I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
—
I gave it about five minutes before I think I started breathing again and then headed back to Jennifer.
Or where I thought I had left her.
She wasn’t there. I think, in the end, it didn’t surprise me. She had been reluctant from the start so if I had to guess, she had done a bunk. This was not her fight, nor mine, but she had a ticket out. Why would you want to come back after being betrayed by the likes of Severin and Maury?
I hope she left the car behind.
Now that I was here there was no point leaving, so I took a few minutes to search the surrounding area, just in case she was still here, just someplace else, and when she wasn’t, I quickly and silently made my way back to the side of the house with the open door from a different direction.
There was another set of French doors, these curtained, and with an overhead light above the doorway, so I kept my distance in case there was a movement activator, another which looked to be a servant’s entrance at the back. Neither door looked to be an easy viable entrance.
The original side door was still unlocked, with no lights or movement inside.
I waited, then opened the door wide enough to slip through. Again, I waited in case there was a silent alarm, then when nothing stirred, slipped through and closed the door behind me.
On the other side of the door, it was quite dark, except now I could see, on one wall, the dying embers of a fire. Someone had been in the room earlier and most likely gone to bed.
It meant the house was occupied.
It also meant I had to be careful.
On the other side of the doors, it was a lot warmer. Again I waited a few minutes, just in case someone came, and, when they didn’t, I pulled out a small torch and turned it on.
In front of me were two chairs and a table, one I would have walked into without a light. The walls had shelves and those shelves were filled with books. Some behind glass doors, others not. There was another chair by the fire, and beside it, a stack of cooks, and a table with had an empty glass and a bottle, and a pair of reading glasses.
The downstairs reading room.
I cross the room slowly, hoping there were no squeaky floorboards, to be expected in an old house like this one. The timber flooring was exposed only at the edges of the room, the rest of the floor covered in a large, discolored, and fraying carpet square.
It was old, like everything else in the room.
I was tempted to have a look at how far the books dated back to but resisted the urge. I was looking for information on the owner.
At the doorway to what looked like a passage, I turned off the torch and peered out. It was not exactly dark, my eyes had adjusted to the low-level light from low wattage lights about a foot above the floor.
Lights to help guide the way at night.
Left, rooms, right, rooms, at the end of the passage a wide doorway leading towards the other side of the house. Larger rooms perhaps.
I turned right and headed towards the front, and they stopped at the doorway to the next room. I’d deliberately walked on the carpet runner in the middle of the passage, and just managed to catch my foot when one part of the floor creaked softly.
The room next door was almost the same as the one I’d entered by, with chairs and shelves but only on two sides. This room had a long window and no French doors.
On one side there was a writing desk, open, with papers scatted on the writing surface. I quickly crossed the room to it, switched on the light, and checked.
Bills. In the name of Mrs. Marianne Quigley. This had to be Adam Quigley’s mother, and by deduction, O’Connell’s mother.
Proof I was in the right place.
Then I heard the squeak of a floorboard followed by the clicking sound of a gun being cocked.
“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot. Hands in the air. And don’t make me ask twice.”
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
It’s around about now, coming to the end of the first week when we should be settling into the edit.
For the pantsers, the ideas run really well, and then the magnitude of the job kicks in, and the words dry up, and that terrible piece of paper staring at you, begging to be written on, becomes a nemesis. When editing, evidence of that shines through, because the continuity may suffer, and the writing might be disjointed. So far, it is not so evident.
But…
I’ve learned over the years that writing a 50,000-word novel needs a degree of planning, and once the day’s allocation has been written, get some ideas down for the next, or for the next few.
Any ideas, whether they fit or not, that flesh out the story in outline form. I do this at the end of the writing session most times, but, sometimes when I’m in the middle of a piece, an idea will pop into my head.
It’s a good distraction.
Unless, like me, you suddenly find yourself writing that piece because the story is pouring out like water from a tap.
Today is another good day, and I’m lost in the relationship between two of our characters, and they are sparring. He suspects she is not what she seems, and she is trying to allay his fears, each trying not to be too conspicuous about it.
I’m also getting to travel myself, even if it is in an armchair, and it’s great that I can go almost anywhere in the world, but I’m settling for some islands off Italy. One day I might actually be able to visit them in person.
Hohensalzburg Castle sits atop the Festungsberg, accessed by a cable car.
The castle itself dominates the Salzburg skyline.
Below is a view down into Salzburg from the castle walls.
