“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
The trouble with being told to ‘keep it to yourself’ I’d that quite often, later, and unexpectedly, it comes back to bite you.
I was put in that position, once, by my younger sister Josephine when she started dating this charismatic older boy she met when he came to her college as a substitute teacher.
I met him once and I didn’t like him. He was the sort of person that you just know is bad, if not evil. I told her so, but that didn’t seem to have any effect. Perhaps it was only men who saw it because all her friends agreed with her; he was dreamy.
It was not as if we had any idea she would do anything silly, because at college she was away, and very lax at reporting back that everything was fine, so as far as we knew it was. Our parents had cut her some slack after she complained they were smothering her.
I thought there was a good reason for that, but she persuaded them, like she always did, to loosen the shackles as she called them. It seemed to work, six months passed, and everything was fine.
Until…
I was going home, and I had to pass the college so thought I would surprise her with a visit. I went to the cafeteria where she and her friends spent every waking moment only to find two of the girls she was studying with.
Jo was not there. Two of her friends were Debbie and Anne. I’d met them once before when I’d dropped in. “How is she doing?” I asked, not what I was going to ask, which was, where was she?
“Oh,” Debbie said hesitantly, “I thought you knew. She dropped out and said she was going home. Didn’t she tell you?”
She knew I wasn’t at home and was not as regular at communicating as I should be. It also appeared to me she knew more but was reluctant to say more.
“No. But I’m always the last to know. I’ll call home and talk to her.” I knew Jo’s aversion to cell phones, so I couldn’t call her directly. “But she did say the last time I was here, she was losing interest. Thanks anyway.”
Walking from the cafeteria to the car park, I had a thought and made a slight detour via the main office.
There was no one at the counter, so I pressed the button on the counter and heard a distant buzzing sound. Three or four minutes later an elderly lady shuffled out from behind a half-closed door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for my cousin, Albert Dmitri, he’s a teacher here.”
Her facial expression told me that she recognised the name, but her manner suggested that she didn’t like him. She looked me up and down as people do when making an assessment.
“He no longer works here.”
The way she said it told me that there would be no further discussion, and that told me everything I needed to know, and probably not what I wanted to hear. And the look she gave me, that being ‘tarred with the same brush’ made me shiver.
My initial assessment of him was right.
“Thank you for your help, ma’am.”
I don’t think I needed to ask any more questions. I made it to the car and was just about to get in when I heard a voice calling my name.
I looked over the car roof to see Anne walking quickly towards me. I waited until she arrived, slightly out of breath.
She took several deep breaths before saying, “She didn’t go home, not directly. She had told me a week before she left that Albert had invited her to stay for a few days at his chalet in Banff. She didn’t mention it again, just told me she didn’t like school anymore and was going home. Nothing about Albert, which made me think she went. She did say before she left that if anyone asked about Albert and her, I should keep it to myself, that it was nothing but a flirtation.”
‘You think it was more?”
“He was obsessed with her. Certainly, he didn’t respect the boundaries between a student and a responsible adult, and she was not the only one. I personally now think he’s a creepy guy. You say you haven’t heard from her?”
“I haven’t, no, which is not exactly a red flag. I’ll get home and see if she is there. She probably is because our parents haven’t said anything otherwise.”
“I hope so. She hasn’t called or texted or written, which considering our friendship is unusual. Let me know when you find out. I’d hate anything to happen to her. I told her once she was too trusting.”
“I’m sure everything will be alright. And thanks. “
I always felt a sense of well-being the moment I walked in the front door of what I had always called home. It was a house that had been handed down through the generations, and one day, it would be mine.
We had never known any other address, and I had grown up here, went to grade and middle school here, and had all my friends here, and family too.
Josephine and I were the only two who had strayed from town, seeking lives elsewhere as a part of the process of living our lives, but there was never any doubt we would come home. Our brothers had always been content to stay, aspiring only to learn or work on the ranch, marry local girls, and start families. My turn would come, one day.
The outside world, my father said, was just a distraction. Everything we really needed was here. I was inclined to agree with him.
