

—

I gave it about five minutes before I think I started breathing again and then headed back to Jennifer.

Or where I thought I had left her.

She wasn’t there. I think, in the end, it didn’t surprise me. She had been reluctant from the start so if I had to guess, she had done a bunk. This was not her fight, nor mine, but she had a ticket out. Why would you want to come back after being betrayed by the likes of Severin and Maury?

I hope she left the car behind.

Now that I was here there was no point leaving, so I took a few minutes to search the surrounding area, just in case she was still here, just someplace else, and when she wasn’t, I quickly and silently made my way back to the side of the house with the open door from a different direction.

There was another set of French doors, these curtained, and with an overhead light above the doorway, so I kept my distance in case there was a movement activator, another which looked to be a servant’s entrance at the back. Neither door looked to be an easy viable entrance.

The original side door was still unlocked, with no lights or movement inside.

I waited, then opened the door wide enough to slip through. Again, I waited in case there was a silent alarm, then when nothing stirred, slipped through and closed the door behind me.

On the other side of the door, it was quite dark, except now I could see, on one wall, the dying embers of a fire. Someone had been in the room earlier and most likely gone to bed.

It meant the house was occupied.

It also meant I had to be careful.

On the other side of the doors, it was a lot warmer. Again I waited a few minutes, just in case someone came, and, when they didn’t, I pulled out a small torch and turned it on.

In front of me were two chairs and a table, one I would have walked into without a light. The walls had shelves and those shelves were filled with books. Some behind glass doors, others not. There was another chair by the fire, and beside it, a stack of cooks, and a table with had an empty glass and a bottle, and a pair of reading glasses.

The downstairs reading room.

I cross the room slowly, hoping there were no squeaky floorboards, to be expected in an old house like this one. The timber flooring was exposed only at the edges of the room, the rest of the floor covered in a large, discolored, and fraying carpet square.

It was old, like everything else in the room.

I was tempted to have a look at how far the books dated back to but resisted the urge. I was looking for information on the owner.

At the doorway to what looked like a passage, I turned off the torch and peered out. It was not exactly dark, my eyes had adjusted to the low-level light from low wattage lights about a foot above the floor.

Lights to help guide the way at night.

Left, rooms, right, rooms, at the end of the passage a wide doorway leading towards the other side of the house. Larger rooms perhaps.

I turned right and headed towards the front, and they stopped at the doorway to the next room. I’d deliberately walked on the carpet runner in the middle of the passage, and just managed to catch my foot when one part of the floor creaked softly.

The room next door was almost the same as the one I’d entered by, with chairs and shelves but only on two sides. This room had a long window and no French doors.

On one side there was a writing desk, open, with papers scatted on the writing surface. I quickly crossed the room to it, switched on the light, and checked.

Bills. In the name of Mrs. Marianne Quigley. This had to be Adam Quigley’s mother, and by deduction, O’Connell’s mother.

Proof I was in the right place.

Then I heard the squeak of a floorboard followed by the clicking sound of a gun being cocked.

“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot. Hands in the air. And don’t make me ask twice.”

Hands up it was.

—

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 6

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

It’s around about now, coming to the end of the first week when we should be settling into the edit.

For the pantsers, the ideas run really well, and then the magnitude of the job kicks in, and the words dry up, and that terrible piece of paper staring at you, begging to be written on, becomes a nemesis. When editing, evidence of that shines through, because the continuity may suffer, and the writing might be disjointed. So far, it is not so evident.

But…

I’ve learned over the years that writing a 50,000-word novel needs a degree of planning, and once the day’s allocation has been written, get some ideas down for the next, or for the next few.

Any ideas, whether they fit or not, that flesh out the story in outline form. I do this at the end of the writing session most times, but, sometimes when I’m in the middle of a piece, an idea will pop into my head.

It’s a good distraction.

Unless, like me, you suddenly find yourself writing that piece because the story is pouring out like water from a tap.

Today is another good day, and I’m lost in the relationship between two of our characters, and they are sparring. He suspects she is not what she seems, and she is trying to allay his fears, each trying not to be too conspicuous about it.

I’m also getting to travel myself, even if it is in an armchair, and it’s great that I can go almost anywhere in the world, but I’m settling for some islands off Italy. One day I might actually be able to visit them in person.