We had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside. This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.
The square below featured in the Sound of Music.
Among the more interesting objects to be seen, the gun below shows what some of the castle’s armaments might have been. These cannons, in the ‘Firing Gallery’ date back to the thirty years war in the early 1600’s.
So, what do you do when you discover your life’s work has been hijacked, not only by people you thought you could trust but that unfortunately includes your father.
Guinevere is in charge, making changes, hiring cronies, and pandering to the passed-over celebrity who is now the face of her organisation. An advertising campaign that cost a lot of money, salaries and benefits to the management and talent, and something else entirely for her father.
He had been waiting in the wings a long time to get in the door, and her incapacity was his one chance. She had kept him at bay, and if it had not been for her illness, and the accident, he’d still be in Siberia.
So, what does a stranger in her own castle do?
Plot against those insidious creatures that have taken over.
This is where we discover the plans, she implemented with Howard just before she was incapacitated. That and the investigations she had Monte the private investigator undertake on all of those now working in her organisation.
A very interesting collection of individuals, all of whom had something to hide, and because of this, a means of leverage.
Plans are drawn up, and shots are fired over the bow as a warning. Everyone has been told, the proverbial is about to hit the fan.
A fine day, on this trip a rarity, we decided to take the train to Windsor and see the castle.
This is a real castle, and still in one piece, unlike a lot of castles.
Were we hoping to see the Queen, no, it was highly unlikely.
But there were a lot of planes flying overhead into Heathrow. The wind must have been blowing the wrong day, and I’m sure, with one passing over every few minutes, it must annoy the Queen if she was looking for peace and quiet.
Good thing then, when it was built, it was an ideal spot, and not under the landing path. I guess it was hard to predict what would happen 500 years in the future!
I’m not sure if this was the front gate or back gate, but I was wary of any stray arrows coming out of those slits either side of the entrance.
You just never know!
An excellent lawn for croquet. This, I think, is the doorway, on the left, where dignitaries arrive by car. The private apartments are across the back.
The visitor’s apartments. Not sure who that is on the horse.
St George’s Chapel. It’s a magnificent church for a private castle. It’s been very busy the last few months with Royal weddings.
The Round Tower, or the Keep. It is the castle’s centerpiece. Below it is the gardens.
Those stairs are not for the faint-hearted, nor the Queen I suspect. But I think quite a few royal children and their friends have been up and down them a few times.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.
Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or; I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realized I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognized the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
What would you do if you were mistaken for someone else?
What if when you answer a knock on the door to your hotel room, and the police crash their way in with bullets flying everywhere in a show of unnecessary force.
Of course, the police don’t know you are not the criminal, and facing a possible disaster, do what they have to, to apprehend the man they believe is a murderer.
Our main character now has time to contemplate the ramifications of what just happened in hospital. So much for attending the conference.
Of course, he has other things to think about, the self-confessed gate crasher Maryanne. The adage, if something is too good to be true, it generally is.
Looking forward, there’s some plotting to do.
How can it be possible that our main character has a doppelganger? At the moment it’s just a case of someone who looks like him, and the police have ruled him out as the man they’re looking for.
It’s a story that’s going to play out in a few chapters’ time.
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!
You know how you see these people on the street selling raffle tickets for unbelievable prizes? The ones that you decide are a scam because the prizes quite simply are unbelievable or because the person looks suspect.
Or you know that it’s an email address gathering exercise, but still, everyone gets sucked into it because of the unbelievable prizes, only realising later that the people will sell the address a hundred times over, which is why you should give them a throwaway email address.
And then you make that decision that, what the heck, the person might be getting something out of it, and you’re feeling charitable that morning.
After all, what is $5 these days in the greater scheme of things?
Then, instead of throwing the ticket away, you put it in a dark corner of your wallet, thinking the next time you see it, years will have passed.
It was Wednesday morning, the train arrived on time, and I was feeling charitable.
It wasn’t a year. It was a few months. An email arrived in my inbox, one of which was a few of very few because it was the throwaway email that usually was filled with scams.
It was from the name of the charity. I’d pulled out the ticket when I saw the email and checked.
The subject line said, “You are a winner.”
There was the first red flag. I never won anything.
On the back of the ticket was the list of prizes. The first prize was a holiday house in the Caribbean, worth $500,000. I doubted you could get a house in the Caribbean worth that unless it was a shack.
At the other end of the scale, 100 prizes of a ticket in the next raffle. That was more my speed.
