Category: Fiction

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 51

We have a possible situation

…

I was walking slowly along the passage leading to the elevator on my way back to the bridge when the First Officer’s voice broke my thoughts.

“Captain?”

“Number one?”

“Could you come to the bridge; we have a possible situation.”

“On my way.”

A ‘possible situation’ for Number One that could mean almost anything, from an engineering calamity to a standoff with 100 alien battleships.  I was hoping for the calamity in engineering.

When I arrived on the bridge it was calm.  Was I expecting panic?

Number one stood, relinquishing the captain’s chair.

“On screen,” he said as I crossed the deck to join him.

A magnified vision of three alien spaceships appeared ahead.

“Between us and the Princesses home planet.  If we can see them, they can see us.  I suspect they knew we were coming.  I’ve slowed down to give us some preparation time.”

Of course.  Given her reservations about going home, the time she’d been away, the fact she had been living with the enemy, and the changing of power, it was not dissimilar to events that had happened through history on our own homework.

Was it too much to expect things would be different, and better than what we had?

“What do you think, friendly or hostile?”

“We should treat every encounter as hostile until proven otherwise.  A friendly response would not be three ships blocking our path.”

My sentiments exactly.  “General and team to the bridge.”

A few seconds later, “Acknowledged.”

“How far away are they?”

“We could be there in 30 minutes,” the navigator said.

“Can we scan for life signs, weapons, anything?”

“Not until we’re closer.  From here all we can see is their ships.”

The General and three others that made up his bridge attack team arrived on the bridge.

“What do we have?” He asked as he crossed to his station.

“Three ships waiting for us.”

“Same as the last vessel we encountered?”

“We have to get closer.  You better get ready for a fight.  I don’t think these people are going to be as friendly as the others.”

“You have information on these people.”

“Only from what the princess told me.  They have been constantly at war with themselves and others, with ever-changing governments.”  It had painted an interesting picture and one that might leave them battle-hardened or battle weary.

“Same old same old then.” 

It was, at times, no different from where we came.  Even with lessons learned from the past we still had pockets of war between stronger and weaker countries, these days mostly over dwindling resources.

“Let’s just hope their weapons are not superior to ours.”  It was a thought that I should have kept to myself.

“I’m sure we are as well-equipped as we possibly can be, given we had no idea if or what we would or could be up against.  The weapons are far superior to anything we have back home.”

Which had been the reason why in the first instance we didn’t know about, and once out here, could not get close enough back in each orbit to use them.  Our masters had theoretically considered everything.

Those weapons included nuclear-tipped torpedoes designed to travel through space, high-intensity laser beams that would cut through almost anything, including the alien alloy that this ship was constructed of, and a defensive tool, the ability to absorb shock waves and explosions and laser beams, what might be called shields.

The limited tests back home showed they worked, but out here in space against aliens with superior technology, w we were you to prove their worth.

Perhaps today would be the day.

“You have the bridge Number one.  Stay on course and speed and let me know when we are either hailing range.”

That would give me about a half hour.  I had more questions for the princess.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 8

I’m in the middle of writing a new chapter, one that goes back a little in time, but helps set up events that occur later towards the end.

And true to form, it’s going a little off track.

There is scope for it to be a pivotal point in the story, but it’s not quite working out that way.

I’m doing this while I’m waiting for my usual Friday grandchild collection from school. Here I have to get here a half hour before pick up time to get a favourable position in the queue.

So it’s a good time to do some editing.

And it’s where I work on one of my stories, matched to a photo as inspiration.

Not today.

There are pressures in getting the NaNoWriMo project finished, and it’s getting away from me.

This part was not as easy as I hoped, so back to the job. Hopefully, there will be better news tomorrow

A to Z – April – 2026 – G

G is for – A Ghost from the past

….

It was a silly ritual, but when four of us graduated high school, we made a pact on Prom Night that we would meet up every year, New Year’s Eve, on the 81st floor lookout of the Empire State Building, every year until we couldn’t, literally the only excuse not to be there was death.

We thought it was original, but of course, lots of movies immortalised the same thing, making it a little passe. And with it, there were gaps when others didn’t make it.

I, on the other hand, had been to every meeting. When others didn’t, I was disappointed, but then that wasn’t the only disappointment in my life.

John Rogers, who was keen on Alison West, the two who were our prom king and queen, didn’t stay together very long; their fields of study and universities meant the tyranny of distance would eventually take its toll.

Daniel Franks, that was me, and Marjorie Leyton were not a couple but had gone to the prom together, because we could have been an item, but neither of us pressed it. We parted and saw each other from time to time, and now, mostly at the Empire State Building. She was the second most attended member.

We had eventually all gone in different directions, and the last time we met was at the high school reunion. The other three were married, successful, great partners and children they were proud to show off, and I, well, I was the odd one out. The girl that I wanted to marry just didn’t know I existed, and though I had tried with others, from home and away, it just didn’t have the same thing about it.

Maybe one day, before I die.

…

The cell phone rang shrilly, waking me from a restless sleep. I glanced over at the clock on the far bedside table, and it read 2:37 a.m.

I normally had it switched off overnight for just that reason, not to be woken in the middle of the night. It was always difficult to fall asleep; it was far worse if I was woken soon after.

I looked at the screen. ‘Private Number’.

No one that I would normally answer. I let it ring out and then switched it off.

Five minutes later, another cell phone rang, a phone that I had used three times in eighteen years, the last time precipitating the most anxious three weeks of my life.

It was a call I could not ignore.

I dragged myself out of bed and got to it just as it rang out. No matter, I knew who it was, and called straight back.

“Danny. Bad time?”

“Very.”

“Still a light sleeper?”

“One eye open and a gun under the pillow, some things never change. What do you want, Fred?”