Andy Barnes, one of the farm hands, was outside tending the kitchen garden. Coincidentally, he was Josephine’s first love, and she had promised him that when she returned, they would be married.
He would wait until the end of the world, which was how much he loved her, but with this new fellow she was smitten with, I was not sure where that plan was. I wondered if she had said anything but wasn’t going to bring it up unless he did.
He didn’t, just waving and getting back to work.
I dropped my bag in the front hall and went through to the back of the house where my mother would be, or should I say where she usually was.
On the way, I steeled myself for the expected barrage of questions, mostly centred around why I had not found a nice woman I would want to marry and start a family, and my mother was not the only one to get on that horse.
So much for the surprise, she was not there. But there was bread in the oven, and jam bubbling on the cooktop. She wasn’t very far away.
I went over to the jam pot and had a peek.
“Ah, there you are.” My mother had come inside from the back doorway with a basket of vegetables. “Andy said you had arrived. Did you see Jo on the way?”
I had told her I would drop in. Perhaps I should have kept that to myself and made a mental note for the next time. “I did, and she wasn’t there. I spoke to her friends. Busy, busy, busy.”
“Then you didn’t find out if she was coming home for Christmas.”
“I didn’t see her, remember. Maybe I’ll be luckier when I return. I’ll call her but you know what she’s like.”
She looked me up and down as mothers do, checking to see if I was taller, heavier, lighter, or stressed. Everything was stressful on the roads these days.
“I’ll leave that in your hands. You haven’t changed.” She said the final verdict. “Are you still working at that dreadful place?”
I’d taken on employment in a private detective agency that seemed to only deal with divorces and scandalous affairs. I was getting quite adept at covert surveillance.
“It’s just a job,”
“You should be doing more with your life with those three degrees and such.”
She dropped the vegetable basket on the kitchen bench and stirred the jam, then gave me a welcome hug.
The bread had a short time to go. Fresh bread and jam were looking good.
It seemed that Jo had not told our parents anything, so she could be anywhere, but my best guess was that she had gone with Albert Dmitri. The only lead was Banff. I would stay a day or two, then go find her, before our parents found out what she’d done.
Before I left home, I called my boss at the investigation agency and told him my suspicions, and he agreed to do a search on Dmitri. I had a photograph of him with Jo taken when he didn’t know I had. The first time I tried, he got very defensive, and that was one of the red flags that started to bother me.
He said I could do it when I returned, but I told him I was in the Banff area where Dmitri had a cabin, and if that was the case, I would go there.
He asked if I needed help from one of their enforcers, men who did the hard tasks like bodyguard, or backup in certain investigations when they were dealing with violent targets.
I thought it would be a good idea. I had no idea what to expect. He would meet me in Banff.
I think by the time I left home, sooner than I intended, and no matter how hard I tried to hide it, my mother knew something was wrong and that it involved Jo.
She gave me one of those looks, the one that said I know you’re not telling me something, gave me a hug, and said, call me when you see Jo, and let her know we love her.
“I think she already knows that.”
“Maybe so, but since you’ve both grown up, we don’t say it often enough.”
“Then I will. I’ll get her to call you.”
What I received in my email several hours into the trip to Banff didn’t fill me with confidence.
From the photographs, the investigation of his case uncovered four different names and employment in various provincial universities or tertiary education institutions where there were missing girls.
We might have uncovered a serial killer, or at the very least predator.
The investigation into relatives and property was ongoing, but they needed to find out his real name because all they had so far were aliases.
The Banff police had been notified of the investigation, and I was told to visit an RCMP officer who had been working on the theory that the university disappearances were connected. He was very interested in speaking to me and was laying the necessary groundwork to make Jo an official missing person, though I had to ask him to hold off until we had more on Dmitri because we had the advantage of knowing about him and he not knowing we had that information. Publishing it would spook him, and he would disappear.
There was more available when I arrived at the Banff police station, I had Dmitri’s real name, and the fact his father, now deceased, owned a cabin in Canmore near the Palliser Trail. That was conveyed to me but the company agent that had been sent to help me, and we agreed not to tell the police yet. The agent, Phillip Rogers, was going to conduct discreet surveillance on the cabin and see if he was there or anyone else. At the very least, he was hoping to thoroughly check the cabin itself while I was talking to the Police.
