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!
It was the small town that we had visited once, some years ago, that had enticed me back.
Those had been happier times, times when the stench of money hadn’t overtaken sensibility, and who we really were.
Not that I had changed all that much, except for the Upper West Side apartment, and a posh car to go with it, but what had disappointed me was the change in Liz, the woman I thought once was the love of my life.
Without the trappings of wealth, she was the kindest, most thoughtful, and generous person I knew, but that changed when I became the recipient of an inheritance that beggared belief. We both made a promise from the outset that it would not change us, but unfortunately, it did.
And that was probably the main reason I was standing outside an old fixer-upper house on several acres overlooking the ocean.
I’d asked Liz to come, but she was having a weekend away in Las Vegas with her new friends, or as one of the ladies rather salaciously said, ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ kind of weekend.
Charmaine had told me about the house, one that she had admired for a long time, but didn’t have the means to buy it.
Charmaine was a painter, a rather good one, and both Liz and I had met her on a weekend away upstate, and I’d bought one of her landscapes to hang in our new apartment. Liz hated it, but I think that had more to do with the painter than the painting, and that was because Charmaine had flirted with me, and that, I had observed over time, was how she was with everyone.
She called it her sales technique. After all, it had worked on me.
I listened to the auctioneer go through the rules of the auction and then move on to a physical description of the property. I’d attended several viewings and gained an idea of what was needed if I were to buy it. It had good foundations and had only suffered from a lack of TLC. It was how the auctioneer summed it up.
When he called for the first bid, I felt a hand slip into mine, and a glance sideways showed it to be Charmaine. I had asked her along for support, but she had something else to do; it appeared now that she hadn’t.
“So,” she whispered next to my ear, “you were serious about this place?”
I had been dithering, not being able to make up my mind, but Liz, in the end, made the decision for me. I’d overheard a snippet of conversation with one of her new friends, and to be honest, I’d been surprised.
“Perhaps it was time to find a hideaway.”
“Things that bad?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m writing too much into it. At any rate, I needed an excuse to get out of town, and being here was as good as any.”
The first bid came in at 450,000. I knew the reserve was about 700,000, and I was prepared for 850,000. I was hoping to spend less than that, as the renovations would be another 250,000.
“We could go and have a picnic. It’ll certainly cost less than buying this place.”
“I’m here now.”
Holding hands was just one of Charmaine’s ‘things’, and I had never written anything into what might have been called a relationship of sorts. We were not lovers, and the conversation had never been steered in that direction, but I did find myself gravitating towards her when Liz was off doing her thing with her friends. To be honest, I simply liked the idea of a picnic and watching Charmaine paint her landscapes.
I raised the bid to 500,000. Another from the previous bidder, 550,000. Another at 600,000. It seems there were three bidders for the property. The other sixteen people attending were observers, undoubtedly locals interested in how this would help their property value.
I went 625,000 when the auctioneer changed the increment after a lack of bidding. It was countered, and the next bid was 650,000. Another at 657,500, and then the first bidder went to 700,000, the reserve.
“You do realise the other bidders are friends of the owner and are there to push the price up?” Charmaine whispered in my ear.
I’d heard of it happening, but I’d not suspected it until she mentioned it.
“Going once, going twice at 700,000.” The auctioneer looked at me. “I’ll accept 10,000 increments.”
I nodded. 710,000. It quickly moved to 800,000, after I bid 790,000.
The auctioneer looked at me expectantly. “810,000, sir?”
That was more than I wanted to spend, though an elbow in the ribs was the clincher, and when I declined, there was an air of disappointment.
“Going once, going twice, all done at 800,000?” A look around the crowd confirmed we were all done, and the gavel came down.
“Looks like we’re going on a picnic,” she said. “I’d expect a call in an hour or so.”
Two things happened that weekend, both of which surprised me. The first, Charmaine was right, I did get a call, and finished up with a hideaway in the country, overlooking the ocean. The second, Liz didn’t come back from Las Vegas. She had apparently found someone new, someone more exciting, or so she said.
I was disappointed but not overly concerned. She had changed, and I had not, and if the truth be told, we were drifting apart. We parted amicably, sold the apartment, and moved on in different directions.
I had a new residence and renovations to take my mind off the break-up, and when I told Charmaine, she said she thought we were not a perfect match, in her opinion. And in light of my new status, I could now ask her to come and stay in the spare bedroom, a lot better, I said, than the one-person tent she had been using, an offer she readily accepted.
Until, a year later, it became something more than that.
Well, that’s his, and this is mine. Possession is 9 points of the law, or so they say.
What’s mine is mine and what’s his is mine. Sound like a divorce settlement? Sure is!