“Texting an address. Extraction. You have thirteen hours and five minutes.”

After the last time he called, I thought I’d drawn a line under this sort of affair. “I don’t do this anymore.”

“You left the phone on. Naughty boy. Sorry. On your horse.”

The phone went dead.

I glared at it, then put it on the desk. It chimed. Message, the address, and when I looked it up, it was a back alley in the financial district of St Louis, Illinois. I lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and to get to St Louis, Missouri, I would have to take I-35 south. Easy as. It was just that it was a 9-hour drive, without breaks, so I just had enough time to get there.

I shook my head, considering I should just ring back and say I was done with him and his antics.

Should, but wouldn’t. Perhaps this was what I needed to get me out of the despondency I’d fallen into.

…

A half hour later, refreshed and ready to go, I headed to the lockup at the rear of the property I lived on and dragged the cover off the 2016 Silver Ford Fusion sedan. It was once described as the ultimate invisible car, and the reason why I owned one. It had fifteen sets of plates, and today it was running with my home state. That would change when I got to St Louis, and again, depending on where I was told to take the target.

When I reached Cedar Rapids, I stopped for an hour for coffee and breakfast of pancakes, bacon and eggs, at a diner where the place was clean, the staff were friendly, and the service was quick. The food wasn’t bad either.

Outside St Louis I changed the plates and paperwork, changed into different clothes, the sort that when the police asked a witness to describe me, it would be average height, average weight, average clothes, you know, check shirt, well-worn North Face parka, well-worn hiking boots, faded well-worn jeans, and a well-worn face that had had spent a lot of time outdoors.

The sort of person a mother wouldn’t recognise if he were standing next to her on a bus. It was the part of the training I liked the most – becoming invisible.

Then, ten minutes before the appointed time, I sent the location to a burner number, a street corner where I could stop for just long enough for someone to get in, and we could keep moving. This was a critical part of the operation and required precision timing. The only thing that could mess this up was an accident, and I’d checked the route; nothing was going to cause a problem.

At the precise moment, I stopped the car, released the door lock, and someone got in the back. They were covered, protected from the cold, and I didn’t look other than to make sure they were in and the door closed before I drove off. In all, I was there for 7 seconds.

After sending an acknowledgement text to the boss, he sent the destination. There was generally no conversation with the target; it was pick up and deliver. Food was in a hamper on the back seat. We would not be stopping for anything other than gas and restroom visits.

…

There was no communication with the target; it was just my job to take them from point A to point B, which this time, was outside Saks, Fifth Avenue, New York. I would have guessed a safe house, not a place where the target could do some indulgent shopping. I sighed inwardly.

A glance in the back told me very little, other than this time it was a woman, and that she would not be recognisable as anyone I would know or attempt to guess at. Because we both worked for the same man, she would have the same training as I had, except I didn’t get to go into the field as a primary agent; I had only qualified for work in Section 5, support services.

There had been times when I was disappointed, but sometimes running support could also be as dangerous as an agent on the ground, especially when it was a hot extraction.

At the first restroom stop, I pulled into the carpark close to the building, and she got out, taking a small backpack with her. I had not seen it when she got in, but that meant little. I waited half an hour, the maximum time before I had to go check, but she reappeared, having changed her appearance, but still as anonymous as before.

I was not meant to, but I watched her walk from the front door of the cafe, towards the car before turning to the front as she neared. It reminded me of someone from a distant past, but exactly who eluded me.

The door shut, and I drove off.

Once past the city limits, she asked, quite unexpectedly, “What’s your name?” The voice was distorted through the mask.

“Against protocol, ma’am.”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Surely it doesn’t matter.”

“Not my call. The boss is insistent. No names, no conversation.”

I heard a sigh, and then she settled into the seat. The car wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but Services had upgraded the seating, especially for the driver, knowing how long we might have to drive in a single sitting. Moving an agent was by car. Any other form of travel left a trail.

A half hour later, I heard the sounds of sleep. I would get mine after I dropped her off.

…

Darkness settled slowly until the inky blackness swallowed us up, and then it was a matter of watching the headlights of the cars opposite come and go, and the cars and trucks behind and in front pass or get passed. There was a reasonable amount of traffic, and for the first few hours of darkness, it was almost boring.

There was no movement from the back seat.

Then, “I need a break. Find some facilities.”

I checked the GPS and there was one ten minutes ahead. “Ten minutes or so.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes, I pulled off the main road and stopped at a BP petrol station at a place called Straughan. She got out and went inside. I filled the tank with Premium, paid the bill in cash and got back in the car.

That’s when I saw a car, sitting in the truck park, no lights, but suddenly, the flaring of a match lit a cigarette. Not enough light to see the driver’s face, but an outline. A large man in a small car.

It could be nothing.

The door opened and closed. I started the car and drove out slowly. I watched the car behind me. It didn’t move. I turned and went back the way we came to the on ramp of the I-70 and soon was back up to speed.

Back on the highway, I switched on the cruise control and relaxed. A glance every now and then in the exterior rear vision mirror showed the usual traffic, except after an hour, a set of headlights appeared a distance back and then stayed there, sometimes falling back, sometimes moving faster, but never beyond a certain point.

Damn!

It could be my imagination, but I didn’t think so. There was that car on the side of the road back at the gas station, but the fact that it had taken hours to locate us suggested only one possibility.

“Excuse me?”

A few seconds of silence, then “I thought we were not to speak.”

“True, but there might be a problem. I would like you to check everything you have and make sure there isn’t a tracking device.”

“We have a tail?”

“We might, or it might be my paranoia.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Humour me.”

I heard her mutter something under her breath and then reluctantly search. A minute later, a sharp gasp, the window opening and then closing.

“How?” I asked.

