It is far harder for people who are not used to keeping secrets to keep a secret from someone who has been trained to uncover them.
Whilst David had been to the castle before, there seemed to be new people there, as well as those he remembered, and he took an instant dislike to some. The estate manager, the construction manager, and the cook.
Perhaps the cook was possibly the wrong person to get on the wrong side, but David never had any qualms about rubbing people up the wrong way. If only he could shoot her and get away with it.
A private tour of the estate would require the subtle sidelining of his shadow, whom he discovers is really part of the surveillance team, and a secret way in and out of the castle, not all that hard because all castles have secret, and not so secret, passageways, and this was no exception. The construction within the castle walls turns out to be useful camouflage.
But, like any sortie under the eyes of the enemy, he nearly gets caught.
And cops a rebuke from Susan when his shenanigans are reported.
Not that he learns any real intelligence from what seems to be run-of-the-mill repairs and enhancements, though the new stables seem to be much bigger and more sophisticated than he would have thought necessary.
But Susan does like riding, and the estate is large enough to indulge that passion.
One the first things you notice when driving around Beijing, other than the roads are congested with traffic, is the number of trees and flowers that have been planted, in the median strip as well as along the edges of the road.
What you also notice is the large number of multi-story apartment blocks, which are needed to house the millions of Beijing residents. What we have, so far, rarely seen, is single-story houses. These continuous areas of trees and rose bushes are, every now and then, broken up by very colorful garden beds:
Nearer to the square we are able to get up close to the flowers. These, we are told, are a variation on the rose, one that flowers for nine months of the year.
They come in a variety of colors.
And they are literally everywhere you go, on the side of the roadway, often blotting out the concrete jungle behind them.
After the meeting with Mrs Bakersfield is over, our boy realises that Emily is going to be staying with her grandmother until the end.
Perhaps he will be too, but nothing is really set in concrete.
Time to spend a little time with Emily in her world of luxury and privilege.
It’s not what he wants, but he didn’t say no to the limousine ride to the airport, or no to the ride in the corporate jet, or no to the suite he was put in in the hotel.
I mean, only a fool would, wouldn’t they?
He calls his sister Darcy and lets her know that he is swilling it up, for the moment, it won’t last, and she says she is jealous, maybe.
Then, of course, there are the other members of Emily’s family, especially her stepmother, whom Emily despises, and rather niggardly calls Mrs Winkle, her former married name, and not as Mrs Rothstein, and definitely not Mom.
Our boy is going to take a seat on the sidelines and see just how not happy families get along.
I joined Cecelia on the side of a hill about 500 yards from the front of the main entrance to the Burkehardt residence. On one side there were several outbuildings, and beyond those, the vines, acres and acres of them. On the other side, where we were, there was more vines and gardens.
It was warm, but we were under the trees and had a hedgerow to hide behind, so we were quite safe from being seen.
Cecelia had picked her spot with care. Clear sight to the front entrance, clear sight of the driveway from the road to the house, and the opportunity to like up targets with the rifle, already set out.
It was not loaded. She was using the sight to home in on those at home.
“A mother, a father, two girls and a boy. The parents fight a lot. Th mother and the three children left about a half hour ago, and the old man is sitting at a table reading the newspaper. You’d think he’d be out working.”
“Anyone call?”
“One. The man answered a cell phone, spoke for a minute then went back to the paper. If he starts doing the crossword, I’m going to shoot him.”
She took another look, then sat up. She had brought a hamper with food and drinks. No wine. We needed to remain focused.
It was a fine day, and just started to get hot, despite the fact we were quite buried by the surrounding trees. The heat was tempered by a slight breeze, and the sound of it rustling the leaves was oddly soothing.
One of the more pleasant stake outs I’d been on.
My phone buzzed. A message.
‘One of the phones called a man named Dicostini about twenty minutes ago and said they were on their way, there was a problem.’
As I suspected, the fake countess was working with Dicostini.
“And…?” Cecelia looked at me expectantly.
“Expect to see the fake countess. They are on their way.”
We didn’t have to wait very long. I had expected they would arrive about an hour after I had, but then, the countess did have some disconcerting news. What surprised me was the fact she just didn’t tell him over the phone. If I were Dicostini, I would have told her to stay away for fear of being linked together, and that was still a possibility if there were other people in the house, loyal to the Dicostini or not.