There are often a lot of arguments over the possession of goods, and who they belong to. Perhaps it’s best to own nothing, then no one can take it from you.
Sound like a lawyer contesting his own divorce? Probably.
But that’s not the only mine. Take for instance a land mine or a sea mine.
Devilish things to walk on or brush up against. It spawned a new type of ship, a minesweeper, and I’ve read a few books about the exploits of those aboard, and how close they come to death when a ship hits one.
And land mines, the damage they can cause.
Then, of course, you can go underground, way underground, into a mine.
Gold in South Africa, coal in Wales, tin in Sumatra, copper in New Guinea.
And it doesn’t have to be underground. You can have an open-cut mine, which accounts for a lot of coal mines in Australia.
Oddly, you can mine data, the sort that’s stored in databases on computers. I’ve done a bit of that in a former life.
You can mine talent,
Or you can mine Bitcoin, but that’s a whole different ballgame, and everyone seems to be in on some sort of scam when it comes to Bitcoin. It seems to me the only way you would make money out of Bitcoin was to buy units the very first day it was released.
It’s not, and never will be, something I’ll dabble in.
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
Latanzio had given up the notion he was going to go free and escape with Angelina. Amy had made it very clear that her father, Benito, wanted him dead, and because he had nowhere to go, least of all with Angelina, and even less likely with Gabrielle, it might force him into a corner, or unlikely as it appeared, he might make a mistake.
He hadn’t denied the fact he’d tried to kill me or seem concerned that Amy had referred to me as a very dangerous character. Latanzio didn’t get where he was in the crime business by being scared. He was going to be all bluster, until he worked out what was really going on, and then he would become dangerous.
But, when given a choice between the two women in his life, the fact he chose Gabrielle over Angelina said a lot. She had been circumspect from the beginning when Amy took her into ‘protective custody’. She was smarter than Angelina, she had to be, given what Angelina’s father would do to her if he found out.
It was time for him to be taken to Gabrielle and explain what was happening. Amy had implied, in her discussion with Gabrielle, that his facilitated escape and subsequent survival was not assured, hinting that her employers were not happy with him over his most recent mistake in killing a witness.
I was back in front of the monitors, this time to see Fabio with Gabrielle. Amy had joined me in the control room and sat in the chair next to me.
“Ready to see some sparks fly,” she asked.
“How so?”
“We sat her down and laid the whole scenario out on the table, Fabio’s marriage, his role in the death of a rival, the planned attack on you, and the fact your people are actively seeking vengeance, and that we can’t hold you for longer than 24 hours before we have to hand him over, a time that expires in about an hour. She also knows, in no uncertain terms, that Benito wants him dead, and that most likely will include her.”
“So not to put any pressure on him, then?”
“His options are extremely limited, and he knows it. He can go to jail or Benito will get him. He can go on the run, but Angelina won’t go with him. If truth be told, she’ll probably kill him before he gets out of here. And as for what he’s going to do about Gabrielle, that we’re about to find out.”
We watched him be escorted down the narrow passage. A door at the end of the passage opened, and he was thrust in. On a second monitor, in the room, we saw him stagger in and the door closed behind him.
Gabrielle was not pleased to see him, but, unlike Angelina, she was a little more reserved in her responses, thinking, or knowing, they were at the very least wired for sound.
It seemed to me he was more in tune with Gabrielle than with Angelina. Perhaps Gabrielle came without baggage.
Gabrielle was the first to speak. “That bitch in charge doesn’t like you, but then neither does your wife’s father. Not a man to be crossed, Fabio, and yet you were dumb enough to do so.”
“She means nothing to me. The old man always treated me like I was dirt.”
“And this man you killed?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
She frowned at him. “You don’t lie to me, remember. I know you have for some time now, but this thing, I need to know. You kill him or not?”
I looked sideways at Amy. “You ask her to ask him?”
“I did, but she told me in no uncertain terms what to do with myself. But it seems it sowed some doubt, she’s curious herself now.”
Fabio sat down on the side of the bed and looked over at the boy lying facing the wall on a camp stretcher. He’d looked when Fabio entered the room, but then went back to his book.
Fabio shrugged. “It was an accident. The fool drew a gun on me and in the wrestle, it went off and he died. I swear that wasn’t my intention to kill him, just make him see sense.”
There could be a shred of truth in that statement, if they had wrestled for the gun, but they didn’t. One of Fabio’s goons had disarmed him, then when he stepped away, Fabio shot him. The goon had been horrified. It was not what was expected of him.
She shook her head. “That better be the truth of it, Fabio, or I’ll kill you myself. What was the deal with the witness?”