“I was with the target, who seemed a little more anxious than usual. I left as soon as I could without raising suspicion, called the controller and requested extraction. There were other red flags, and it was time.”

“Once they realise you tossed the tracker, the excitement begins.”

I had three guns, a modified car that could outrun the car behind me, theoretically, but they had time to set up a blockage further along, depending on how desperate they were to capture my passenger. I guess we’d soon find out.

“Settle in. This could take a while.”

Except, not long after, the headlights appeared behind me again. There were two trackers. I wouldn’t bother her about the second; just wait and see what they were prepared to do. I was on a major highway, and there were a lot of trucks to use as cover.

…

At the next gas station, near Akron, I sent a text message requesting another car and a device that would knock out anything transmitting a signal, which meant we would not have any communications. That would not be a problem for the short time it took for us to get away. I also requested her to double-check everything she had with her and on, just to make sure.

I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say whether there was another device, but it was clear she had completely changed everything and left the other clothes and belongings behind.

At Akron, we changed cars.

I also made an alarming discovery. The woman in the back of my car was a girl I used to know back in high school, the one who never gave me a second look. When I did know her, it was she who had suggested, with the grades I had, that I should apply to the FBI. She didn’t say she was, but it surprised me that she suggested it.

Annabel Tyler.

Undercover agent for? I was tempted to ask, but it was not my business. She wouldn’t remember me, not if she had evolved into many different identities and personas. She probably didn’t know who she was herself.

We lost the tail. There were no more trackers, and I arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue.

When I stopped the car outside the building, she leaned forward and offered a card. It had a number scribbled on it.

“What’s this?”

“My number, Daniel. I was far too focused on turning into whatever this is I am now, and lost sight of everything that should matter. I’m tired and need a break. You call this number, and I’ll answer, any time of the day or night.”

“Why?”

“You now know my secret, and I know yours. You are the only person I can trust. What do you think? Don’t disappoint me a second time.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. Into thin air. I put the card in my pocket and pulled out into the traffic.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 80/81

Days 80 and 81 – Writing exercise

…

It was like watching a train wreck happening in real time.

But that was the current state of my older brother Roger’s life, firstborn and heir to the family fortune.

I was the youngest sibling, Sam, last born and heir to nothing but the name, Winterbourne, which in reality counted for very little.

In between four girls was the second son, Edward, and he was the harbinger of everything that was going wrong, and had been for some time.

Why?

Because he honestly believed that he should be the son and heir, not Roger, simply because Edward was more like our father, and Roger was more like our mother.

They looked like brothers, same size, same hair, same build, but that was where the similarities ended.  Roger wanted to be an actor, not a lawyer, and Edward followed in fathers footsteps.

Nobody cared what I wanted to do, and simply left me alone.

But, in truth, the issues that started the family express on its way to a certain disaster began when our mother died.

By that time, we were all past school, the girls married, bar one, Roger in the throes of getting married to his prospective wife, Edward drinking, gambling, and womanising as was his so-called birthright, and I was spending time managing the estate.

Everybody was reasonably happy, except father never quite got over the loss of our mother.

That wasn’t so much the catalyst as the revelation that Edward decided he wanted the girl Roger was about to marry.

Of course, if that was the only issue, the train could have stayed on the tracks.  It was the fact that she got herself entangled in Edward’s messy life, and Roger found out.

..

Roger was never one for self-assertion.  Or defending his position or his possessions, not that he treated Bethany as a possession.  He was not like that.  Edward was always taking his things and never returning them.

Now he wanted to take his girlfriend.

I had told Roger to propose to Bethany, but he prevaricated.  He was like that, as his mother was.

I told him more than once that he who hesitates generally loses, but he had this faith in the fact that things would always work out the way they were supposed to.

God did not work in mysterious ways.

I walked in on the argument that erupted in the drawing room.

Two stags stare each other down.

“So, what’s the difference of opinion now?”

Roger always backed down before it got confrontational, but this time he had the bit between his teeth.

“Tell this useless idiot to back off on Bethany.” Roger always had a problem when angry in speaking his words, stemming from having a bad stutter when he was much younger.

Edward, making fun of it, hadn’t helped.

I looked at Edward.  “Are you that low that you’d do that to your brother?”

“She doesn’t like him.  She told me so.  If it wasn’t for Dad leaving the keys to the castle to him, she wouldn’t waste her time.  Not that he could run the place.  Dad would be better off leaving it to me.”

And there it was, that was a long-standing argument that held no water with inheritance laws, finally out of the box.  He’d been alluding to it for years.

“So, what exactly does that mean, Edward.  Is she going to come here and tell him herself because there are matters that need to be resolved?”

I was not sure what the arrangements were, but the match had been forged between families just before mother had died and was to be fulfilled before father died.

It had been an agreeable arrangement between the families and had come to the point where the wedding was announced, and everyone was looking forward to it.

Except…

Bethany walked into the room.

She stopped at the door and looked first at Edward, which elicited a complete change of expression, Roget, probably the angriest I’d ever seen him, which fuelled another change, then to me.  “What am I going to tell whom?”

“I can’t cope with any of this.  The wedding is off,” Roger was barely able to speak, the angriest I’ve ever seen him, and then stormed out of the room.

Bethany looked at Edward, “What have you done?”

“I told him the truth, and he couldn’t handle it “

“What truth?”

“That you love me, not that simpering idiot.” 

There were only fifteen steps between her and Edward, the only person in the room who wasn’t angry.  I blinked and almost missed it.

She punched his lights out.

Literally.

Then went after Roger.

I crossed the room to where Edward was lying on the floor, completely out of it.  I was sorely tempted to get a bucket of ice water and throw it over him.

Instead, I just shook my head.

