An invitation that sounds so innocuous, doesn’t it?
As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you, and saying words rather than writing them?
Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.
OK, it was a simple question; “What motivates you to write?”
Damn.
My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.
The written answer to the question is simple; “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”
It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.
Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, but there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.
If only I can settle the nerves.
I mean, really, it is only my granddaughter who is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.
The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting. Those usually stick to a predefined format.
Here the narrative can go in any direction. There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.
For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”
That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was; “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with. I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do. And, surprisingly, I thought she would have made an excellent assassin, the last person you would expect.”
Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.
Great Fiction Writers Don’t Just Tell Stories—They Leave You Changed
There’s a quiet magic in the best fiction—a kind that doesn’t announce itself with flashy prose or intricate plots, but lingers long after the last page is turned. You close the book, set it down, and somehow feel… heavier. Not weighed down, but fulfilled—as though you’ve absorbed something essential, something that wasn’t there when you began.
Great fiction writers don’t write for themselves. They write for you—the reader. And the greatest among them give you more than entertainment or escape. They give you something.
What Is That “Something”?
It’s not always easy to name. It might be a sudden clarity about human nature—why your father acted the way he did, or why forgiveness is harder than anger. It could be an aching empathy for someone unlike yourself, conjured through a character so vividly drawn that their pain feels like memory. It might be the unsettling truth that you’re not as alone in your fears or dreams as you thought.
That something is the residue of real art: emotional weight, intellectual insight, or a quiet shift in perspective. It’s the feeling you get after reading Toni Morrison’s Beloved, or finishing a Chekhov story, or stepping out of the world of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. You’re changed. You carry the story with you, not as memorised lines, but as lived experience.
And that’s the hallmark of a true artist: they offer their work not as a monument to their own genius, but as a gift to the reader’s soul.
The Writer’s True Purpose: Not Self-Expression, But Soul-Transmission
So many aspiring writers believe their job is to express themselves—to pour out their thoughts, traumas, or clever wordplay onto the page. And while honesty and authenticity matter, the goal cannot stop there. Great fiction isn’t exhibition; it’s invitation.
When you write to express yourself, the work orbits inward. But when you write for the reader, it expands outward—reaching, resonating, transforming. The best writers understand this intuitively. They labor not to impress, but to impact. They revise not for elegance alone, but for emotional precision—because they know a single well-placed sentence can alter someone’s understanding of love, loss, or what it means to be human.
Think of Harper Lee handing Scout Finch to the world—not as a self-indulgent character study, but as a lens through which generations would confront race, justice, and moral courage. Or consider Kazuo Ishiguro, whose restrained narratives coil around memory and dignity, leaving readers quietly devastated—and wiser.
These writers didn’t write to soothe their own egos. They wrote to give you something to carry.
Your Work Is Not About You—And That’s the Point
If you’re writing fiction to be seen, praised, or validated, you’re writing in the wrong direction. Real art doesn’t seek applause. It seeks resonance.
When you shift your focus from What do I want to say? to What does the reader need to feel, see, or understand?, your writing transforms. Your characters deepen. Your themes gain weight. You begin to sculpt stories that don’t just entertain, but endure.
Every choice—of voice, of silence, of detail—becomes an offering. The description of a worn kitchen table isn’t just set dressing; it’s a vessel for memory. A character’s hesitation isn’t just pacing—it’s a reflection of universal doubt.
This reorientation is humbling. It asks you to let go of the need to be clever, shocking, or profound on the surface. Instead, it calls you to serve the story—and, through it, the reader.
Walk Into the Light, Leave With Weight
The finest novels, the unforgettable stories, don’t leave you lighter. They leave you fuller. You walk into them seeking diversion, and you walk out carrying a new emotional memory, a truth you didn’t have before.
So if you’re serious about writing fiction that matters, remember this: your work is not yours. It never was. It belongs to the reader—the one who will read your words late at night, who will underline a passage, who will feel less alone because of something you wrote.