Cecelia had picked up the gun and was pointing it at every car that passed the driveway entrance, checking on the drivers and passengers if there were any.
“Got them.”
I saw the car stop at the driveway entrance for a minute, and then start slowly along the driveway.
“Juliet is driving the car. The two women are in the back. Odd.”
“Perhaps they’re practising being wealthy dowagers.”
She put the gun back facing the house.
“You got your phone?”
“Why?
“Alfie would have put an app on it so you can listen to the conversation. I didn’t think about it until now otherwise we could have listened to them on the way here.”
I gave it to her, and she fiddled with it for a minute, handing it back and the car stopped outside the house.
“You think it would be that riveting?”
“No. But it might give us some idea what they’re up to?”
Then a voice came over the speaker, not too loud but loud enough for us to hear.
“You stay in the car, Juliet. The fewer people who know about this the better.” I could not put a face to the voice.
“Distinction for the uninvolved. I will not be breaking you out of prison just so you know.”
“Don’t be such a spoilt brat.”
I heard two doors slam and then silence, other than feet crunching on the gravel. Cecelia lined them up in her sights and said, “Just say the word.”
At the top of the stairs, I could just see them stop at the door and rang the bell. It took several minutes before Dicostini answered.
“This is not a good idea, coming here,” he said.
“Well, the phones aren’t safe. We disabled the GPS, and I sure as hell aren’t going to tell you anything using one. Let’s go inside.”
“You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees, you…”
“Not if we come, say our piece, and go. Arguing is only making it more dangerous.”
He stood to one side and let them pass.
Three minutes later I heard Cecelia say, “Got them again.”
The vices came back.
“What’s so pressing you have to come here.”
“The signing had been delayed.”
“The Burkehardt’s. The suspect something. You? What do you do wrong?”
“I’ve seen the solicitor, and the family in London, even that fool Rodby insisted I use as an escort. They all think I’m the countess.”
“Except now you are missing, they’re worried. Rodby should have kept out of it, but you going missing the way you did, has only caused us trouble. The Burkhardt’s called him and then he had to do something about it.”
“You know that was for effect, to get away from the family because the longer I’m with them the more chance they’ll discover the truth. Rodby should be happy to know I have been found, which is exactly as it was planned, and that his man will be taking me to the signing. Rodby will do as he’s told.”
“A week’s a long time for things to go wrong. You have to say in hiding.”
“It’s another week and I have people pressing me for money.” Vittoria wasn’t happy.
“You know the deal. The countess signs the papers, and you get your payment. I can’t help it if it’s been delayed. They can’t delay it forever. You’ve delivered the message, now go, before anyone finds you here.”
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
The first stop is at a Jade Museum to learn the history of jade. In Chinese, jade is pronounced as “Yu” and it has a history in China of at least four thousand years. On the way there, we are given a story about one of the guide’s relatives who had a jade bracelet, and how it saved her from countless catastrophes. It is, quite literally ‘the’ good luck charm. Chinese gamblers are known to have small pieces of jade in their hands when visiting the casinos, for good luck. I’m not sure anything could provide a gambler with any sort of luck given how the odds are always slanted towards the house.
At any rate, this is neither the time of the place to debunk a ‘well-known fact’.
On arrival, our guide hands us over to a local guide, a real staff member, and she begins with a discussion on jade while we watch a single worker working on an intricate piece, what looks to be a globe within a globe, sorry, there are two workers, and the second is working on a dragon.
At the end of the passage that passes by the workers, and before you enter the main showroom, you are dazzled by the ship and is nothing short of magnificent.
Then it’s into a small room just off the main showroom where we are taken through the colors, and the carving process in the various stages, without really being told how the magic happens.
Then it’s out into the main showroom where the sales are made, and before dispersing to look at the jade collection, she briefly tells us how to tell real and fake jade, and she does the usual trick of getting one of the tour group to model a piece.
Looks good, let’s move on. To bigger and better examples.
What interested me, other than the small zodiac signs and other smallish pieces on the ‘promotion’ table, was the jade bangle our tour guide told us about on the bus. If anyone needs one, it is my other half, with all the medical issues and her sometimes clumsiness, two particular maladies this object is supposed to prevent. Jade to the Chinese is Diamonds to westerners, and the jade bangle is often handed down to the females of the family from generation to generation, often as an engagement present, to be worn on the left hand, the one closest to the heart.