Impetuous Edward.  Like a great many things that ran around in his head, a lot of it was his imagination. I suspect he mistook her kindness towards him as affection. She most likely said she loved him as a brother-in-law, and he heard what he wanted to hear.

In that moment, I wanted to strangle him.

…

At the bottom of the garden there was a stream, with a rotunda when mother used to sit and read, or towards the of her life, paint.

A lot of her paintings adorned the walls, and the one she did of Zeus, my childhood dog, still hung in my room, a reminder of days long gone.

I wandered down there now, as I did when everything got a little too much, to talk to mother, believing that she was nearby and would hear me.

I was not surprised to see Bethany there, looking very unhappy.

She looked up when I reached the bottom of the steps.

“Sam.”

“You’ve found my hiding spot.”

“It’s very peaceful.”

“Mother’s favourite place.  Father built it for her and forbade any of us from coming here, so she had her own refuge from the monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“Us children.  There were seven of us, and all with our individual quirks.  Some more than others.  May I?”

She nodded.

I joined her but sat on the opposite side, a habit formed when my mother said I could join her.

“I had no idea you had such a hefty right hook.”

“Neither did I, but he deserved it.”

That he did.  “How are you?”  I asked.  I think I already knew, the red, teary eyes and woebegone expression.

“Not good.  Roger won’t talk to me.”

“The Edward effect, I call it.  Edward has always ragged on him, all his life.  Edward inherited all of the bad traits from my father’s side of the family, very much like Uncle William, that generation’s black sheep.”

“I did not say those things to Edward.  I have no idea how he could think that.”

“Edward hears what he wants to hear and imagines the rest.  He’s angry that the inheritance goes to Roger, and I suspect that jealousy has only intensified, given his gambling debts.  It isn’t going away any time soon, not unless father does something about it.”

She sighed.  “It’s a mess.  I have no idea how I’m going to tell my parents.  I swear I have not had anything to do with Edward.  I have no idea how he could even imagine I would prefer him.  He’s a bully, at best.”

That was being kind.  Very few of the girls in our sphere would have anything to do with him.

“Well, there has to be a wedding.  Everything is arranged.  That means something must be done about Edward, and my father is going to have to sort it out.  Let me see what I can do.  Don’t tell anyone just yet.”

“Are you sure.  I’ve never seen Roger this upset.”

“Believe me, this is nothing compared to some of the terrible things Edward has done, to all of us.  I think once his father learns of his behaviour, it’ll come to an end.”

…

Of course, there was no guarantee that anything would be done.  My father had tended to ignore Edward and hope the problem would go away.

Even so, after talking to Bethany, I decided that I would try to see my father and get him involved.  Edward just might sit still long enough to be given an ultimatum, if only to leave Bethany alone.

Roger needed to have time to settle into a relationship that didn’t involve wrestling with his brother and the dissections and enmity that came with it.

Someone had to get the train back on the rails.

At this time of the day, if he was not in the city attending to business, he would be in the study.  I was never quite sure what he did in there. Mother told me once that it was where he hid from her and his parenting responsibilities.

I wasn’t going to tell her she’s had almost done the same, leaving it to boarding schools and a bevy of servants and nannies to look after us until we were old enough to make our own way.

When I reached the study doors, McCallister, one of the farmhands, was standing outside.  He was one of the nice ones, having taught me to ride a horse and a lot of the work that went into running an estate.

More than once, I said that he should be running the place, but he was always content just to come with me.

“Are you in trouble?”

Dumb question, he was the one who usefully dragged the recalcitrant hands before the master.

“‘Tis Master Edward, sir.  I was asked to bring him here.  Never thought I’d see the day say Master Roger would hot him, but there it is.”

There it was, indeed.

I knocked on the door, waited until asked, and went in.

Edward was lounging in the chair opposite the desk, not very well.  Roger had made his point in no uncertain terms. Roger was standing further to one side, as if the distance between them was a matter of one of the others’ safety.

Edwards kept a wary eye on his brother.

Father was standing behind his desk and looked more forbidding than I’d ever seen him before.  If it had been his expectation that the children would be able to sort out their problems between them, he was sadly mistaken.

“If you’ve come to state the obvious, don’t.”

“I was going to say that I’ve spoken to Bethany and she does not harbour any feelings towards Edward, no matter what he may think or say.  I’m not going to state the obvious, but this whole affair needs to be resolved now, once and for all.”

“It is.”

There was a finality in those two words that I could literally feel.  The air in that room, it was so thick you could metaphorically cut it with a knife.

Edward was silent.  He was looking down.  There was something about him I’d never seen before

Fear.

Outright fear.

Our father looked at him, the Roger the me.  “Edward will be leaving with William.  He’ll be going back to South Africa with him.  I’ve paid his debts, and there will be no arguments, no whining and no more of this rubbish that has done nothing but sully our good name with our neighbours, our friends, and business partners.

“I am glad your mother isn’t alive today to see what a wretch you are, Edward.  We gave you every chance in the world to make something of yourself, and what did you do?”

Another knock on the door.

Uncle William.  Alleged black sheep of the family, but I think I got it wrong.  He was here to turn the black sheep into a human being.

“Peter, Roger, Sam.”  Then his eyes reached the wretch.  “Edward.”  He shook his head.  He looked up at his brother.  “I would not be as forgiving, but then you were always the softy.”

He grabbed Edward by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.  “I’ll make a man put of him, either that or put him in a box.”  I’d never seen Edward so shaken.  “Let’s go.”

“I need to get some stuff, Uncle.”

“Where you’re going, you don’t need stuff, just your wits.”

They left, and the door closed behind them.

My father glared at Roger.  “You need to get your head out of your rear end.  Go and sort out the mess with your young lady.  Go.”

Roget almost ran.

That left me, and a man in a frightfully bad mood, and wondering what it was that I had done wrong.  My father was back to being his scariest best.