Let that be your compass. Write not for your name on a cover, but for the weight you leave in someone’s chest. Because great fiction doesn’t just live on the page. It lives in the reader—long after the book is closed.
Beyond the Skyline: 5 Off‑the‑Beaten‑Path Experiences in New York City
You’ve checked off Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, and the Met. Now it’s time to slip into the city’s quieter corners, where locals and seasoned explorers discover a side of New York that most tourists never see. Below are five unforgettable, low‑key adventures that let you experience the “real” New York—without the selfie‑stick crowds.
1. Wander the Forgotten Tunnels of the Elevated Acre
What it is: A hidden 2‑acre rooftop garden perched atop a 19th‑century freight elevator shaft at 55 Water Street, overlooking the East River. The space is a lush, industrial‑chic oasis complete with a waterfall, pine forest, and a panoramic view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Why it feels off‑beat: The Elevated Acre is tucked behind a nondescript metal door that looks like a service entrance. Only the occasional office worker or curious local stumbles upon it, making it an ideal spot for quiet contemplation or a low‑key picnic.
Insider tip: Arrive just after sunrise (the garden opens at 6 a.m.) to watch the city wake up. Bring a reusable coffee cup—there’s a small café kiosk that serves locally roasted brews and pastries.
Cost & Logistics: Free entry. The nearest subway stop is Wall Street (4/5) or Broad Street (J/Z); a short walk east across the waterfront will bring you to the entrance on Water Street.
2. Catch a Silent Disco in the Underground Tunnels of the Grymes Hill Tunnel (Brooklyn)
What it is: A pop‑up, headphone‑only dance party held inside the historic, brick‑lined railway tunnel beneath the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. DJs spin everything from deep house to vintage funk, while participants groove to their own private soundtrack.
Why it feels off‑beat: The tunnel is usually off‑limits to the public and used only for maintenance. The secretive nature of these events draws a small, eclectic crowd—often artists, students, and New York’s indie music scene.
Insider tip: Follow the whisper campaign on the neighbourhood’s Facebook “Brooklyn Secret Events” group for the next date. Arrive early to snag a spot near the tunnel’s natural “light well,” where shafts of sunlight pierce the ceiling—perfect for Instagram stories that look like a scene from Inception.
Cost & Logistics: Tickets range $15‑$25, which include the headphones. The entrance is at Pier 6, Brooklyn Bridge Park; take the 4/5 to Fulton St then walk south along the waterfront.
3. Explore the Vegan Artisanal Market at The Gowanus Canal’s “Greenhouse”
What it is: A seasonal, open‑air market set on a reclaimed warehouse rooftop overlooking the industrial‑chic Gowanus Canal. Local vendors showcase vegan cheeses, fermented kombuchas, hand‑crafted soy candles, and artwork inspired by the city’s waterways.
Why it feels off‑beat: While the Gowanus Canal is often associated with gritty urban renewal, this market celebrates sustainability and community creativity, drawing in a crowd of eco‑conscious locals who prefer farmers’ markets in the Bronx or Queens.
Insider tip: Bring a reusable tote and a curiosity for “wild” flavours. Try the cashew‑based mozzarella paired with locally grown heirloom tomatoes, then stroll across the canal’s footbridge to watch kayakers glide by at sunset.
Cost & Logistics: Entry is free; items for purchase range $3‑$20. The market runs on the first Saturday of each month from 11 a.m.–4 p.m. Nearest subway: F to York St, then a 10‑minute walk west on 9th St.
4. Attend a Midnight Screening at The Film Forum’s “Cinematic Night Shift”
What it is: A series of late‑night showings of obscure foreign films, cult classics, and experimental works, held in the intimate 224‑seat theatre on the Lower East Side. Each session includes a brief Q&A with the director or a film scholar.
Why it feels off‑beat: While most visitors flock to the big multiplexes in Times Square, Film Forum’s midnight series draws cinephiles who value conversation over popcorn. The dimly lit lobby, vintage posters, and the smell of old leather seats create an atmosphere that feels like stepping into a secret society of film lovers.