The officer’s name was Hercule Benoit and was a specialist in finding missing persons. He’d been working on what he called the university disappearances for two years and had uncovered 13 cases, some of whom simply left, for various reasons, without telling anyone, and later found alive. Two were dead, not necessarily murdered, but there were six missing possibly dead. For us to eliminate you from our enquiries, we will require you to tell us where you were for five specific periods in the past seven years.
Jo was one he didn’t have on his list, simply because she left after telling those closest to her what seemed to be the truth, and everyone took it for granted. Other cases in his book had done the same, suggesting a pattern.
And yes, each could be assumed to be connected with the departure some weeks later of a teacher, young, and able, though the descriptions were different, the base details were the same, height, weight, and mannerisms. The differencing details were hair colour and length, beard, moustache, eye colour, glasses, dress style, and speech patterns or language.
Dmitri spoke like a refined Russian immigrant. Another had a French accent, and one had none. To my mind, Dmitri had theatrical training and could disguise himself, and I suspect the girls he took with him altered their appearance too. I was expecting Jo to look very different.
The question would be whether she was under his spell or if she was coerced or threatened.
It was Benoit’s plan to visit the cabin where I believed we would find Dmitri. I was not going to tell him and take Rogers with me, but I had second thoughts because it might prejudice any chance of getting the truth, or later justice if we made a mistake.
There was also the possibility that Dmitri would run once alerted we were on to him, and we’d never find him, or Jo, though right now I was more hoping that believing she would be unharmed.
So, the new plan Benoit and I would visit, and Rogers, whom I had not told Benoit about, would maintain surveillance, and if Dmitri tried to run, he would stop him. I didn’t ask him how he would do it. It was best not to know.
Then, suddenly, we had stopped outside the cabin, next to a RAM 2500, which Rogers had texted belonged to the man in the photograph he had sent me, a man who looked like Dmitri but was externally different.
This time, he had very short blonde hair and was wearing thick glasses accentuating blindness and was about 20 to 30 pounds lighter. Out of the business suit and dressed like a lumberjack, unless you could be positive, he was hardly recognisable.
That same man answered the door, taking in the police vehicle, the RMCP officer in uniform, which was quite daunting even for me, and then he looked at me, squinting through those glasses.
Perhaps he hoped that flicker of recognition would be hidden behind the layers of glass, but it was not. I glared at him until she turned back to Benoit.
“Is there a problem, officer?”
“There might not be. Do you mind if we come in, Mr Francois?”
The office had discovered that the photo of Dmitri was that of Antoine Francoise, originally from Montreal and the grandson of Albert Francoise, the heir to a fortune the family had made from the Railways and shipping.
Dmitri or Antoine didn’t need to work, and it appeared kidnapping and murdering college girls was his hobby. Perhaps he had the belief that being rich, the laws didn’t apply to him.
“Not unless you have a warrant or evidence, I’ve done anything wrong.”
And the arrogance to go with it. I saw Benoit’s expression change and not for the better.
“If that’s the way you want this to go, Mr Francois, so be it.” He pulled out his cell phone and started dialling a number.
Perhaps the notion of giving a dozen police crawling all over his property changed his mind. “I’m sorry. I can be a little prickly in the morning. By all means, come in.” He stepped to one side, and we went in.
“Good choice.”
The cabin looked to have a main room with a kitchen, a dinner table, set for one, a fireplace and two chairs, one looking very used, the other less so, and a bedroom, door open, bed unmade, what one might expect of a single man living on his own.
“What’s this about?”
“A man with similar features to you has been identified as a suspect in a kidnapping case, well, more than one. You are one of three men picked out of a set of photographs of male teachers who worked at various colleges and universities where girls have disappeared or been found dead. For us to eliminate you from our enquiries, you will need to tell us where you were for five specific periods over the last seven years.”
I was watching Antoine carefully, and he was good, showing no emotional response to what was tantamount to an outright accusation. Didn’t bat an eyelid, as the saying goes.