“It has to be a fabrication, a ruse to try and convict me, but there was no witness. I asked the boys to find this character to have a talk, but they discovered he was being held in a secret location, one they could find out about. Now there’s suddenly all this nonsense they’re using as an excuse to hunt me down.”
“But you wanted to find him. Why? For him to tell the police your version of the truth?”
He was like a man bailing out a sinking ship, and not making any progress as it sank lower and lower in the water. Gabrielle was the alligator in the water, circling, waiting.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Actually, it does. I’m told he survived, and he’s now looking for you. And that means if he’s coming after you, and I’m with you, he’s also coming after me and my son. So, here’s the deal. You want to leave here with me, you need to square away the witness, sort out the bitch from hell, and get Benito’s contract off your head. Think you can do that?”
Tall order, with odds ranging from impossible all the way up to needing a miracle.
“Perhaps we should just take him to Benito’s house and drop him off,” Amy said.
Her attitude towards Fabio had changed from the moment Fabio had sent in a hit team. Once she might have seen matters from a goodness and light perspective, but now, I don’t think Fabio was her list of best friends. Not after trying to kill us, and succeeding with other members of her team.
“Or give me five minutes in a locked room with him. I’m sure I could drum some sense into him,” I said.
She looked sideways at me, then shook her head. “That’s not how we do things.”
I shrugged. “It could be. You’ve broken more rules and laws today that you’ve probably done in a lifetime. What were you expecting to get out of this?”
I waved my hand at the screens. What she was doing, it didn’t really make much sense. Fabio wasn’t going to confess, and with Benito on his case, all he could do was run. Or try to make peace with him, and give up the mistress.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a 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 prioritising.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Was I working for a ghost?
Training sometimes was one of those things that went in one ear and came out the other. That accounted for the boring bits, but our instructors called it tradecraft.
I guess I should have taken more notice at the time.
Home was a bedsit in Bloomsbury, Not far from the Russell Square underground station, on the ground floor overlooking the small park. Sometimes, in summer I would sit there and watch the world go by, thinking there had to be more to life than waiting for an opportunity.
To do what, at the time, I didn’t know. But, when this opportunity presented itself, oddly as a rather strange ad in the help wanted pages of the newspaper, I guess the people who put it there were looking for the curious sort, with a sense of adventure.
My first impression of the job was that of a courier who would be required to travel a lot. It said, in part, “must be prepared to travel to different locations worldwide, understand the requirement of confidentiality, and must be able to respond to emergencies that might occur in the carrying out of your duties.”
To me, it spelled courier, though I rather hoped it wasn’t the briefcase handcuffed to a wrist sort and no guns.
After the first interview, I think I had guessed correctly, though, in subsequent training, the word tradecraft put a slightly different slant to the job. That, and the surveillance module, sold to us as “you need to know if you are being followed, recognise hostiles, and be able to deal with them.”
But, it was the notion that we should get out of any habits we had, those that made us predictable to an enemy, yes, they actually used the word, enemy. Like for instance, if we caught the same train, or bus, into the city. If we went to the same cafe for coffee, restaurant for lunch or dinner, met people in a pub on the same day, same time, each week.
Before all this, I found comfort in a regular schedule. I hated being late, except when the transport system let me down. I had a regular stop off on the way to the office for coffee, and usually went to the same cafe for lunch at the same time.
Inevitably I would leave home at the same time and quite often return home at the same time. OK, I was boring and predictable. Now it was a little different, with some variation in departure and arrival times, as well as the places I stopped for coffee, and lunch or dinner.
This day I was very late, after dark in fact, getting back to the flat.
I went in after checking for mail, not that anyone ever sent letters these days, unlocked my door, went in and switched on the light.
The whole of the living space had been trashed. Well, more to the point, someone had checked everywhere it was possible to hide anything, which I didn’t, and hadn’t bothered cleaning up after them.
Had they been interrupted?
If that had happened the landlady would be down in a flash the moment I walked in the door, not to commiserate on my bad luck, but to issue me with an eviction notice. Very little was tolerated in her establishment.
That she hadn’t told me that whoever did this had done it very quietly, and without anyone knowing. We had been taught the same procedures which is why I recognised the signs. This had to be done by my previous employers. The only question I had was why?
I had nothing they could possibly want.
I took a few minutes to clean up the mess so that instead of a thorough trashing, it just looked like the aftermath of a wild party, then went out to get a coffee and think about why this had happened.
Not far up the road was a cafe I went to for dinner if I wasn’t doing something else, and, lo and behold, the minute I walked in the door, there was Severin, sitting at the back half disguised by the evening newspaper.