He almost fell into his chair, exhausted.

“Keep up the good work, Sam.  At least someone in this place is interested in keeping it running.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waved his hand in my direction, towards the door.  “Be off with you.”

I got as far as opening the door, almost escaping, when he said, “Sam.”

I stopped and slowly turned, waiting for the bollicking. “Find yourself a nice young lady and marry her.  Your mother always liked the Princeton girl.  What’s her name?”

“Annie.”

“Annie.  Im sure I’ve seen her here.  She’s not wishy washy like Rogers girl, but he is wishy washy anyway, so they’ll make a good pair.  Hmm.  Off you go then.”

I went out and closed the door before he thought of something else.  He may have appeared to be lost in grief, but he didn’t miss anything.

Or my oldest sister couldn’t keep a secret.

“Sam.”

Annie’s voice came down the passage just as she came into sight.  “I hear Roger finally snapped.”

I went down to meet her.  “Father’s back.  I think our secret romance is no longer a secret.”

She smiled, taking my hand in hers.  “It was never a secret, was it, McCallister?”

He was walking past, his guard duty done.  “No, miss.  Not since you two moved in together in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

I wanted it to be a secret, but he was right.

“Edward?”

“Leaving with Uncle William.”

“Purgatory then?”

“Reform school.”

“Then the weddings back on?”

“How did you know it was off?”

She looked me up and down, and simply smiled that angelic smile of hers, the one that reminded me of my mother. 

Some might say there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Others would say it was an out-of-control freight train heading straight for us.

Me, I’d just simply say the train wreck was averted, and tomorrow, well, that was ready for us to face the next disaster.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

“Going once, going twice…” – a short story

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 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.

…

© Charles Heath 2025

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

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.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

A to Z – April – 2026 – G

G is for – A Ghost from the past

….

It was a silly ritual, but when four of us graduated high school, we made a pact on Prom Night that we would meet up every year, New Year’s Eve, on the 81st floor lookout of the Empire State Building, every year until we couldn’t, literally the only excuse not to be there was death.

We thought it was original, but of course, lots of movies immortalised the same thing, making it a little passe. And with it, there were gaps when others didn’t make it.

I, on the other hand, had been to every meeting. When others didn’t, I was disappointed, but then that wasn’t the only disappointment in my life.

John Rogers, who was keen on Alison West, the two who were our prom king and queen, didn’t stay together very long; their fields of study and universities meant the tyranny of distance would eventually take its toll.

Daniel Franks, that was me, and Marjorie Leyton were not a couple but had gone to the prom together, because we could have been an item, but neither of us pressed it. We parted and saw each other from time to time, and now, mostly at the Empire State Building. She was the second most attended member.

We had eventually all gone in different directions, and the last time we met was at the high school reunion. The other three were married, successful, great partners and children they were proud to show off, and I, well, I was the odd one out. The girl that I wanted to marry just didn’t know I existed, and though I had tried with others, from home and away, it just didn’t have the same thing about it.

Maybe one day, before I die.

…

The cell phone rang shrilly, waking me from a restless sleep. I glanced over at the clock on the far bedside table, and it read 2:37 a.m.

I normally had it switched off overnight for just that reason, not to be woken in the middle of the night. It was always difficult to fall asleep; it was far worse if I was woken soon after.

I looked at the screen. ‘Private Number’.

No one that I would normally answer. I let it ring out and then switched it off.

Five minutes later, another cell phone rang, a phone that I had used three times in eighteen years, the last time precipitating the most anxious three weeks of my life.

It was a call I could not ignore.

I dragged myself out of bed and got to it just as it rang out. No matter, I knew who it was, and called straight back.

“Danny. Bad time?”

“Very.”

“Still a light sleeper?”

“One eye open and a gun under the pillow, some things never change. What do you want, Fred?”

“Texting an address. Extraction. You have thirteen hours and five minutes.”

After the last time he called, I thought I’d drawn a line under this sort of affair. “I don’t do this anymore.”

“You left the phone on. Naughty boy. Sorry. On your horse.”

The phone went dead.

I glared at it, then put it on the desk. It chimed. Message, the address, and when I looked it up, it was a back alley in the financial district of St Louis, Illinois. I lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and to get to St Louis, Missouri, I would have to take I-35 south. Easy as. It was just that it was a 9-hour drive, without breaks, so I just had enough time to get there.

I shook my head, considering I should just ring back and say I was done with him and his antics.

Should, but wouldn’t. Perhaps this was what I needed to get me out of the despondency I’d fallen into.

…

A half hour later, refreshed and ready to go, I headed to the lockup at the rear of the property I lived on and dragged the cover off the 2016 Silver Ford Fusion sedan. It was once described as the ultimate invisible car, and the reason why I owned one. It had fifteen sets of plates, and today it was running with my home state. That would change when I got to St Louis, and again, depending on where I was told to take the target.

When I reached Cedar Rapids, I stopped for an hour for coffee and breakfast of pancakes, bacon and eggs, at a diner where the place was clean, the staff were friendly, and the service was quick. The food wasn’t bad either.

Outside St Louis I changed the plates and paperwork, changed into different clothes, the sort that when the police asked a witness to describe me, it would be average height, average weight, average clothes, you know, check shirt, well-worn North Face parka, well-worn hiking boots, faded well-worn jeans, and a well-worn face that had had spent a lot of time outdoors.

The sort of person a mother wouldn’t recognise if he were standing next to her on a bus. It was the part of the training I liked the most – becoming invisible.

Then, ten minutes before the appointed time, I sent the location to a burner number, a street corner where I could stop for just long enough for someone to get in, and we could keep moving. This was a critical part of the operation and required precision timing. The only thing that could mess this up was an accident, and I’d checked the route; nothing was going to cause a problem.