Insider tip: Arrive early for the complimentary “screening cocktail”—a rotating concoction inspired by the evening’s film (think a “Bong Joon‑ho” mocktail for a Korean thriller). Seats fill fast, so reserve online at least a week in advance.
Cost & Logistics: $12 per ticket, plus a small “donation” for the Q&A. The theatre is located at 209 West Houston St; accessible via B/D at Grand St or L at 1st Ave.
5. While officially called the Ellis Island Hard Hat Tour, the experience is described by visitors as “eerie” and “haunting,” and includes access to areas like the former morgue and contagious disease wards.
This 90-minute guided tour offers a fascinating look into the abandoned hospital complex, which has been closed to the public since 1954.
Tour Details
Age Restriction: All participants must be at least 10 years old.
Focus: The tour focuses on the history of the hospital and the experience of the over one million immigrants who passed through its doors. It’s not a ghost tour with actors or jump scares, but the abandoned atmosphere provides a naturally eerie environment.
Key Sights: Visitors walk through the contagious disease wards, laundry rooms, kitchen, staff quarters, and the autopsy room, which features an eight-cadaver refrigerator. The tour also features an art installation by JR, with life-sized historical photographs placed within the decaying buildings.
Tour Operator: These exclusive tours are offered only by Save Ellis Island, the non-profit partner of the National Park Service dedicated to the preservation of the hospital complex. Tour fees support these conservation efforts.
Booking: Tours run daily, year-round, but must be booked in advance as they often sell out. You can purchase tour tickets through the Save Ellis Island website or the ferry operator, Statue City Cruises.
Tickets & Pricing: The Hard Hat Tour costs approximately $50 extra per adult, in addition to the ferry ticket required to reach the island.
How to Weave These Hidden Gems Into Your Itinerary
Map Your “Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path” Day: Start early at the Elevated Acre for sunrise, then head downtown for the Ghost Walk in the evening.
Balance the Unusual with the Classic: Pair a quiet morning with a traditional brunch in the West Village, then cap the night with the silent disco.
Travel Light, Travel Curious: Pack a small backpack with reusable items (water bottle, tote, portable charger) so you’re ready for any spontaneous discovery.
Final Thoughts
New York’s allure isn’t limited to its glittering skyscrapers and iconic museums. Its true soul lives in the nooks and crannies that only the curious dare to explore—whether it’s a rooftop garden hidden above the financial district, a clandestine tunnel humming with music, or a silent hallway echoing with ghost stories.
Next time you book a trip to the city that never sleeps, give yourself permission to wander off the well‑trodden path. You might find that the best memories are made in places you never expected to see.
When I was last in Europe we decided to get the Eurostar, from London, through the Chunnel, to Paris Disneyland. Not exactly as fast as the Japanese bullet trains, but faster than anything we have in this country.
You are hurtling along at up to 160 kph, though it feels a lot faster, and then you begin to brake, and it seems like nothing is happening, except for some outside friction noise, and the speed dropping.
I feel like that now, on my way to the bottom of the abyss.
At the end of that fall, it is something referred to as hitting rock bottom.
I’m told once you hit rock bottom the only way is up.
The question is, who do you know that has fallen into the abyss and come back to tell you about it?
Put into layman’s terms, hurling down the abyss is like having a severe episode of depression. There are different types, some worse than others. Hitting the ground is roughly the equivalent of looking for a way out that eases the pain and not finding one, and that, for some people, is a quite drastic answer.
But the sign that the free fall is braking, like the express train slowing down, is a sign that you’ve seen the light, that there are external forces that can render assistance.
I see them now, the hands of friends, the hands of people I don’t know, but who are concerned.
Writers like any other professional people are the same as everyone else, but with one rather interesting difference. It is a profession where a lot of the time you are on your own, alone with your thoughts, your characters, your fantasy world, which sometimes so frighteningly drifts into your reality.
