Looking for something to suit my mood.
I’ve been reading the headlines and it seems that nothing else is going on except COVID 19, bar a plane crash, and residual fallout from the explosion in Beirut.
All bad news unfortunately, so I need to find something uplifting.
There’s nothing like a walk in the park on a bright sunny day.
Is there?
What could possible happen?
Category: Books
Just the ticket…
…if you’re looking for the ideal place to finish off that book.
…
I just spent a week away in one of our favourite places, in a cottage in the hills not far from the Gold Coast in Queensland.
The location is in a valley, at the bottom of which is a small creek. There is nothing but farming land in every direction, and it’s a place where you can luxuriate in the silence, when not being interrupted by the sounds of wildlife and farm animals.
The serenity is simply amazing.
You can use it as a base because everything you want is no more than two hours in any direction, but for us, there is no reason to leave the cottage. We come for the relaxation and to wind completely down, away from everything.
The good news is, there’s no TV, and the internet and phone coverage are t we rouble at best which means you need to find alternate ways of relaxing.
I can’t tell you how good it is not to be addicted to TV news, not to have the internet calling you via social media, and not having the phone ring once in four days. After you get past that first day of withdrawal symptoms are nearly as bad as coming down off drugs.
Except…
This time I had a mission, to take the time to finish off one of my books. The Enchanted Horse, a story I’ve been promising my grandchildren I’d finish for the last five years.
There just never seems to be time at home with all the distractions, you know those trappings of modern life, the phone, the internet, and TV.
And, the good news is I managed to review, collate and generally structure the 700-odd pages I’d already written, and comprehensively outline the last few remaining chapters so I can finally finish the first draft.
The other job that became apparent about one-third of the way through, was that the story is too big for one book, and now it is three, each instalment about 300 pages long, and it gave me the opportunity to write bridging chapters, a sort of the story so far, which will also serve as synopsis I can send to prospective publishers.
All in all, huge progress was made.
Pity I could stay for a month. I have so much that needs doing without distraction
The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 15
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Five minutes past the appointed time, I sat on the end of the clean bed and waited. The single chair didn’t look very comfortable.
It didn’t worry me she was late, she had not specifically stated how long she would be, but to be there in an hour. If she had business with dark glasses, then she might be a while. Giving me the key to her room suggested she was not bringing him back with her.
There was a light rapping on the door, hinting at a sense of urgency. Without looking,. I opened the door, and she slid through and I closed it quickly and quietly.
“I thought you might not be coming?”
I went to switch on the light, but heard her say, “No lights.”
My eyes were already adjusted to the light, or lack of light, and I could see her standing by the door to the bathroom. Everything about her manner suggested she was ill at ease, or perhaps frightened of something or someone.
Or waiting for Vince, and had to string me along until he arrived.
“Why?”
“No one knows I’m here.”
“Not even Vince?”
“No. Especially him.”
“He was here about twenty minutes ago, went into the office and came out with a briefcase.”
“I suggest you forget you ever saw that.”
Drugs then, or protection money, or… OK forgotten. “Duly forgotten as requested.”
“Is this pace one of the Cossatino’s places?”
“If you saw Vince, then it is. It never used to be. The Benderby’s used to bring their clients here, back in the day. Vince had some of the rooms wired, you know, blackmail, that kind of stuff.”
I could imagine. I’m sure the ‘clients’ never brought their wives here to have a good time.
“Why are you staying here?”
“Can’t stay at home. Things have changed. I’m not interested in working with the family business. It’s why I left in the first place.”
Imagination running wild, I think I began feeling sorry for her. Beautiful girl, stupid men, caught in a seedy hotel. My respect for old man Cossatino just took a dive.
“Why come back then?”
“Alex. He’s a bastard, just like his father. All those Benderby’s are the same. You say you’ve got a plan that might help get him off my back?”
She took off her coat and threw it on the bed with the other clothes. It wasn’t that dark I couldn’t see her outline and had to look away.
“A possible plan. One that might kill two birds with one stone. I have to look out for Boggs because he had got himself into a mess that he doesn’t realise the full potential of yet.”
“The treasure map?”
“I wish people would stop calling it that. It’s just a piece of paper with a drawing on it. I’m sure the whole myth was concocted by Boggs’ father as another one of his schemes.”