At the precise moment, I stopped the car, released the door lock, and someone got in the back. They were covered, protected from the cold, and I didn’t look other than to make sure they were in and the door closed before I drove off. In all, I was there for 7 seconds.

After sending an acknowledgement text to the boss, he sent the destination. There was generally no conversation with the target; it was pick up and deliver. Food was in a hamper on the back seat. We would not be stopping for anything other than gas and restroom visits.

…

There was no communication with the target; it was just my job to take them from point A to point B, which this time, was outside Saks, Fifth Avenue, New York. I would have guessed a safe house, not a place where the target could do some indulgent shopping. I sighed inwardly.

A glance in the back told me very little, other than this time it was a woman, and that she would not be recognisable as anyone I would know or attempt to guess at. Because we both worked for the same man, she would have the same training as I had, except I didn’t get to go into the field as a primary agent; I had only qualified for work in Section 5, support services.

There had been times when I was disappointed, but sometimes running support could also be as dangerous as an agent on the ground, especially when it was a hot extraction.

At the first restroom stop, I pulled into the carpark close to the building, and she got out, taking a small backpack with her. I had not seen it when she got in, but that meant little. I waited half an hour, the maximum time before I had to go check, but she reappeared, having changed her appearance, but still as anonymous as before.

I was not meant to, but I watched her walk from the front door of the cafe, towards the car before turning to the front as she neared. It reminded me of someone from a distant past, but exactly who eluded me.

The door shut, and I drove off.

Once past the city limits, she asked, quite unexpectedly, “What’s your name?” The voice was distorted through the mask.

“Against protocol, ma’am.”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Surely it doesn’t matter.”

“Not my call. The boss is insistent. No names, no conversation.”

I heard a sigh, and then she settled into the seat. The car wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but Services had upgraded the seating, especially for the driver, knowing how long we might have to drive in a single sitting. Moving an agent was by car. Any other form of travel left a trail.

A half hour later, I heard the sounds of sleep. I would get mine after I dropped her off.

…

Darkness settled slowly until the inky blackness swallowed us up, and then it was a matter of watching the headlights of the cars opposite come and go, and the cars and trucks behind and in front pass or get passed. There was a reasonable amount of traffic, and for the first few hours of darkness, it was almost boring.

There was no movement from the back seat.

Then, “I need a break. Find some facilities.”

I checked the GPS and there was one ten minutes ahead. “Ten minutes or so.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes, I pulled off the main road and stopped at a BP petrol station at a place called Straughan. She got out and went inside. I filled the tank with Premium, paid the bill in cash and got back in the car.

That’s when I saw a car, sitting in the truck park, no lights, but suddenly, the flaring of a match lit a cigarette. Not enough light to see the driver’s face, but an outline. A large man in a small car.

It could be nothing.

The door opened and closed. I started the car and drove out slowly. I watched the car behind me. It didn’t move. I turned and went back the way we came to the on ramp of the I-70 and soon was back up to speed.

Back on the highway, I switched on the cruise control and relaxed. A glance every now and then in the exterior rear vision mirror showed the usual traffic, except after an hour, a set of headlights appeared a distance back and then stayed there, sometimes falling back, sometimes moving faster, but never beyond a certain point.

Damn!

It could be my imagination, but I didn’t think so. There was that car on the side of the road back at the gas station, but the fact that it had taken hours to locate us suggested only one possibility.

“Excuse me?”

A few seconds of silence, then “I thought we were not to speak.”

“True, but there might be a problem. I would like you to check everything you have and make sure there isn’t a tracking device.”

“We have a tail?”

“We might, or it might be my paranoia.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Humour me.”

I heard her mutter something under her breath and then reluctantly search. A minute later, a sharp gasp, the window opening and then closing.

“How?” I asked.

“I was with the target, who seemed a little more anxious than usual. I left as soon as I could without raising suspicion, called the controller and requested extraction. There were other red flags, and it was time.”

“Once they realise you tossed the tracker, the excitement begins.”

I had three guns, a modified car that could outrun the car behind me, theoretically, but they had time to set up a blockage further along, depending on how desperate they were to capture my passenger. I guess we’d soon find out.

“Settle in. This could take a while.”

Except, not long after, the headlights appeared behind me again. There were two trackers. I wouldn’t bother her about the second; just wait and see what they were prepared to do. I was on a major highway, and there were a lot of trucks to use as cover.

…

At the next gas station, near Akron, I sent a text message requesting another car and a device that would knock out anything transmitting a signal, which meant we would not have any communications. That would not be a problem for the short time it took for us to get away. I also requested her to double-check everything she had with her and on, just to make sure.

I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say whether there was another device, but it was clear she had completely changed everything and left the other clothes and belongings behind.

At Akron, we changed cars.

I also made an alarming discovery. The woman in the back of my car was a girl I used to know back in high school, the one who never gave me a second look. When I did know her, it was she who had suggested, with the grades I had, that I should apply to the FBI. She didn’t say she was, but it surprised me that she suggested it.

Annabel Tyler.

Undercover agent for? I was tempted to ask, but it was not my business. She wouldn’t remember me, not if she had evolved into many different identities and personas. She probably didn’t know who she was herself.

We lost the tail. There were no more trackers, and I arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue.

When I stopped the car outside the building, she leaned forward and offered a card. It had a number scribbled on it.

“What’s this?”

“My number, Daniel. I was far too focused on turning into whatever this is I am now, and lost sight of everything that should matter. I’m tired and need a break. You call this number, and I’ll answer, any time of the day or night.”

“Why?”

“You now know my secret, and I know yours. You are the only person I can trust. What do you think? Don’t disappoint me a second time.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. Into thin air. I put the card in my pocket and pulled out into the traffic.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 80/81

Days 80 and 81 – Writing exercise

…

It was like watching a train wreck happening in real time.