“That’s a particularly tall order, as you can imagine. But, I’m sure you are well aware of who I am, and as it turns out, a philanthropist with an office and a gaggle of assistants running it, shouldn’t be too hard. I will make a call and have that information on your desk tomorrow morning. Is that all?”
“We’d like to have a look around?”
I watched Antoine very carefully as Benoit asked the question, and had I not been carefully watching his eyes, which flicked to a carpet square under the dining table for a fraction of a second, I would have missed it.
“Here? There’s only two rooms, what you see is all there is.”
Benoit shrugged and perhaps conveyed the fact a demolition team could beg to differ in his expression because a moment later Antoine waved his hand, “Search away.”
Benoit missed the inference, but I didn’t. Why use the word search when there was no reason for us to, if he was not guilty. I would mention it to Benoit after we left.
The search took all of a minute. There was nothing to confirm anyone, but Antione lived there, and then only temporarily. There was a half-filled suitcase on a corner and a few items hanging in a closet. He had not been there long nor apparently staying.
“Thank you, Mr Francois. I will be expecting your communication tomorrow. We will speak further on this.”
Antoine was eager to get us out the door, but she didn’t push it. He was, in my opinion, slightly agitated and definitely guilty of something.
Of course, it might be my imagination, or simply that I wanted it to be him, inventing in my mind those two tells, but it felt like it was him because I had that creepily feeling when I saw him after opening the door, and initially reactions were usually right.
He remained on the doorstep watching us leave. I watched him watch us.
“It’s him,” I said. “I’m sure of it. Innocent people don’t ask for search warrants.”
“You’d be surprised. If it is, he’s long practised at being what I would call detached. And he’s had a string of assault charges, all dismissed. Money talks, especially lots of it.”
“What’s the next step?”
“Wait for his alibi. He’ll already have one for each of the dates with photographic evidence. Mark my words. People like him have alibis before they need them. The thing about that cabin is that it’s a manufactured scene, everything in its place, and a place for everything. In other words, staged. He knew we were coming.”
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
We are in the middle of a philosophical debate.
No, it’s not about whether the world is flat, though sometimes I think he has that notion, as well as all humans are basically stupid.
I’ve been thinking about the pandemic and how it might meld into a plotline for a story.
Chester is not happy that I should use China as the country with global ambitions, after using the term ‘global domination’ and got a very silky retort.
He doesn’t seem to think that by causing a pandemic, making each of the G20 nations basically launch themselves into insolvency in order to maintain some semblance of economic stability, that China, who miraculously recovers, becomes the nation who saves the world?
It sounded quite good in my head.
Particularly when you see nations like the USA, the only other country that could tackle China as a ‘savior’ state, is going slowly down the gurgler. Or so it seems, and it’s only a matter of time before something gives.
Chester and I now have mandatory viewing every morning, the Donald Trump show, where we lay bets as to whom he’s going to fire or lambast.
Chester thought the Doctor was gone for all money on Monday.
My money was on the reporter, who wouldn’t stop asking questions.
But today, it might be about Joe Biden and the Democrats, and the ramping up of the Republican’s political campaign. Who said the COVID briefings had to be about that mundane virus?
Still, it’s back to the drawing board. The overall plot is good, creating a virus that brings almost every nation to its knees, and one that rises out of the ashes to ‘save the world’. It’s like you don’t need bullets and arms to fight a war, just a hell of a sneaky virus; you know, infecting people when you don’t know you’ve got it and infecting others.
Hang on, Chester’s calling. It’s time for the Donald Trump show.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
—–
“You left a paper trail, a car registration form at the flat in Bromley.”
I saw him shake his head. “I thought I’d removed any evidence.”
“Good thing then, that I found it, and not Severin who was next through the door.”
He nodded towards Jennifer. “What’s she doing here, she was one of your surveillance team.”
“She came with me. The department threw her out, I found her and asked her if she wanted to find out what was going on. Apparently, she did. Everyone can put their guns down now. We are, believe it or not, all friends here.”
Jennifer put her gun back in a pocket I hadn’t seen before.