…

More tomorrow.

Searching for locations: Hohensalzburg Castle, Salzburg, Austria

Hohensalzburg Castle sits atop the Festungsberg, accessed by a cable car.

The castle itself dominates the Salzburg skyline.

thecatle

Below is a view down into Salzburg from the castle walls.

We had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside.  This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.

The square below featured in the Sound of Music.

salzburg1

Among the more interesting objects to be seen, the gun below shows what some of the castle’s armaments might have been.  These cannons, in the ‘Firing Gallery’ date back to the thirty years war in the early 1600’s.

NANOWRIMO – April 2024 – “The One That Got Away” – Day 11

You can’t keep a good person down

…

So, what do you do when you discover your life’s work has been hijacked, not only by people you thought you could trust but that unfortunately includes your father.

Guinevere is in charge, making changes, hiring cronies, and pandering to the passed-over celebrity who is now the face of her organisation.   An advertising campaign that cost a lot of money, salaries and benefits to the management and talent, and something else entirely for her father.

He had been waiting in the wings a long time to get in the door, and her incapacity was his one chance.  She had kept him at bay, and if it had not been for her illness, and the accident, he’d still be in Siberia.

So, what does a stranger in her own castle do?

Plot against those insidious creatures that have taken over.

This is where we discover the plans, she implemented with Howard just before she was incapacitated.  That and the investigations she had Monte the private investigator undertake on all of those now working in her organisation.

A very interesting collection of individuals, all of whom had something to hide, and because of this, a means of leverage.

Plans are drawn up, and shots are fired over the bow as a warning.  Everyone has been told, the proverbial is about to hit the fan.

…

Words today, 2,013, for a total of 20,075

Searching for locations: Windsor Castle, London, England

A fine day, on this trip a rarity, we decided to take the train to Windsor and see the castle.

This is a real castle, and still in one piece, unlike a lot of castles.

Were we hoping to see the Queen, no, it was highly unlikely.

But there were a lot of planes flying overhead into Heathrow.  The wind must have been blowing the wrong day, and I’m sure, with one passing over every few minutes, it must annoy the Queen if she was looking for peace and quiet.

Good thing then, when it was built, it was an ideal spot, and not under the landing path.  I guess it was hard to predict what would happen 500 years in the future!

2013-06-30 12.09.56

I’m not sure if this was the front gate or back gate, but I was wary of any stray arrows coming out of those slits either side of the entrance.

You just never know!

2013-06-30 13.58.11

An excellent lawn for croquet.  This, I think, is the doorway, on the left, where dignitaries arrive by car.  The private apartments are across the back.

2013-06-30 13.58.00

The visitor’s apartments.  Not sure who that is on the horse.

2013-06-30 14.07.25

St George’s Chapel.  It’s a magnificent church for a private castle.  It’s been very busy the last few months with Royal weddings.

2013-06-30 12.12.29

The Round Tower, or the Keep.  It is the castle’s centerpiece.  Below it is the gardens.

2013-06-30 13.59.57

Those stairs are not for the faint-hearted, nor the Queen I suspect.  But I think quite a few royal children and their friends have been up and down them a few times.

2013-06-30 12.13.04

And well worth the effort to reach the bottom.

2013-06-30 14.00.40

Any faces peering out through the windows?

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

“Mistaken Identity” – The Final Editor’s Draft- Day 5

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

What would you do if you were mistaken for someone else?

What if when you answer a knock on the door to your hotel room, and the police crash their way in with bullets flying everywhere in a show of unnecessary force.

Of course, the police don’t know you are not the criminal, and facing a possible disaster, do what they have to, to apprehend the man they believe is a murderer.

Our main character now has time to contemplate the ramifications of what just happened in hospital. So much for attending the conference.

Of course, he has other things to think about, the self-confessed gate crasher Maryanne. The adage, if something is too good to be true, it generally is.

Looking forward, there’s some plotting to do.

How can it be possible that our main character has a doppelganger? At the moment it’s just a case of someone who looks like him, and the police have ruled him out as the man they’re looking for.

It’s a story that’s going to play out in a few chapters’ time.

…

More tomorrow.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

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!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.