So, I opened the rest of the email. I read and read until I got to the bottom where it said, your prize. ‘Congratulations, you are the lucky winner of the Caribbean holiday house’.
That’s when I decided it was a scam, particularly after it said that I would soon receive an email telling me how to claim the prize. No doubt it would end up with me paying a large sum of money to secure the prize.
Me and about a hundred others.
The next day, the second email arrived from the charity, and it was a debate whether I bothered. I left the inbox on the screen, and the message was left unread while I had a cup of coffee.
Then, curiosity got the better of me.
The email was simple. Attached was a boarding pass and a voucher for a 3-day hotel stay in Kingston Jamaica. The plane was leaving in three days.
I went onto the airline site and, using the booking code, checked to see if it was real.
It was.
I also checked the hotel and called them.
It, too, was real.
It simply made me very wary. In three days, when I turned up at the airport, I fully expected to be told it had been cancelled.
When I handed over the boarding pass document, the lady behind the counter gave me one of those looks, the sort that told me she knew what this was about.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re a prize winner. There are a few this morning. You’re going to be surprised, and then you’re not.”
“Can you tell me if this is a scam or not? It’s not much point going if it’s a scam.”
“Go for the three-day stay in a great hotel.”
“Were you a winner?”
“No. But I know someone who was. Go, lap up the stay. It’ll be worth the $5 you paid for the ticket.”
That’s all she would say.
At the gate waiting for boarding, I wondered if there were any other ‘winners’ in the hundreds waiting to get on the plane. That conversation with the boarding clerk had not filled me with confidence, and more than once, I almost got up and walked away.
But when the boarding call was announced, I joined the queue to get on the plane, and when I reached the gate, I got the first surprise.
“You do realise you’re travelling business class and didn’t have to wait in this queue.”
I said I didn’t, that I didn’t fly very often, and certainly not business class. I was usually down the back of the place with the families with miscreant children.
This would make a pleasant journey.
When I reached the plane, I was directed in the opposite direction, to a cabin where there was plenty of space and a bright welcoming smile. I could get used to travelling in business class.
Could. I shuddered to think what it was costing.
I sat in my seat, in what was like my only little world. Yes, there was another passenger next to me, but she was behind a wall that made her appear as though we were completely independent.
Or would be when the plane took off.
In the meantime, she looked up as I flopped into the seat and gave me a cursory glance, one that told me I was a pretender and didn’t belong there, which was probably true.
And then, if I thought I was going to ignore her, I was wrong.
“It’s rather good up this end of the plane, don’t you think?”
“What makes you think…”
She smiled. “The look on your face. Don’t worry, I had the same gobsmacked look when I got here.”
The steward offered me a drink, either of water, orange juice, or champagne. It wasn’t a hard choice.
“See,” she said, after the steward moved on, “the pretenders always go for the champagne. I’ve been on long enough to realise the real people drink orange juice.”
I shrugged. It was French champagne, not the bubbly I usually had. I knew the difference, as I also knew I could not afford it.
She left me alone to savour the drink and settle. The rest of the cabin filled up, and then, with everyone on board, the main door was closed.
There was time for one more drink, and the glasses were collected.
Once the plane was in the air, I noticed from time to time that she glanced sideways at me while I was immersed in the entertainment system. When the plane had levelled out, the steward was asking for lunch orders.
It was a hard choice. Usually, I avoided airline food like the plague, but the choices in this class were interesting enough to want to try them.
When he moved on, she took a moment to ask, “What are you having?”
I looked over to her side of the seating. Her cubicle was a mess. And now I took the time to look she had messy hair, and rather interesting if not matching clothes, though that might have been a trend I missed.
“Fish.”
“Me too. Safest option. I’ve never travelled in this class, and I guess it shows. Even the posh kids give me funny looks. “
“Then they’ll grow up missing out on discovering what wonderful and diverse people there are out there.”
She smiled again, and it made a difference. “Wow. No one has called me wonderful, let alone diverse. My name is Judy, by the way.”
She held out her hand, and I shook it. I hope she was not expecting anything else.
“Ian.”
“Going to Jamaica for a holiday?”
“A three-day adventure. Perhaps.”
“So am I. In a manner of speaking. I won a raffle, a holiday house, but my dad says it’s a con and I should’ve stayed home. He’s fretting that I’m going to be kidnapped or worse.”
Another winner. There couldn’t be more holiday houses than one, so it was a scam.