Everyone knew Boggs father was a touch crazy and had come up with a number of schemes, some even calling the ‘get rich quick’ schemes, and one had landed him in jail. He never quite understood the nature of the schemes he’d bought off other people in the hope of getting rich himself. The treasure map, that was a new one for him, but one of his previous customers had caught up with him, and he’d not lived long enough to play this one out.
Boggs unfortunately, was doing it for him.
“You don’t think it’s real?”
“What I think is irrelevant.”
She moved closer and sat on the side of the bed, not far from me.
“So what is this plan?”
“I get you a copy of the map, you give it to Alex, see what he says. You know you can’t trust him, or anything he says.”
She was too close, so I moved, trying to look like I was not moving. But at the same moment, I had no idea what it was about her that scared me. It was apparent she hadn’t told Vince about this meeting.
“It’s a chance I have to take, and you are right, I don’t want to cosy up to Rico. I have had previous dealings with him, and he is not nice. But, if you are willing to do this for me, what do you want in return?”
The inevitable question and I think I could guess what she thought I might want. And that thought did cross my mind.
“Nothing.”
“That is not possible. All men want something.”
“I’m not all men. I owe Alex a little payback and this will be a small cog in a big wheel. If it helps you, good, but I know the Benderby’s and nothing is easy with them.”
“This plan…”
“The less you know the better.” I stood, and then moved to the door. “I’m only going to be able to see you in the early hours of the morning. I’m working an afternoon shift till midnight, and I don’t want to come here in the daylight.”
She stood and came over to join me.
“You are going to have to do something about Rico because Alex will ask him.”
It was something that also occurred to me just before she raised it. I knew there was going to be a problem, I just hadn’t realised it at the time. Now, it seemed like another of those insurmountable things.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Then soon.” She put a piece of paper in my hand. “My cell number. Send me a text before you come.”
Our hands touched briefly and it sent a shiver down my spine.
“I will.”
There was a moment, looking into her eyes where I didn’t want to leave, but fortunately, common sense kicked in, I opened the door and slipped out in the cold night air. As it shut behind me I shivered.
It had nothing to do with the cold.
© Charles Heath 2019
“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 28
I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.
I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing. Hopefully, before the year is out.
…
I never thought I would get to this point, where there’s almost a complete novel.
It is quite remarkable that it is possible if you decide to focus, to get a novel out in a month.
What it does tell you is that proper planning is really a necessity if you want to succeed.
But…
It’s not the be-all to end all.
I’m not going to stop flying by the seat of my pants, but it’s given me another insight into the writing process.
I’m up to the business end of the story, and it requires concentration, and, it will not be the first time I have written a page or two, gone back to reread it and made an adjustment.
I have to be careful not to be overly critical. After all, it is only the penultimate draft and I’m striving for, bur not necessarily expecting perfection.
It won’t be, but I can always hope.
Searching for locations: Castello di Monterinaldi, Tuscany, Italy
As part of a day tour by Very Tuscany Tours, we came to this quiet corner of Tuscany to have a look at an Italian winery, especially the Sangiovese grapes, and the Chianti produced here.
And what better way to sample the wine than to have a long leisurely lunch with matched wines. A very, very long lunch.
But first, a wander through the gardens to hone the appetite:
And a photo I recognize from many taken of the same building:
Then a tour of the wine cellar:
Then on to the most incredible and exquisite lunch and wine we have had. It was the highlight of our stay in Tuscany. Of course, we had our own private dining room:
And time to study the paintings and prints on the walls while we finished with coffee and a dessert wine.
And of course, more wine, just so we could remember the occasion.
NANOWRIMO November 2023
“Opposites Attract” – In the beginning
…
How many times have you been sitting somewhere, and in the background there’s a song playing?
The interesting thing about music is the memories and the feelings that can be invoked.
And, if you’re a writer, it can tug at the inspirational strings.
I had one such experience not so long ago in a shopping mall of all places while having some ghastly junk food. The chef must have been having a bad day.
I digress.
It was a Viennese waltz, and you know, if you’ve heard one, how it can stick on the mind, that ebb and flow effect. I saw an episode of Disneyland many, many years ago that had Strauss composing the waltz in time to the clip-clop of the horses drawing his carriage. I don’t think it was as simple as that.
But however it came into being, it stuck in my mind.
So much so, that I went to YouTube and pulled up people performing the Waltz, and in watching it I because almost mesmerised.
Where’s this going, you ask?
Well, it gave me an idea. That first idea was to write a story of two people out on the ballroom floor, having a conversation, with the dance moves thrown in a appropriate times, in essence guiding the conversation.