Some of us will make a fortune, some of us will make an adequate living, and live the ‘dream’ of doing the one job they always wanted to, and most will not.
I’m not rich, I’m not one who gets an adequate income, yet.
But I will get out of this abyss.
I can feel the brakes.
My eldest granddaughter, who is 15, tells me the fantasy story where she is a princess I’m writing for her is brilliant.
The free fall has stopped. I step out into the sunshine.
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!
Discover Geneva’s Hidden Charms: 5 Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path Experiences Worth Your Time
Geneva is famous for its Jet d’Eau, luxury watches, and the United Nations. But beyond the postcard views lies a quieter, more authentic side of the city that most visitors never see. If you’re craving a genuine Swiss adventure, step off the tourist trail and explore these five lesser‑known gems.
1. Stroll Through the Bohemian Quarter of Carouge
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Carouge feels like a slice of Mediterranean Italy tucked into Swiss territory. Founded in the 18th century by the Sardinian king, its pastel‑colored façades, wrought‑iron balconies, and narrow cobblestone lanes create an intimate, artsy vibe that’s a world away from Geneva’s polished business district.
What to do
Boutique hunting: Pop into independent fashion studios, vintage shops, and artisanal leather workshops.
Café culture: Grab a cappuccino at Café du Centre or a craft coffee at Café de la Tour while people‑watching on the lively Place du Bourg‑de‑Four.
Artisan markets: Every Saturday morning, the Marché de Carouge offers handmade ceramics, jewellery, and local produce.
Practical tips
Getting there: Take tram 12 from the city centre (stop “Carouge‑Mairie”) – a 10‑minute ride.
Best time: Late afternoon (around 4 pm) when the cafés fill up but the streets haven’t yet emptied.
Cost: Free to wander; budget CHF 15–30 for a coffee and a small souvenir.
2. Peek Inside the CERN Microcosm & Large Hadron Collider
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure While CERN is a magnet for physics aficionados, most tourists never step inside the underground world where the universe’s smallest particles are smashed together. The Microcosm exhibition demystifies complex science with interactive displays, and the guided tunnel tour lets you stand at the edge of the famous LHC ring.
What to do
Microcosm museum: Touch a replica of a proton, watch a 3‑D video of the Higgs boson discovery, and explore the history of particle physics.
LHC tunnel tour: Walk (or take a shuttle) into the 27‑km circular tunnel that lies 100 m beneath the French‑Swiss border.
Practical tips
Booking: Free admission, but you must reserve a tunnel tour online at least 48 hours in advance (slots fill quickly).
Getting there: Take the train from Geneva’s main station to CERN (approx. 10 min) or the tram 18 to “CERN – Meyrin”.
Best time: Early morning (first tour slots at 9 am) for the smallest crowds.
Safety: Wear comfortable shoes; the tunnel is cool and slightly humid.
3. Hike the Salève – Geneva’s “Balcony”
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Often eclipsed by the Alpine giants, the Salève is a modest limestone mountain just across the border in France. Its gentle slopes and panoramic vistas make it a perfect day‑trip for hikers who want sweeping views of Geneva, Mont Blanc, and the Jura without the crowds of larger peaks.
What to do
Trail options: From the easy “Le Petit Plateau” loop (2 km) to the more challenging “Sentier du Grand Fossé” (6 km).
Summit café: Stop at Le Café du Salève for a hot chocolate while soaking up 360° vistas.
Paragliding: For the adventurous, the summit launch site offers tandem flights with certified pilots.
Practical tips
Getting there: Take the bus 57 from “Place des Eaux-Vives” to “Veyrier‑Le‑Pilat”, then a short 15‑minute walk to the trailhead.
Best time: Late spring (May–June) when wildflowers bloom, or early autumn for crisp air and fewer hikers.
Gear: Sturdy hiking boots, water bottle, and a light jacket (weather changes quickly on the summit).
4. Dip into Local Life at Bains des Pâquis
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Nestled on a small pier in Lake Geneva, the Bains des Pâquis is a beloved community spot where locals swim, sauna, and enjoy affordable meals. It’s a rare chance to mingle with Genevans in a relaxed, multicultural setting—something you rarely experience at the glitzy hotel pools.
What to do
Open‑air swimming: The lake’s water is chilly (12–16 °C), but the experience is invigorating, especially in summer.
Sauna & hammam: Warm up after a dip in the traditional Finnish sauna or the fragrant hammam.
Fondue night: From dusk till late, the on‑site restaurant serves classic cheese fondue and raclette at wallet‑friendly prices (CHF 12–18).
Practical tips
Getting there: Walk 10 minutes from the “Moulin” bus stop (tram line 12) or take a short boat ride from the jetty near the Jet d’Eau.
Opening hours: 7 am–11 pm (sauna closes at 9 pm).
Cost: Swimming area CHF 5; sauna CHF 7; meals as listed above. Bring a towel and a swimsuit (no rentals).
5. Wander the Conservatory and Botanical Garden (Jardin Botanique)
Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure Tucked behind the historic Cité des Sciences building, the botanical garden is a serene oasis featuring more than 7,000 plant species, themed greenhouses, and a tranquil pond that mirrors the surrounding trees. It’s a perfect sanctuary for nature lovers seeking quiet contemplation away from the city buzz.
What to do
Themed greenhouses: Explore the tropical rainforest house, the succulent desert dome, and the elegant orchid collection.
Seasonal exhibitions: Spring brings a dazzling tulip display; autumn showcases native alpine flora.
Educational workshops: Free guided tours on plant conservation are offered on weekends.
Practical tips
Getting there: Tram 15 to “Conservatoire” (stop “Conservatoire”). The garden entrance is a two‑minute walk from the tram stop.
Best time: Early morning (8–10 am) for soft lighting and minimal foot traffic.
Admission: Free (donations welcomed).
What to bring: Comfortable shoes, a notebook for sketching, and a camera (no flash in the greenhouses).
Wrap‑Up: Embrace Geneva’s Quiet Side
While the Jet d’Eau and the Old Town sparkle with tourist energy, Geneva’s hidden corners reveal a city that balances cosmopolitan flair with authentic local life. From the artisan streets of Carouge to the scientific wonder of CERN, the lofty views of Salève, the communal warmth of the Bains, and the botanical whispers of the Conservatory—each experience invites you to travel a road less travelled and return home with stories that only a handful of travellers have heard.
Ready to explore? Pack a light backpack, swap your guidebook for a curiosity‑filled mind, and let Geneva’s secret sides surprise you.
Got a favourite off‑the‑beaten‑path spot in Geneva? Share it in the comments below and inspire the next wanderer!
Great Fiction Writers Don’t Just Tell Stories—They Leave You Changed
There’s a quiet magic in the best fiction—a kind that doesn’t announce itself with flashy prose or intricate plots, but lingers long after the last page is turned. You close the book, set it down, and somehow feel… heavier. Not weighed down, but fulfilled—as though you’ve absorbed something essential, something that wasn’t there when you began.
Great fiction writers don’t write for themselves. They write for you—the reader. And the greatest among them give you more than entertainment or escape. They give you something.
What Is That “Something”?
It’s not always easy to name. It might be a sudden clarity about human nature—why your father acted the way he did, or why forgiveness is harder than anger. It could be an aching empathy for someone unlike yourself, conjured through a character so vividly drawn that their pain feels like memory. It might be the unsettling truth that you’re not as alone in your fears or dreams as you thought.
That something is the residue of real art: emotional weight, intellectual insight, or a quiet shift in perspective. It’s the feeling you get after reading Toni Morrison’s Beloved, or finishing a Chekhov story, or stepping out of the world of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. You’re changed. You carry the story with you, not as memorised lines, but as lived experience.
And that’s the hallmark of a true artist: they offer their work not as a monument to their own genius, but as a gift to the reader’s soul.
The Writer’s True Purpose: Not Self-Expression, But Soul-Transmission
So many aspiring writers believe their job is to express themselves—to pour out their thoughts, traumas, or clever wordplay onto the page. And while honesty and authenticity matter, the goal cannot stop there. Great fiction isn’t exhibition; it’s invitation.
When you write to express yourself, the work orbits inward. But when you write for the reader, it expands outward—reaching, resonating, transforming. The best writers understand this intuitively. They labor not to impress, but to impact. They revise not for elegance alone, but for emotional precision—because they know a single well-placed sentence can alter someone’s understanding of love, loss, or what it means to be human.
Think of Harper Lee handing Scout Finch to the world—not as a self-indulgent character study, but as a lens through which generations would confront race, justice, and moral courage. Or consider Kazuo Ishiguro, whose restrained narratives coil around memory and dignity, leaving readers quietly devastated—and wiser.
These writers didn’t write to soothe their own egos. They wrote to give you something to carry.
Your Work Is Not About You—And That’s the Point
If you’re writing fiction to be seen, praised, or validated, you’re writing in the wrong direction. Real art doesn’t seek applause. It seeks resonance.
When you shift your focus from What do I want to say? to What does the reader need to feel, see, or understand?, your writing transforms. Your characters deepen. Your themes gain weight. You begin to sculpt stories that don’t just entertain, but endure.
Every choice—of voice, of silence, of detail—becomes an offering. The description of a worn kitchen table isn’t just set dressing; it’s a vessel for memory. A character’s hesitation isn’t just pacing—it’s a reflection of universal doubt.
This reorientation is humbling. It asks you to let go of the need to be clever, shocking, or profound on the surface. Instead, it calls you to serve the story—and, through it, the reader.
Walk Into the Light, Leave With Weight
The finest novels, the unforgettable stories, don’t leave you lighter. They leave you fuller. You walk into them seeking diversion, and you walk out carrying a new emotional memory, a truth you didn’t have before.
So if you’re serious about writing fiction that matters, remember this: your work is not yours. It never was. It belongs to the reader—the one who will read your words late at night, who will underline a passage, who will feel less alone because of something you wrote.
Let that be your compass. Write not for your name on a cover, but for the weight you leave in someone’s chest. Because great fiction doesn’t just live on the page. It lives in the reader—long after the book is closed.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
I’ve stayed in a few places where ghosts were purported to be roaming the passages at night, but apparently not the night I was staying.
And that’s something else that I have a problem with, why is it ghosts only come out at night, or is that just the perception I have got from reading up on the subject.
Maybe my view of ghosts is somewhat stilted, after all, I think my first introduction to ghosts was watching The Centerville Ghost, a movie I saw on t.v. when I was very young.
You have to admit Hollywood’s perception of ghosts is quite interesting.
But…
Do you think they are real? Do I think they are real?
I think I would have to be presented with some fairly solid evidence they exist, but perhaps not to the point of meeting one.
There are, it seems countless examples of ethereal forces, you know, wind blowing where there’s no wind or draught outside, room temperatures dropping for no apparent reason, knocking, rattling of chains, strange noises like low moaning.
And yet…
There are hotels you can stay in such as the Chelsea Hotel in New York, where it’s possible to run into Sid Vicious.
Sorry, not staying there any time soon.
Then there’s the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel in Los Angeles where it’s possible to run into Marylin Monroe, who lived in room 229.
That could be an interesting encounter.
Another is the Westin St Francis in San Francisco where the actress Virginia Rappe died while attending a party held in Fatty Arbuckle’s room, Arbuckle’s room, who was later accused of assaulting and murdering her, and whose career tanked after the incident.
Her ghost is seen moving about the hotel tearing her hair out. It seems all of the spectral activity occurs on the 12th floor.
Good to know if I decide to stay there. I wonder if they have a 13th floor?
Perhaps in too old to be running the gamut of paranormal experiences, the old heart is not as strong as it used to be.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 