Obviously, he’d been waiting for me.
Yes, now I understood the implications of being someone who did the same thing over and over.
There was no mistaking the invitation, and, after briefly considering ignoring him, realised that was not going to work. After seeing what happened to O’Connor at their hand, I didn’t want to join him.
I sat down. “I have to say this is an unexpected surprise.”
He put the paper down. “For both of us, I can assure you. I’ll get straight to the point. I want the USB.”
“What USB?”
“That your target was carrying, it wasn’t on him, so by elimination, not being anywhere at the crime scene, you must have it. He either gave it to you, or you took it from him. Where is it?”
I took a minute to process what he was saying. I had not seen a USB, not had he given me one, not was there one nearby. I would have seen it. No need to pretend to be surprised. I was.
“I haven’t got it.”
“He didn’t give you anything?”
“How could he, you were there just about the same time as I was. And after you shot him, he had nothing on him. Whatever you’re looking for, it must still be in the alley, or he hid it somewhere else. And since you shot him, I doubt whether you’ll ever find out.”
He shook his head and folded his paper. “If you’ve got it we’ll find out. and it will not bode well for you. And if you accidentally find it, here’s my card. Call me.”
He dropped a card on the table as he got up.
I picked it up just as he stopped and turned to give me a last look before walking out the door. There was no mistaking the intent, if they thought I had it, I’d be dead now.”
And it meant that the evidence O’Conner was referring to was on a USB. All I had to do was find it. Or Nobbin did.
On the other side, there was another door, but before we went through it, I was ‘decontaminated,’ which meant being sprayed with a gas of some sort. It didn’t have a bad smell.
Then another invisible door, or archway, opened, and beyond, it was a large open space with blue skies, trees, flowers, what was once parkland, because we had something similar in what was called a ‘public space’, but on a smaller scale. Life, such as before me, was still not possible on the outside, but it was improving.
Or so we were told.
It was a world within a world. It was warm, there were creatures, and people tended it.
“It’s a pity we have to die before we get to see what we once had,” I said. She had slowed down to match my movement.
She was what we called a power walker.
“There is much to explore over the coming week.”
It was large and a long walk. There was a lake, and there were small row boats. The only rowing I’d done was in a gym. Perhaps I’d get a chance to go on a boat.
We walked for half an hour. We reached a row of bungalows built along the water’s edge. At the third bungalow, she said, “This will be your residence for the next week.”
She led the way. As we approached the door, it opened. She went in, and I followed. It was far better than anything I’d lived in my whole life, the sort of place we speculated management lived in.
“You have everything you need for the next week.”
“Am I free to explore that world outside my door?”
“With me, yes. I will be staying here with you.”
Interesting. “And interaction with any others who are staying here.”
“Of course. This is not a prison. But as I said, I will be with you.”
It was beginning to feel like it was a prison.
She sat down at the table. “Please join me, and we’ll go over the rules.”
Was I disappointed? No. I could think of worse ways to live the last week of my life. It was just so unexpected that places like this existed, and my last week would be an endless reminder of what I had, in more ways than one.
About ten minutes into what seemed to be a well-rehearsed speech, I made a discovery. Well, it was not so much a discovery as it was confirmation of a theory I once had.
About a year before, I was given a case that involved a missing woman who had not turned up for work that morning. Normally, people had to be missing several days before we investigated, but I got the impression she was important.
And a surprise because crimes involving people were far and few between, and anyone committing crimes that killed or seriously injured others and was found guilty was summarily terminated.
In a small community, it was an effective deterrent.
And being such an important case, I was surprised my superior dropped the file on my desk with the warning, discretion was paramount, that I was to report results to him directly and only him, and if anyone came to me for information, I was to direct them to him.
It was an odd case, one where I should have got a similar story from everyone, especially in her block where she lived, but no two stories were the same. Similar, perhaps, but always a key detail amiss.
Only one of the thirty-odd people I spoke to had a completely different story. He had been missing the week she arrived, and when he came back, he discovered her living next door.
And when he tried to talk to her, she simply ignored him. Another strange thing was that she had a visitor who turned up late at night, and they would leave together, return in the early hours, and the visitor left before anyone else in the block woke.
And then, that very morning, neither returned.
When I asked why he didn’t report the events, he, like many others, said they didn’t want to get involved. I knew he knew more than he was telling me, but I also recognised fear.
I took my findings to my superior, and he told me it was imperative that I find her as soon as possible. He didn’t say why.
But I knew what it was he wasn’t saying.
A lot of my job involved discretion; one of only a few who were privy to information that was restricted. Yes, we had security levels, and due to seniority and my ability to keep secrets, I’d advanced to the highest level.