Adam lowered his, but it was still ready to shoot if either of us made the wrong move. The old woman’s aim hadn’t changed; she was still intent on shooting me if I moved.
“Mother, give it up.”
A few seconds later she lowered the weapon, but it was still ready. To fire if I moved.
“Can we sit,” I asked. Having a gun aimed at you tended to make you feel week in the knees. I was.
There were three chairs in front of the fireplace, this room also having a fire ready but not lit, and one chair by the writing-table. We sat in the three chairs, the old woman over by the table. She put the rifle down on the desktop, within easy reach.
“My first question,” I said, “has to be, how are you still alive?”
“You left when Severin’s crew arrived to clean up. He left at the same time. Luckily. Then two of Dobbin’s agents arrived and cleaned up the cleaners, as it were, and took me to a safe place where it was discovered my injuries were not fatal.”
“You were hit by a sniper, that’s hard to believe he, or she, aimed to miss.”
“They didn’t. I think I moved slightly because of you, so I have you to thank for my life. Something else to remember, Dobbin doesn’t know I’m here, and I think the only link was that registration certificate. No one actually knows me by Adam Quigley, except, of course, my mother.
“And the USB everyone is after?”
A few seconds of silence, then, “It’s missing.”
“Were you the only one who knew where it was?”
“No, but as far as I’m aware, that person is dead, killed by the explosion you witnessed. We were due to meet there, just before the explosion which is why I was heading there.”
“You walked past it, as I recall.”
“Standard procedure. I walk past, check to see if the contact is there, then come back a few minutes later. I was running late, just got past when it went up. We would have both been in there, and dead.”
“And the USB gone with it?”
“Yes. My friend had it with him at the time. I was going there to pick it up.”
“No copies?” It was too much to expect there would be, even if it was worth more than life itself.
“No. That sort of information needs to be in as few places as possible.”
“You knew what it was about?”
“Yes.”
“And…”
“It’s above all our pay grades. But something I can tell you; I know why your Severin and Maury wanted it back.”
“It was theirs?”
“Yes. They originally stole it. I stole it from them and trying to return it to whom it belonged.”
“Nobbin?”
“God, no. I’ve since discovered he’s as crooked as all the rest. But now that it’s gone, it doesn’t matter who the owner of the information is. Just staying one step ahead of the jackals, that’s the job in hand.”
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
The story proceeds. That underlying suspicion of Maryanne’s motives rears its head again, but for different reasons.
Of course, Jack, the main character has a name, if not a little trite but it suits him, has always been suspicious because he’s not the type to be approached by beautiful women, and yet, so far has managed to allay those fears but is the perfect companion.
But, what’s a self-confessed gate crasher got up her sleeve.
Out of the hospital and on their road trip, they’re heading for an island and a hotel that overlooks the Mediterranean, which might be synonymous with the perfect location for romance.
But all of that is shattered when he sees her with another man, at the rear of the ferry, and the animation in her manner tells him the man is not just someone who ran into her.
Jack knows who it is, and what he does, so that makes the meeting even more mysterious.
And perhaps dangerous.
Yes, we are exploring the theme of ‘everyone has secrets’.
After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.
Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.
Except…
We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.
But…
There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.
First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.
Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.
When?
It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained
Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.
I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.
He said he would check it himself.
Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.
The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.
We all went to bed reasonably happy.
After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.
I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.
As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.
It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.
Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.
Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.
A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.
A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.
In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.
Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.
Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.
The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.
The second, the quality of the food.
I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.
As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.
The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.
It wasn’t as if he was waiting in the wings, ready for the call.
The truth is, it was not the call he ever wanted to receive.
Though, to begin with, it wasn’t a call, but a visit, advising him to expect a call. Monty arrives at his hotel room, in the depths of Africa, about to go home.
It was a very strange meeting, talking about a ghost from the past.
Then, finally, back in the city he had called home, he gets a call from Howard.
A visit, a proposition, a confrontation in a hotel bar.
This is definitely not your typical day after being told your wife, the woman you thought you had divorced a long time ago, has just died and left you everything.