But that was the current state of my older brother Roger’s life, firstborn and heir to the family fortune.

I was the youngest sibling, Sam, last born and heir to nothing but the name, Winterbourne, which in reality counted for very little.

In between four girls was the second son, Edward, and he was the harbinger of everything that was going wrong, and had been for some time.

Why?

Because he honestly believed that he should be the son and heir, not Roger, simply because Edward was more like our father, and Roger was more like our mother.

They looked like brothers, same size, same hair, same build, but that was where the similarities ended.  Roger wanted to be an actor, not a lawyer, and Edward followed in fathers footsteps.

Nobody cared what I wanted to do, and simply left me alone.

But, in truth, the issues that started the family express on its way to a certain disaster began when our mother died.

By that time, we were all past school, the girls married, bar one, Roger in the throes of getting married to his prospective wife, Edward drinking, gambling, and womanising as was his so-called birthright, and I was spending time managing the estate.

Everybody was reasonably happy, except father never quite got over the loss of our mother.

That wasn’t so much the catalyst as the revelation that Edward decided he wanted the girl Roger was about to marry.

Of course, if that was the only issue, the train could have stayed on the tracks.  It was the fact that she got herself entangled in Edward’s messy life, and Roger found out.

..

Roger was never one for self-assertion.  Or defending his position or his possessions, not that he treated Bethany as a possession.  He was not like that.  Edward was always taking his things and never returning them.

Now he wanted to take his girlfriend.

I had told Roger to propose to Bethany, but he prevaricated.  He was like that, as his mother was.

I told him more than once that he who hesitates generally loses, but he had this faith in the fact that things would always work out the way they were supposed to.

God did not work in mysterious ways.

I walked in on the argument that erupted in the drawing room.

Two stags stare each other down.

“So, what’s the difference of opinion now?”

Roger always backed down before it got confrontational, but this time he had the bit between his teeth.

“Tell this useless idiot to back off on Bethany.” Roger always had a problem when angry in speaking his words, stemming from having a bad stutter when he was much younger.

Edward, making fun of it, hadn’t helped.

I looked at Edward.  “Are you that low that you’d do that to your brother?”

“She doesn’t like him.  She told me so.  If it wasn’t for Dad leaving the keys to the castle to him, she wouldn’t waste her time.  Not that he could run the place.  Dad would be better off leaving it to me.”

And there it was, that was a long-standing argument that held no water with inheritance laws, finally out of the box.  He’d been alluding to it for years.

“So, what exactly does that mean, Edward.  Is she going to come here and tell him herself because there are matters that need to be resolved?”

I was not sure what the arrangements were, but the match had been forged between families just before mother had died and was to be fulfilled before father died.

It had been an agreeable arrangement between the families and had come to the point where the wedding was announced, and everyone was looking forward to it.

Except…

Bethany walked into the room.

She stopped at the door and looked first at Edward, which elicited a complete change of expression, Roget, probably the angriest I’d ever seen him, which fuelled another change, then to me.  “What am I going to tell whom?”

“I can’t cope with any of this.  The wedding is off,” Roger was barely able to speak, the angriest I’ve ever seen him, and then stormed out of the room.

Bethany looked at Edward, “What have you done?”

“I told him the truth, and he couldn’t handle it “

“What truth?”

“That you love me, not that simpering idiot.” 

There were only fifteen steps between her and Edward, the only person in the room who wasn’t angry.  I blinked and almost missed it.

She punched his lights out.

Literally.

Then went after Roger.

I crossed the room to where Edward was lying on the floor, completely out of it.  I was sorely tempted to get a bucket of ice water and throw it over him.

Instead, I just shook my head.

Impetuous Edward.  Like a great many things that ran around in his head, a lot of it was his imagination. I suspect he mistook her kindness towards him as affection. She most likely said she loved him as a brother-in-law, and he heard what he wanted to hear.

In that moment, I wanted to strangle him.

…

At the bottom of the garden there was a stream, with a rotunda when mother used to sit and read, or towards the of her life, paint.

A lot of her paintings adorned the walls, and the one she did of Zeus, my childhood dog, still hung in my room, a reminder of days long gone.

I wandered down there now, as I did when everything got a little too much, to talk to mother, believing that she was nearby and would hear me.

I was not surprised to see Bethany there, looking very unhappy.

She looked up when I reached the bottom of the steps.

“Sam.”

“You’ve found my hiding spot.”

“It’s very peaceful.”

“Mother’s favourite place.  Father built it for her and forbade any of us from coming here, so she had her own refuge from the monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“Us children.  There were seven of us, and all with our individual quirks.  Some more than others.  May I?”

She nodded.

I joined her but sat on the opposite side, a habit formed when my mother said I could join her.

“I had no idea you had such a hefty right hook.”

“Neither did I, but he deserved it.”

That he did.  “How are you?”  I asked.  I think I already knew, the red, teary eyes and woebegone expression.

“Not good.  Roger won’t talk to me.”

“The Edward effect, I call it.  Edward has always ragged on him, all his life.  Edward inherited all of the bad traits from my father’s side of the family, very much like Uncle William, that generation’s black sheep.”

“I did not say those things to Edward.  I have no idea how he could think that.”

“Edward hears what he wants to hear and imagines the rest.  He’s angry that the inheritance goes to Roger, and I suspect that jealousy has only intensified, given his gambling debts.  It isn’t going away any time soon, not unless father does something about it.”

She sighed.  “It’s a mess.  I have no idea how I’m going to tell my parents.  I swear I have not had anything to do with Edward.  I have no idea how he could even imagine I would prefer him.  He’s a bully, at best.”