It was a privilege and also a curse.
It was where I discovered the people above my pay grade had a different life and privileges, which most people, if they knew, would be surprised. It was, someone once said, a case of don’t do as I do, do as I say.
Very apt.
It led me to the conclusion that she was having an illicit relationship with a man she worked with. I could go to her workplace to ask embarrassing questions, but instead visited the more exclusive hotels where illicit relationships played out.
There were seven I knew about, one near the block where she lived. I went there first, and when I told them who I was and what I was doing there, I was taken to the manager’s office, and then to a room where, very carefully laid out, the body of the missing woman.
They had known someone would come for her, and that it was better they did not report it via the usual means.
There were no visible signs of violence, so no harm had been inflicted on her. I asked who had booked the room and received a blank stare. No names were ever used, and there was no CCTV footage.
In certain circumstances, of which this was one. It told me that management was, or could be, involved.
I dismissed the manager and made a cursory inspection of the room and the body. Fully dressed, she looked as though she were asleep. It was not my job to determine the cause of death, but the skin under my fingers when determining if there was a pulse was odd.
She was perfect in every way, not exactly the norm.
Examination completed, I reported back and was told to leave, my job done. As I went through the foyer, I could see that someone had spoken to the manager; he looked a deathly shade of white.
I remained at a cafe not far from the hotel to see what happened next, and within ten minutes, two black cars and a van arrived, men in black uniforms from the cars, and men in white suits from the van.
Ten more minutes, and they were gone. I didn’t see the body being removed.
Nothing more was said, but seeing Miranda in front of me, now, she had all the same characteristics.
In keeping with the new travel plan, we are picking places in Australia, where we can exchange our timeshare week.
Some people consider timeshares as a waste of time and money, and the process of getting one is very painful, which it can be.
Certainly, in some of the places we have gone, they tried hard to sell you another which can be a downside to staying, but the fact we get to stay in a three-bedroom fully kitted apartment of bungalow for $200 for the week far outweighs the small inconveniences.
Previously, we stayed at Coffs Harbour, but this time, we decided to stay at Port Macquarie.
Our bungalow, as they are called, is on the edge of the lagoon, which has an island and has been stocked with fish, though I doubt we would be allowed to go fishing in it.
For the more adventurous, there are canoes. I think I would prefer the BBQ, and watch the planes taking off and landing at the airport just on the other side of the tree line on the other side of the lagoon.
At least they are only smaller planes like the De Havilland Dash 8.
And, knowing the airport was only minutes away, we dropped in for a quick photo op and got the following
It was a song, sung by the Mommas and Papas I think. I suspect that will show my age.
I don’t like Mondays – another song, not sure who sang it.
Well, it’s official, I don’t like Mondays.
I’ve been procrastinating since last Thursday, telling myself I have to get the next part of one of my stories written, but I keep putting it off. I have to go to Africa, the Niger Delta to be exact. It can wait, I’m not ready for the steaming jungle and hostile villagers yet.
I didn’t do anything on Sunday, and, as a writer, I guess that’s not very good. I’m supposed to be writing a page, or a hundred or thousand words a day, just to keep the juices flowing.
I’m not in the mood. I sit and stare at the computer screen, and nothing is coming. Is this the first sign of writer’s block?
I dig out several articles on how to overcome it, and start putting their suggestions into action. No. No. Maybe. No. I don’t think it’s writer’s block.
Perhaps I need some inspiration so I go to my tablet playlist, and spend 10 minutes trying to find the headphones carelessly discarded by one of my grandchildren the last time they were here.
And, yes, the tablet was left in the middle of playing a Minecraft video which drained the battery. Now I can’t find the charger!
Back at the computer, holding a dead tablet, and a pair of headphones, inspiration is as far away as the mythical light at the end of the tunnel. Today it is an oncoming express train.
Perhaps a pen and paper will work.
An idea pops into my head ….
Is it possible the passing of a weekend could change the course of your life? An interesting question, one to ponder as I sat on the floor of a concrete cell, with only the sound of my breathing, and the incessant screams coming from a room at the end of the corridor.
It was my turn next. That was what the grinning ape of a guard said in broken English. He looked like a man who relished his job.
What goes through your mind at a time like this, waiting, waiting for the inevitable? Will I survive, what will they do to me, will it hurt?
The screaming stops abruptly, and a terrible silence falls over the facility.
Then, looking in the direction of where the screams had come from, I hear the clunk of the door latch being opened, and then the slow nerve-tingling screech of rusty metal as the door opens slowly.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, no.
No writer’s block. But I have to stop watching late-night television
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 