Everything, when it came to Lady Agatha had a whole different meaning to that of anyone else.
It was not the first surprise that day, and it wasn’t going to be the last.
Along with My Fair Lady, another of my favorite musicals was Sound of Music and having seen it a number of times over the years, it had conjured up a number of images of Salzburg in my mind, and with them a desire to go there. We had been to Salzburg once before, an overnight train stop between Vienna and Innsbruck, an afterthought, but what we saw then was reason enough to come back later and spend several days.
A pity then the day we arrived, and for much of our stay, it rained. But, like hardened travelers, very little stops us from doing anything, and particularly sightseeing.
We stayed at the Crowne Plaza – The Pitter in a very well-appointed room. Breakfast included, it was a great way to start the day. The afternoon we arrived we went for a short walk to the old city passing through the Mirabelle gardens with the Pegasus Fountain, Rose Garden, and Dwarves Garden. Later we discovered that the archway had been used in part of the filming of Sound of Music.
We took the Festungsbahn funicular railway up to the Fortress Hohensalzburg, dating back to 1077, and the largest fortress still standing in Europe. We spent a pleasant afternoon wandering through the rooms and exhibits and then had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside. This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.
It led us to search for the product which we eventually found in a confectionary store, Holzemayr in the Alter Markt. Not only sis we find the Gold liqueur there was also a dark chocolate variety as well. We bought a whole box to bring back with us, as well as a number of other chocolates including Victor Schmidt Austrian Mozart Balls, a delicious chocolate and marzipan combination.
With another afternoon to spare we visited the Salzburg Residence which previously housed Salzburg’s ruling prince-archbishops. We visited the reception rooms and living quarters, as well as the Gallery. It is as ornate as any of the palaces in Austria, resplendent with furnishings and paintings. After that, the visit to Mozart’s birthplace was something of an anticlimax.
But, what we were in Salzburg for, the Sound of Music tour, and the places we visited:
The Mirabelle gardens, where Maria sang Do Re Mi in front of the gates to the gardens. We spent some time here before and after the tour, and also has a look inside the Mirabelle Palace, which is not open to the public as it is the city administrative offices.
Leopoldskron Palace where the boating scene was filmed as well as exteriors. They were not allowed to film inside the place and were only allowed to use the exterior. An interesting tidbit of information, one of the children nearly drowned.
Heilbrunn palace is now home to the gazebo where Rolf and Leisl sang their song, ‘16 going on 17’. The interesting part of this was the fact the Gazebo used to film the scene was much larger than the actual Gazebo on display.
The walkway from the fortress back to the old city passes Nonnberg Abbey where Maria was a novice, and where the opening scenes were filmed. A number of scenes were filmed here, including the song ‘Maria’ in the courtyard. The tour only showed the exterior of the Abbey.
Salzburg lake district where panorama and picnic scenes were filmed. Even on the dullest of days, during which throughout our tour in continually rained, the scenery was still magnificent.
Mondsee church, where the wedding scenes were filmed. It was surprising just how small the church really is. It was also a stop to have afternoon tea or some ‘famous’ apple strudel.
Needless to say, we watched Sound of Music straight after the tour and managed to pick out all of the places we had been to. The only downside to the tour, singing along to the songs. I’m sorry, but I do not sing, and some of those that were, well, I say no more.
The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
The story proceeds. That underlying suspicion of Maryanne’s motives rears its head again, but for different reasons.
Of course, Jack, the main character has a name, if not a little trite but it suits him, has always been suspicious because he’s not the type to be approached by beautiful women, and yet, so far has managed to allay those fears but is the perfect companion.
But, what’s a self-confessed gate crasher got up her sleeve.
Out of the hospital and on their road trip, they’re heading for an island and a hotel that overlooks the Mediterranean, which might be synonymous with the perfect location for romance.
But all of that is shattered when he sees her with another man, at the rear of the ferry, and the animation in her manner tells him the man is not just someone who ran into her.
Jack knows who it is, and what he does, so that makes the meeting even more mysterious.
And perhaps dangerous.
Yes, we are exploring the theme of ‘everyone has secrets’.