“As it happens, so am I. I don’t believe it either, but three days in a posh hotel and this flight. I nearly didn’t come.”
“Neither did I, but you’re right about the hotel. Post isn’t the word. Perhaps you and I should stick together until we find out what this is about. More people are so-called winners on this flight. I heard them talking back in the lounge. I didn’t see you in the lounge.”
“Didn’t know about it. I don’t fly business class, or very often at all, and when I do, it’s down the other end.”
“We must have that sort of face. It’s where I end up with the naughty children.”
The steward arrived with the food, brought individually to us and not on a trolley or with the possibility our choice was no longer available. ‘If I were rich, this would definitely be the way I would travel.
They just managed to clear away the dishes when it was time for the plane to come in for a landing. It was a relatively short flight, and time seemed to pass very quickly. Judy had something to do with that.
We didn’t say much after lunch was served. I got the impression she might have decided talking to strangers on planes was a possible health hazard, and I didn’t push it. After all, the notion we would find out about the scam together made sense, but then how did I know if she was an axe murderer or not?
She smiled at me before joining the queue to get off the plane. Being in first and business, we were first off before the others, but when I came out into the terminal heading for immigration and customs, I couldn’t see her. I decided against buying some duty-free alcohol on the way past. It would be too much to carry.
I thought I saw her at the head of the immigration line but was probably mistaken. Then it was my turn, a pleasant welcoming expression from the officer and the return of my travel documents. Then it was straight to customs because everything I needed was in my backpack, which I had brought on the plane with me. A few minutes while an officer decided to search my bag, I didn’t ask why, just waited patiently until it was done, and they sent me on my way.
It was, in a way, far smoother and less painful than arriving back at JFK. Fewer people, I suppose. I wandered out of the terminal building in search of a bus that would take me to the hotel.
I heard my name, probably for someone else with my name, but I turned anyway. Judy.
How did she, with a suitcase, get through immigration and customs so fast?
She caught up. “Sorry, I had to see a man about getting immigration sorted. My dad knows people everywhere. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but I didn’t want the guy telling my dad I was with a guy off the plane. And that sounds as bad out loud as it did in my head.”
“I get it. My mother, on the other hand, would be astonished if I got off a plane with a girl, so I guess that makes us even.”
She used her smile to smooth the waters. She seemed very happy to be here. “Share a taxi? My Dad hates buses.”
I shrugged. Why not? “OK.”
The taxi ride took about half an hour, and I think we got the almost grand tour getting there. Again, Judy thought it was our faces that got us into trouble. I could also see that her father had weighed her down with endless instructions on what and what not to do, and it wasn’t going to be fun.
The hotel was the Terra Nova, and I had been reading up about it. Old world charm, which to me, made it more interesting than staying in the concrete and glass Hilton or Marriot. I’d also see several of the reviews that said to get as far away from the nightclub as possible. Somehow, I got the impression that would be high on Judy’s to-do list.
When we arrived, there was no one from the plane, and I suspect we managed to get there before the others. We gave our names, and then spent ten minutes convincing the desk clerk that we were not together, and eventually got our rooms, as it turned out, next to each other.
When the porter tried to wrest the case from her, she resisted. Another of her father’s rules is never to let your case out of your sight.
She went to her door, I went to mine, and we disappeared into our rooms at the same time.
The hotel did not disappoint, nor did the room as it was in a remote place from the nightclub. I had three days of this, after whatever was going to happen tomorrow, and, of course, so long as my continued stay wasn’t dependent on having to spend wads of money for something that was supposed to be a prize.
I guess I’d find out in the morning.
An hour passed before two things happened. The first, an envelope appeared from under the door from an invisible delivery boy, or girl, because when I opened the door just after it appeared, there was no one in the passage. The second, ten minutes later, Judy knocked on my door rather than using the bell.
She ignored my greeting, walked over to the bed, and sat cross-legged on the end, almost as if it was her room, not mine.
She had brought the envelope with her, but hers was open. Mine was still sitting on the bench.
“You got anything in the bar?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t looked. She got off the bed, opened the door, pulled out a bottle of beer, and after removing the lid went back to the bed.
Thanks for the offer of one of the others I thought.
“It’s a fucking timeshare.”
I knew she would tell me what she had on her mind, eventually. I’d heard of them but hadn’t quite put two and two together. Perhaps by morning, I would have. I also wondered if she had realised she swore. Perhaps, because it seemed to roll naturally off a lot of younger people’s tongues.