That was being kind.  Very few of the girls in our sphere would have anything to do with him.

“Well, there has to be a wedding.  Everything is arranged.  That means something must be done about Edward, and my father is going to have to sort it out.  Let me see what I can do.  Don’t tell anyone just yet.”

“Are you sure.  I’ve never seen Roger this upset.”

“Believe me, this is nothing compared to some of the terrible things Edward has done, to all of us.  I think once his father learns of his behaviour, it’ll come to an end.”

…

Of course, there was no guarantee that anything would be done.  My father had tended to ignore Edward and hope the problem would go away.

Even so, after talking to Bethany, I decided that I would try to see my father and get him involved.  Edward just might sit still long enough to be given an ultimatum, if only to leave Bethany alone.

Roger needed to have time to settle into a relationship that didn’t involve wrestling with his brother and the dissections and enmity that came with it.

Someone had to get the train back on the rails.

At this time of the day, if he was not in the city attending to business, he would be in the study.  I was never quite sure what he did in there. Mother told me once that it was where he hid from her and his parenting responsibilities.

I wasn’t going to tell her she’s had almost done the same, leaving it to boarding schools and a bevy of servants and nannies to look after us until we were old enough to make our own way.

When I reached the study doors, McCallister, one of the farmhands, was standing outside.  He was one of the nice ones, having taught me to ride a horse and a lot of the work that went into running an estate.

More than once, I said that he should be running the place, but he was always content just to come with me.

“Are you in trouble?”

Dumb question, he was the one who usefully dragged the recalcitrant hands before the master.

“‘Tis Master Edward, sir.  I was asked to bring him here.  Never thought I’d see the day say Master Roger would hot him, but there it is.”

There it was, indeed.

I knocked on the door, waited until asked, and went in.

Edward was lounging in the chair opposite the desk, not very well.  Roger had made his point in no uncertain terms. Roger was standing further to one side, as if the distance between them was a matter of one of the others’ safety.

Edwards kept a wary eye on his brother.

Father was standing behind his desk and looked more forbidding than I’d ever seen him before.  If it had been his expectation that the children would be able to sort out their problems between them, he was sadly mistaken.

“If you’ve come to state the obvious, don’t.”

“I was going to say that I’ve spoken to Bethany and she does not harbour any feelings towards Edward, no matter what he may think or say.  I’m not going to state the obvious, but this whole affair needs to be resolved now, once and for all.”

“It is.”

There was a finality in those two words that I could literally feel.  The air in that room, it was so thick you could metaphorically cut it with a knife.

Edward was silent.  He was looking down.  There was something about him I’d never seen before

Fear.

Outright fear.

Our father looked at him, the Roger the me.  “Edward will be leaving with William.  He’ll be going back to South Africa with him.  I’ve paid his debts, and there will be no arguments, no whining and no more of this rubbish that has done nothing but sully our good name with our neighbours, our friends, and business partners.

“I am glad your mother isn’t alive today to see what a wretch you are, Edward.  We gave you every chance in the world to make something of yourself, and what did you do?”

Another knock on the door.

Uncle William.  Alleged black sheep of the family, but I think I got it wrong.  He was here to turn the black sheep into a human being.

“Peter, Roger, Sam.”  Then his eyes reached the wretch.  “Edward.”  He shook his head.  He looked up at his brother.  “I would not be as forgiving, but then you were always the softy.”

He grabbed Edward by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.  “I’ll make a man put of him, either that or put him in a box.”  I’d never seen Edward so shaken.  “Let’s go.”

“I need to get some stuff, Uncle.”

“Where you’re going, you don’t need stuff, just your wits.”

They left, and the door closed behind them.

My father glared at Roger.  “You need to get your head out of your rear end.  Go and sort out the mess with your young lady.  Go.”

Roget almost ran.

That left me, and a man in a frightfully bad mood, and wondering what it was that I had done wrong.  My father was back to being his scariest best.

He almost fell into his chair, exhausted.

“Keep up the good work, Sam.  At least someone in this place is interested in keeping it running.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waved his hand in my direction, towards the door.  “Be off with you.”

I got as far as opening the door, almost escaping, when he said, “Sam.”

I stopped and slowly turned, waiting for the bollicking. “Find yourself a nice young lady and marry her.  Your mother always liked the Princeton girl.  What’s her name?”

“Annie.”

“Annie.  Im sure I’ve seen her here.  She’s not wishy washy like Rogers girl, but he is wishy washy anyway, so they’ll make a good pair.  Hmm.  Off you go then.”

I went out and closed the door before he thought of something else.  He may have appeared to be lost in grief, but he didn’t miss anything.

Or my oldest sister couldn’t keep a secret.

“Sam.”

Annie’s voice came down the passage just as she came into sight.  “I hear Roger finally snapped.”

I went down to meet her.  “Father’s back.  I think our secret romance is no longer a secret.”

She smiled, taking my hand in hers.  “It was never a secret, was it, McCallister?”

He was walking past, his guard duty done.  “No, miss.  Not since you two moved in together in the gamekeeper’s cottage.”

I wanted it to be a secret, but he was right.

“Edward?”

“Leaving with Uncle William.”

“Purgatory then?”

“Reform school.”

“Then the weddings back on?”

“How did you know it was off?”

She looked me up and down, and simply smiled that angelic smile of hers, the one that reminded me of my mother. 

Some might say there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Others would say it was an out-of-control freight train heading straight for us.

Me, I’d just simply say the train wreck was averted, and tomorrow, well, that was ready for us to face the next disaster.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself, as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters, Harry and Alison, other issues are driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact that he has a beautiful and desirable wife, his belief that she is the object of other men’s desires, and, in particular, his immediate superior’s.

Between observation, the less-than-honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, and she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, is that nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

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