There are literally thousands of them, but, they have to be specially fitted to your wrist because if it’s too large, you might lose it if it slips off and I didn’t think it could be too small. Nor is it cheap, and needing a larger size, it is reasonably expensive. But it is jadeite, the more expensive of the types of jade, and it can only appreciate in value, not that we are interested in the monetary value, it’s more the good luck aspect.
We could use some of that.
But, just to touch on something that can be the bugbear of traveling overseas, is the subject of happy houses, a better name for toilets, and has become a recurrent theme on this tour. It’s better than blurting out the word toilet and it seems there can be some not so happy houses given that the toilets in China are usually squat rather than sit, even for women. And apparently, everyone has an unhappy house story, particularly the women, and generally in having to squat over a pit. Why is this a discussion point, it seems the jade factory had what we have come to call happy, happy houses which have more proper toilets, and a stop here before going on the great wall was recommended, as the ‘happy house’ at the wall is deemed to be not such a happy house.
Not even this dragon was within my price range. Thank heaven they had smaller more affordable models. The object of having a dragon, large or small, is that it should be placed inside the main door to the house so that money can come in.
It also seems that stuffing the dragon’s mouth with money is also good luck. We passed on doing that.
After spending a small fortune, there was a bonus, free Chinese tea. Apparently, we will be coming back, after the Great Wall visit, to have lunch upstairs.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
It is far harder for people who are not used to keeping secrets to keep a secret from someone who has been trained to uncover them.
Whilst David had been to the castle before, there seemed to be new people there, as well as those he remembered, and he took an instant dislike to some. The estate manager, the construction manager, and the cook.
Perhaps the cook was possibly the wrong person to get on the wrong side, but David never had any qualms about rubbing people up the wrong way. If only he could shoot her and get away with it.
A private tour of the estate would require the subtle sidelining of his shadow, whom he discovers is really part of the surveillance team, and a secret way in and out of the castle, not all that hard because all castles have secret, and not so secret, passageways, and this was no exception. The construction within the castle walls turns out to be useful camouflage.
But, like any sortie under the eyes of the enemy, he nearly gets caught.
And cops a rebuke from Susan when his shenanigans are reported.
Not that he learns any real intelligence from what seems to be run-of-the-mill repairs and enhancements, though the new stables seem to be much bigger and more sophisticated than he would have thought necessary.
But Susan does like riding, and the estate is large enough to indulge that passion.
It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t. It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…
She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room. It was quite large and expensively furnished. It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.
Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917. At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.
There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.
She was here to meet with Vladimir.
She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.
All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.
That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.
It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years. She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.
They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.
It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.
They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity. She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.
The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined. After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.
Then, it went quiet for a month. There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited. She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.
A pleasant afternoon ensued.
And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.
By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends. She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy. Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.
She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful. In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.
After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit. She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.
It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine. She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.
A Russian friend. That’s what she would call him.
And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue. It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.
Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour. It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.
So, it began.
It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.
She wasn’t.
It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country. It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms. When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.
Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report. After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.
But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report. She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.
It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen. Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.
And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.
She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room. She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.
Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.
There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit. She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.
Later perhaps, after…
She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.
A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival. It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality. A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.
The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.
She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.
Yes, I actually heard that answer given in a television interview, and thought, at the time, it was a quaint expression.
But in reality, this was a person for whom English was a second language, and that was, quite literally, their translation from their language to English.
Suffice to say, that person was not happy when lost the event she was participating in.
But that particular memory was triggered by another event.
Someone asked me how happy I was.
Happy is another of those words like good, thrown around like a rag doll, used without consequence, or regard for its true meaning.
“After everything that’s happened, you should be the happiest man alive!”
I’m happy.
I should be, to them.
A real friend might also say, “Are you sure, you don’t look happy.”
I hesitate but say, “Sure. I woke up with a headache,” or some other lame reason.
But, in reality, I’m not ‘happy’. Convention says that we should be happy if everything is going well. In my case, it is, to a certain extent, but it is what’s happening within that’s the problem. We say it because people expect it.
I find there is no use complaining because no one will listen, and definitely, no one likes serial complainers.
True.
But somewhere in all those complaints will be the truth, the one item that is bugging us.
It is a case of whether we are prepared to listen. Really listen.