Boring you say?
O light be, but then make the two people a girl and a boy who have niggled and hated each other all their lives, only to discover shortly before the ball, that the opposite was true, that they loved each other.
Hate is easy when you’re a pre-teen and teenager, but once middle school turns into college, and people change, though some not necessarily for the better, odd things happen.
Now, again, if it was an ordinary girl and an ordinary boy that would almost be boring, so to spice it up the girl is from the wealthy part of town, and the boy from the less wealthy side, those that the wealthy tend to look down on.
But he’s not too down and out, just from an old well-known family that has fallen on hard times.
Oh, and like all the romance films I’ve been looking at as research, this will follow one of the tried and tested premises, that she was always in love with him, and he was always from the moment he saw her in elementary school, just never thought he had a chance.
So, strap yourselves in for the ride!
…
The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 38
It was the orange ribbon
…
“It’s the orange ribbon, isn’t it,” Cecilia said. “I thought it looked good with the yellow floral summer dress and the fake fur coat.”
I had thought Juliet was just shocked to see Cecelia again with me, that we were possibly having a relationship. It was something else.
Cecelia looked at me. “Alfie said Vittoria called Juliet while you were texting me, a bit like ships passing in the night, to tell her she was on her way, and this idiot woman in a fur coat and orange ribbon had almost knocked her off the sidewalk. I mean, really, people buried in their phones should be knocked off the sidewalk.”
We both looked at Juliet. I could see she was thinking fast on her feet, then smile at Cecelia, and say, “Wow! What can I say? How’s your acting career going?”
“Good actually. I got a part as a mercenary. Just need to do the training and figure out how I’m going to survive the Moroccan sun, I mean, with this skin?”
There were two slices of pizza. “Do you mind,” Cecilia said, “I shouldn’t but it’s been one of those days.”
Juliet nodded.
“Now, Juliet, do you want to revise any answers?”
“Who are you really? The two of you?”
“We find people. Or I used to until Larry came after me, and then my boss decided I couldn’t retire, or maybe it was his wife this time. She’s a good chum of the countess. It seems if I found her, I can finally go back to my well-earned retirement. So, one question, did your mother, Vittoria Romano, kidnap her?”
“No.”
No hesitation. Interesting.
“She is up in your apartment at the moment?”
Juliet looked at Cecilia, reaching for the second slice.
“Yes.”
“How long have you known about her?”
“About three months. She found me. I didn’t believe it at first, but apparently, she had to wait until my adoptive mother died before she could see me in person. It was the agreement they made. By the way, she shared the money the count paid her for my upkeep and to go to medical school.”
“So, you are his daughter?”
“She showed me the birth certificate. It has his name on it. No one was ever supposed to know.”
“Until the money stopped. Who did she go to?”
“The countess. My mother had nothing to do with her disappearance. You should be looking at the family, that Alessandro is a criminal, the whole family are.”
“They’re bankers,” Cecilia said. “Is there a difference?”
“OK. If she is not guilty of anything, then she will have no trouble talking to us?”
“I can ask?”
“No. Not until we’re on the doorstep. You may think she’s not guilty because she told you so, but unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. And you know me well enough to know that I keep an open mind about everything.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You do. But if we let you go and we find out you’ve lied to us, then we’ll hunt you down, no matter where you are, and we will not be as nice as we are now.” The way Cecelia said it, it sounded like she relished hunting down criminals and liars. The words were accompanied by a very mean look.
“Can we finish dinner first?”
“Of course. I was looking forward to having some tiramisu.”
Cecelia was in a role. She smiled. I was glad she wouldn’t be hunting me.
Another small pizza, tiramisu, red wine, coffee and conversation, from the outside could be construed as three friends meeting up and having a leisurely dinner and reminiscing.
Cecelia was genuinely interested in car accident victims, to help her in her auditions, and Juliet was genuinely interested in the movie business. I was fascinated watching the two women together, wondering if Juliet thought there was something between us.
Back in Venice, that was the impression she was giving Juliet. Here, I got the occasional glance, and a touch on the hand, the sort of touchy-feely things a girlfriend might do. I hadn’t thought of her a lot since Venice, but she hadn’t completely disappeared.
By the time we left, most of the other customers had gone, and the staff were cleaning up. I paid the bill and said I would be back. Those pizzas were to die for. We had ordered another just before leaving, to take back for her mother.
If she was there.