“Damn,” I said, after a minute. “Here I was thinking it was a ticket to a portal to another world.”
She looked long and hard at me, perhaps to see if I was joking or telling the truth. People told me I had a warped sense of humour, and it wasn’t a good thing.
She looked at me oddly, then curiously. “You a science fiction freak?”
“Not sure about the freak part, but I do like a good story with a scientific background. Mostly though I just wish I could step through a portal to a better place.”
She got off the bed, went to the bar, took out another bottle of beer, took the lid off it and handed it to me. “Sorry. I can be a little self-absorbed. And it is your beer, I should have asked.”
“I should be flattered that you would feel safe enough to come into a room with a man you’ve never met before and feel that comfortable as to sit on his bed and drink his beer. Just exactly who are you?”
That look of curiosity just got a little more wide-eyed and elicited another smile. “I can be a little too forward, my father says. You seem a nice guy. Besides, we’ve got a situation.”
“Not really. I’ll admit it’s an odd way to get customers to look at a timeshare, but I’m guessing if the people who brought us here get a ten per cent hit rate, then it pays for the airfares and accommodation, and they get the ongoing benefits.”
“You know about timeshares?”
“I went to a hotel once, and it was a timeshare. When you check in they try to stitch you up for a permanent week, and use of the resort facilities for an annual fee. It can be quite expensive, but I’m guessing some of the resorts might be quite exotic. This is the Caribbean so it might be quite good.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I, which means you and I might be out on our asses this time tomorrow. Or not. Maybe if we can pretend that we’re interested until the three days have passed…”
“And act like we’re a couple, then we’d only have to listen to one pitch. We could act all bratty and ask ridiculous questions. I mean you just about told me everything that was in the envelope, which is not bad since yours is still sealed. It didn’t have a fee, but it did say I would get a week which I could use at this resort, or another anywhere in the world, once a year. it’s at Montego Bay and sounds impressive. We’ll know tomorrow. Tonight, there’s a bar downstairs, and interesting cocktails to be had. I don’t want to go on my own, so if you have nothing else to do…”
How could I refuse after being asked so nicely?
If I was one of those people who attached labels to their fellow humans, I would have called Judy crazy. More than once in the ensuing five hours I was with her, she showed plenty of signs that she could be trouble and could also be very easily misunderstood.
She drank too much and got tipsy, but not drunk. Although it was not my problem, I thought it was a good thing to keep a close eye on her in case she got into trouble. She liked talking about herself, and several of her friends, who, if the truth was known, were not friends as such. She didn’t travel much outside her hometown and was not inclined to live in a big city.
She said her mother left when she was younger, she had two sisters, older and restrictive, and a father who tried to let her live her own life. It was no surprise to learn her father was a policeman.
I tried not to tell her about my non-existent life, the boring job I had, or the miserable circumstances of where I lived. Better she just thought I was a nice guy. I bought her drinks and watched her dance, and once or twice tried not to make a fool of myself. The noise was very loud and followed us along the passageways on our way back to our rooms at an ungodly hour of the morning.
At the door to her room, she kissed me on the cheek, told me I was nice to make sure she was safe and then disappeared.
I shrugged. It was easy to be with her, better than any other girl I’d known and remembered that come the end of the three days she would be gone, and life would go back to the way it was.
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. He’s been missing a lot.
It’s the confined to quarters thing he doesn’t understand. We had the discussion about the coronavirus, and the need to stay at home and only go out when there is a reason to go out, like to get food.
Which brought up another concern that he didn’t let go of, that he didn’t think we had enough cat food or cat litter, or treats, though he didn’t define what he meant by treats.
I assumed it was real fish.
I didn’t tell him that it was a treat for us too, the cost of Barramundi and Salmon just a little expensive for pensioners.
Not that he remembered that we have been pensioners since April last year.
I swear that cat is getting more forgetful. And, yes, that was another heated debate, whether he was getting dementia.
So, now he’s been taking to his hiding places, and keeping away from me, coming out only to get a pat or two from my other half, and give me the daggers look. And eat, though some nights he turns his nose up at it.
You can tell his displeased because some of it ends up in his water bowl, and then sits by the water bowl and moans and groans till the water’s replaced.
I swear I’m going to go bonkers if we are forced to stay in the same place much longer.
His annual visit to the vet is coming up, and maybe I can get something for his grumpiness.