Cecelia had gone ahead to make sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting for us, and when we reached the door of her apartment, she was waiting in the shadows.
Juliet got out her key and opened the door, and after opening it, yelled out “I’m home.” Then she went in, and I followed.
There were two guns pointed at me as I stepped into the room, Vittoria was pointing one at me, and the countess was pointing the other at Cecelia.
© Charles Heath 2023
An excerpt from “The Things We Do For Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!
In the distance he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself. Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.
In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.
Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived. He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs, and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.
Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.
She was about mid-twenties, slim, long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines. She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied. Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.
Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity. And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain. Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.
All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.
Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one. Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner. Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”
Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back on his neck stand up. He purposely didn’t look back. In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six. Out of a thousand!
“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….” She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.
He didn’t mind and said so. Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.
“Good.” Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over. Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.
“Thank you. You are most kind.” The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.
“I try to be when I can.” It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.
Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”
They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.
Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be. There was something about him.
His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying? There was a tinge of redness.
Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.
No. That wasn’t possible.
Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?” Seconds later she realized she’s spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.
It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.
“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”
At least we agree on that, she thought.
It was obvious he was running away from something as well.
Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal. All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.
After getting through this evening first.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It is that.”
A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.
Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”
Slight abrupt in manner, perhaps as a result of her question, and the manner in which she asked it.
She looked up. “Rest. And have some time to myself.”
She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note. No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had actually said she was here for a holiday.
Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.
Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel. Of course, there had been no possible way she could know than anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.
Was that what she was expecting?
Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.
Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for very different reasons.
On discreet observance whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced and he had no sense of humor.
This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown. And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame. They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.
Rebellion was written all over him.
The only other thought crossing her mind, and rather incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed. In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.
“Mr. Henshaw?”
He looked up. “Henshaw is too formal. Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.
“Then my name is Michelle.”
Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, then return to the kitchen.
“Staying long?” she asked.
“About three weeks. Yourself?”
“About the same.”
The conversation dried up.
Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere. It was, she thought, almost unbearably awkward.
Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.
“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself. Care for some wine?”
Henry looked at Michelle. “What do you think?”
“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”
You would, he thought. He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone. Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked and she bustled off.
“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humor.
“Yes, so do I.”
Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought, when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.
It was five minutes before Mrs. Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses. After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.
Henry resumed the conversation. “How did you arrive? I came by train.”
“By car.”
“Did you drive yourself?”
And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.
“After a fashion.”
He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.
And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.
“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.
“Whatever for?”
“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident. I ran up the back of another car. Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”
“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.
“Do you drive?”
“Mostly people up the wall.” His attempt at humor failed. “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”
The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came. Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.
“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.
“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.
“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling. She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.
“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.
He had a feeling she was not particularly interested and it was just making conversation.
“I’m a purser.”
“A what?”
“A purser. I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”
“I see.”
“And you?”
“I was a model.”
“Was?”
“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.
As the evening had worn on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well. Even the carefully applied makeup, from close up, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark ringed eyes.
“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work. I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”
“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you. I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”
Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.
Dinner now over, they separated.
Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.
But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet the compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.
Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.
She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.
© Charles Heath 2015-2020
Searching for locations: The Castello di Brolio, Gaiole in Chianti, Tuscany, Italy
The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.
Like any good castle, it has strong defences, and I was looking for a moat and drawbridge, but it looks like the moat has become a lawn.
The very high walls in places no doubt were built to keep the enemy out
The castle has been destroyed and rebuilt many times over the last 900 years. It was part of the Florentine defences, and withstood, and succumbed to many battles with Siena, which is only 20 km away. More recently, it still bears the scars of artillery fire and bombing in WW2.
The room at the top of this tower would have an excellent view of the countryside.
Here you can see the old and the new, the red brick part of the rebuilding in the 1800’s in the style of an English Manor
We did not get to see where that archway led.
Nor what was behind door number one at the top of these stairs. Rest assured, many, many years ago someone wearing armour would have made the climb. It would not pass current occupational health and safety these days with a number of stairs before a landing.
Cappella di San Jacopo. Its foundations were laid in 1348.
Renovated in 1867-1869, it has a gabled façade preceded by a double stone staircase. The interior, with a crypt where the members of the Ricasoli family are buried, has a nave divided into three spans with cross vaults.
The 1,200 hectares of the property include 240 hectares of vineyards and 26 of olive groves, in the commune of Gaiole.
“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems
A single event can have enormous consequences.
A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
It is available on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz
