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!
I had hoped by the time I was promoted to assistant manager it might mean something other than long hours and an increase in pay.
It didn’t.
But unlike others who had taken the job, and eventually become jaded and left, I stayed. Something I realized that others seemed to either ignore or just didn’t understand, this was a company that rewarded loyalty.
It was why there were quite a few who had served 30 years or more. They might not reach the top job, but they are certainly well looked after.
I had a long way to go, having been there only 8 years, and according to some, on a fast track. I was not sure how I would describe this so-called ‘fast track’ other than being in the right place at the right time and making a judicial selection.
When it was my turn to be promoted, I had a choice of a plum department, or one most of my contemporaries had passed over. At the time, the words of my previous manager sprang to mind, that being a manager for the most sought-after department or the least sought-after, came with exactly the same privileges.
And, he was right. I took the least sought-after, much to their disdain and disapproval. One year on, that disapproval had turned almost to envy; that was when the Assistant Managers were granted a new privilege, tea, and lunch in the executive dining room.
“So, what’s it like?” John asked when our group met on a Friday night, this was the first after the privilege was granted.
He had been one of the three, including me, who had the opportunity to take the role. Both he and Alistair had both declined, prepared to wait for a more prestigious department. It hadn’t happened to them yet.
“The same as the staff dining room, only smaller. Except, I guess, the waitstaff and butler. They come and serve you when you have to go to them in the staff room. They’re the same staff, by the way, except for the butler.”
I could see the awe, or was it envy, in their eyes. “but it’s not that great. The Assistant Managers all sit at one end of the table, and we’re not part of the main group, so no sharing of information I’m afraid. And the meals are the same, just served on fancier crockery.”
“Then nothing to write home about?” Will was one of those who they also thought to be on a ‘fast track’. I was still trying to see how my ‘fast track’ was actually that fast.
“Put it this way, the extra pay doesn’t offset the long hours because you get overtime, I don’t, so on a good week, you’d all be earning more than me. Without responsibility, if anything goes wrong. I think that’s why Assistant Managers were created, to take the blame when anything goes wrong.”
That had been the hardest pill to swallow. Until I got the role, I hadn’t realized what it really involved. Nor had the others, and it was not something we could whinge about. My first-day introductory speech from Tomkins, my Manager, was all about taking responsibility, and how I was there to make his life easier. It was a speech he made a few times because he’d been Manager for the last 16 years, much the same as the others, and promotion if ever, would come when they died.
And Manager’s rarely died, because of their Assistant Managers.
“How old is Tomkins now?” Bert, a relative newcomer to our group, asked. He was still in the ‘in awe’ phase.
“About the same as Father Time,” I said. “But the reality is, no one knows, except perhaps for the personnel manager.” O looked over at Wally, the Personnel Department’s Assistant Manager. “Any chance of you telling us?”
“No. You know I can’t.”
“But you know?” I asked.
“Of course, but you know the rules. That’s confidential information. Not like what you are the custodian of, information everyone needs.”
Which, of course, was true. Communication and Secretarial Services had no secrets, except for twice a year when the company Bord of Directors met, and we were responsible for all the documents used at their meetings. Then, and only then, was I privy to all the secrets, including promotions. And be asked ‘What’s happening?’.
“Just be content to know that he’s as old as the hills, as most of them. It seems to me that one of the pre-requisites for managership is that you have been employed here for 30 years.”
Not all, though, I’d noticed, but there wasn’t one under the age of fifty.
And so it would go, the Friday night lament, those ‘in’ the executive, and those who were not quite there yet.
It seemed prophetic, in a sense, that we had been talking about Mangers and their ages. By a quirk of fate, some weeks before, that I learned of Tomkins’s currents state of health via a call on his office phone. At the time he was out, where, he had not told me, but by his the I believed it was something serious, so serious he didn’t want me, or anyone else, to know about it.
That phone call was from his wife, Eleanor, whom I’d met on a number of occasions when she came to take him home from work. I liked her, and couldn’t help but notice she was his exact opposite, Tomkins, silent and at times morose, and Eleanor, the life of the party. I could imagine her being a handful in her younger days, and it was a stark reminder of that old saying ‘opposites attract’.
She was concerned and asked me if he had returned from the specialist. I simply said he had but was elsewhere, and promised to get him to call her when he returned. Then I made a quick call around to see where he was and found that he was in Personnel. I left an innocuous message on his desk, and then let my imagination run wild.
At least for a day or so, the time it took for me to realize that it was probably nothing, the lethargy he’d been showing, gone.
I’d put it out of my mind until my cell phone rang, and it was from the Personnel Manager. On a Sunday, no less. In the few seconds before I answered it, I’d made the assumption that Tomkins’s secretive visits to the specialist meant he needed time off for a routine operation.
Greetings over, O’Reilly, the Personnel Manager, cut straight to the chase, “For your personal information, and not to be repeated, Tomkins will be out of action for about two months, and as that is longer than the standard period, you will become Acting Manager. We’ll talk more about this Tuesday morning.” Monday was a holiday.
All Assistant Managers knew the rules. Any absence of a manager for longer than a month, promotion to Acting Manager. Anything less, you sat in the office, but no change in title. There was one more rule, that in the event of the death of a manager, the assistant manager was immediately promoted to Manager. This had only happened once before. 70 years ago. If a manager retired, then the position of Manager was thrown open to anyone in the organization.
It was an intriguing moment in time.
Tuesday came, and as usual, I went into the office, with only one thought in mind, let the staff in the department know what was happening, of course, the moment I was given the approval to do so by Personnel.
Not a minute after I sat down, the phone rang. I picked it up, gave my name and greeting. It was met with a rather excitable voice of the Assistant Manager, Personnel, “I just got word from on high, you’ve been promoted to manager. How could that possibly happen…”
Then a moment later, as realization set in, “Unless…”
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 prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
…
Sometimes the best-laid plans worked out, but today it was as if the Gods were trying to ruin my day. Earlier days this week had been getting darkish between three and four, but today it was a little later.
It meant we had to spend a little more quality time together before we embarked on some breaking and entering.
Of course, it might have helped if I’d told her what I was intending to do before I brought her along for the ride, but it was exactly for that reason I did because if she didn’t like the idea, there would be little option to change he mind.
But the initial displeasure was expected.
“Breaking and entering is not exactly how I envisioned my first few days on the job market.”
“You learned all of the requisite skills in training. I know, I was your partner in crime more than once.”
And that was a question I had once told myself I’d ask her if I ever ran into her again outside of work.
Which I did now. “Why was that?”
At a guess, it had to be because I knew what I was doing whereas the other men were more like blunt instruments. They’d taught us the finesse in breaking into a wide variety of entrances, but they seemed to like and use bashing the door in.
“I knew I had a better chance of success if I stuck with you.”
“What about Yolanda?”
She was another woman I had put into the same category as Jennifer, she was possessed of a calm demeanor in a crisis, and actually took the time to lean the subtitles of her tradecraft. I had been disappointed when she didn’t make the final cut, though I suspect there was more to her ‘failing’ than met the eye.
And, I never got to find out the real reason.
I had liked her and had thought the feelings were mutual, but after she left, I’d not heard from her again. I guess I could have tried to reach out, and might still do if this ever came to an end where I didn’t finish up dead.
“She was never going to stick the distance. I got the impression she wasn’t happy about one of the others making life uncomfortable for her.”
“Student or instructor?”
Interesting she should say that because I had thought there was something going on between her and Maury, and when I asked her she didn’t deign to answer.
“Both. She considered it was best just to leave.”
Which apparently, she did.
But, back to our current problem. “All I need you to do is have my back. I’ll go in, see if he is there, or anyone else, and if the coast is clear, we’ll search the place and leave. No need to be there one second longer than we have to be.”
But I will; be disappointed if the USB is not there.
“That means we have about an hour to kill,” she said.
Which is why I decided to stop off at a traditional English pub and have an early dinner of bangers and mash. I was not sure why it just appealed to me. I’d feel so much better breaking in with a full stomach.
Imagine a story about an affair that disrupts the life of a married couple.
…
I put the phone down and leaned back in the chair.
It was not what I expected, and then it was. I just didn’t think I’d get to hear about it.
And it was nothing I did that precipitated the call. That came from someone else, a person I was not pleased with. Saying they would do something after I said I didn’t care showed poor judgment.
I could understand why they did, and in other circumstances, I would probably not feel as bad, but their actions had forced my hand.
“Sir?”
James, the butler who had served my father, then me, the very soul of discretion, looked over from the sideboard.
The question, in not so many words, was whether I wanted a drink, not whether I needed one. The truth was, I needed one.
A nod in his direction, he put ice in a crystal glass and poured a small quantity of Scotch into it. He placed it on a tray and brought it over.
“Thank you, James. That will be all.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”
Silence reigned after the door closed for a few minutes before my cell phone, sitting on the armrest of the chair, buzzed.
I looked at the screen. “Cecily.”
My sister was calling. Why? Our business was concluded the week before, and she had promised not to call me unless it was absolutely necessary. She wanted to run the company her way, and I was happy for her to do so.
I shrugged and answered it.
“Yes, Cecily?”
“I just had a strange call from Jack Burroughs.”
Jack Burroughs was the Chief Financial Officer. He moved in strange, or what I called strange, circles. He was also just a little strange himself, but work-related, he was a genius.
“He is strange, Cecily.”
“He told me he saw Margaret in a …” and then didn’t, or couldn’t bring herself to use the words.
I didn’t think she knew that Burroughs was gay simply because he didn’t identify as one.
“He saw her at Moreno’s.” Moreno’s was an obscure bar that celebrities sometimes went to so they would not make the media headlines. When I didn’t answer immediately, she took a deep breath, then said, “You know?”
“I got a call from someone else.”
“What is she doing there?”
“What do you think she is doing there?”
Silence as she grappled with the ramifications.
“So, you knew that she was…?”
“I suspected. She told me before we married that she had been in a relationship with a girl, and it wasn’t who she thought she was. Seems it’s not the case, and they’re back together.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s done. I’m no longer part of the company or anything. There’s the prenuptial you insisted on, so no one is walking away from this with anything. It hasn’t been much of a relationship for nearly six months now, so I’m going to break the news that there’s no more money and we’re moving to the log cabin, courtesy of your generosity.”
“Oh. Make me the bad guy.”
“You’ll make such a good one. Don’t worry yourself. I’m disappointed, but it’s not unexpected. And I’ll get over it. I am going to the log cabin, by the way, in the next few days.”
“OK. Call me if you need anything.”
She took it better than I thought she would.
…
I waited.
I thought about watching a movie or reading a book, but in the end, I decided to do some reading of a different sort. I had been sent a prospectus and background paper on a new concept car, one that wasn’t going to destroy the world.
By the time I got through to the end, three hundred pages of technical details that I would have to pass to the research department, I heard the front door open and close.
Frances had returned.
I looked at the clock, and it was 3:13 in the morning.
I heard her take that first step up the staircase to the room, then stopped. Perhaps she had seen the light under the door in the sitting room.
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. She still had that ability to make my heart miss a beat every time I saw her.
I wondered then I’d she ever really loved me.
“You’re up late.”
“Reading, lost track of time.”
“Oh.” She came in and sat opposite me, slightly askew on the chair. She never really sat properly in the chair or any chair.
“Did you have a good night?”
She had said she was going out with some of her old friends from school days, and technically, she was not lying.
“I did.” She gave me a curious look. “Eloise was there.”
Eloise was the previous girlfriend. I had our legal department check up on her, and she was one of those people whose private life was private. She wasn’t married, had male friends, but was financially independent.
I never understood why she had picked Margaret as her lover, but I freely admit I didn’t know much about love.
“You did say they were your old friends. Was she happy to see you?”
Again, another curious look, though this time, is more wary.
She sighed. “How long have you known?”
“Long enough. And before you say anything, I’m not surprised. I haven’t really been there for you of late. I’m sorry.”
“Who told you?”
“Would you believe me?”
“Eloise.”
“She said you were unhappy when you ran into each other. It just grew from there. She said she had never stopped loving you. I can see why.”
“She asked me to come back.”
“And?”
“I am married to you. You are my husband, and people have expectations. You might have expectations.”
I shrugged. “Maybe once upon a time, but now? I’m no longer working for the company or any part of it. Everything I had, the company owned. If you so desire, you can leave without regret. There’s nothing more for you to do.”
“You’ll still be that many about town.”
“No. You’ll find that once people discover you have nothing, no job, no wealth, no status, they simply stop calling and stop inviting. Cecily had offered me the use of a log cabin my father used to go to when he needed a few days away. Montana or Wyoming or some such place.”
“Are you alright? I mean, the company and everything. It’s your life.”
“Not any more. It’s Cecily’s now. Everything.”
“When?”
“About two months ago. When I realised that whatever we had was over. Like I said, I don’t blame you. I did to you what my father did to my mother. Things are a little different in my case. You found someone else to fill that void. My mother simply killed herself.”
It had been preventable, and I had blamed my father for it. It culminated in the argument that killed him. Yelling at me, he had a heart attack and dropped dead in front of me. I hadn’t recovered from that, but bounced into this relationship, then married, and some could say it was doomed from the start.
“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to get past it, but instead of sharing, I just threw myself into the job. There was no need to burden yourself with my problems.”
She shook her head. “That was silly. I made the commitment and would have helped in any way I could. It might have brought us closer together.”
“Or pushed you away. You can not change who you are, Frances. It will always be there, and if you have to fight it, it will eventually be a fight you will lose. I don’t want that for you.”
“But what about you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll get to read the classic, sit by a light fire, catch and eat food that is fresh, not supermarket fresh. The fresh mountain air, well, that might kill me or cure me.”
She sat, the conversation seemingly over, adjusting her dress and then readjusting it as if something was not quite right. I knew she preferred tank tops, short skirts, and jeans to the expensive clothes she believed she had to wear.
“I can stay, if you like. Go up to the cabin, wherever it is. Are there bears and snakes?”
“Probably. You don’t have to, but you can’t stay here. You can take what’s yours, though, but it will have to be before the end of the week.”
She gave me a steely look. “Then it’s over, we’re over?”
“Yes. You should have told me, Frances. I deserved at least that much.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
There was another knock on the door. For the hour of the morning, it was quite busy.
James came out to open it, then ushered the visitor in. Eloise.
I saw Frances glance at her and mouth the words, “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to take Frances home.” She said it in a tone that suggested she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I looked at her. “I have no objection if that’s what you think. Frances has always been free to decide what she wants to do. I only asked if she was intending to get into trouble, that she be discreet.”
“It has always been so
“Until you went to Moreno’s, which was a calculated move on your part. Whatever your reasons, it was wasted effort. I have nothing, I own nothing, nor does Frances.”
“It was not about the money,” Frances said, looking at Eloise, and her expression was priceless. “Was it?”
Eloise looked at me. “You’re in the top one hundred richest men in the country. You can’t tell me that just disappeared overnight.”
“No, you’re right, it didn’t. That happened last week when I signed the final documents to give it all to my sister Cecily. I had reached the end of my association, and the company rules state that I could only be in charge for five years, at the end of which I have to walk away. I didn’t have to forgo my personal wealth during the process, but having it all wasn’t the same as having everything. Frances, according to her agreement, will be equally as penniless the moment she walks out of this apartment. She now owns as much as I do. Nothing. I truly hope you were not asking her to come back because she was about to become a billionaire.”
Judging by the expression on Eloise’s face, I think that was exactly what she believed.
Eloise swivelled on Frances. “Is this true?”
“Why does it matter?”
“You are entitled to half of everything he had, prenuptial or not. Even your lawyers would…”
And there she stopped, perhaps realising what she had said and done, because Frances was greatly surprised, and her expression, to me, didn’t augur well for their relationship lasting.
Her tone was soft, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. Perhaps now the full realisation of Eloise’s intent was clear, “Even if I didn’t divorce him, there was never any money. There never was because I never needed it. I had nice things, but they were never mine, and I have no claim on them, nor would I want to. I told you a while back that I’ve had enough of the high life. Now I think I would prefer to embrace the country air in Wyoming.”
Perhaps Eloise, too, was beginning to see what the reality of the situation was. I got the impression Frances had tried to tell her, and she wouldn’t listen.
“I thought…” Eloise began.
“She was about to become mega-rich?” I finished the sentence for her. “No.”
I could see the expression on Frances’ face change from surprise, to shock, to something bordering on anger, if not rage. And come to the same conclusion about the same time I did.
“You didn’t just run into me, did you?” Frances said, so quietly I almost missed it.
“You’re a silly girl who will never have anything. Not unless you stand up for yourself. I’ll show myself out.”
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’.
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.
Imagine a story about an affair that disrupts the life of a married couple.
…
I put the phone down and leaned back in the chair.
It was not what I expected, and then it was. I just didn’t think I’d get to hear about it.
And it was nothing I did that precipitated the call. That came from someone else, a person I was not pleased with. Saying they would do something after I said I didn’t care showed poor judgment.
I could understand why they did, and in other circumstances, I would probably not feel as bad, but their actions had forced my hand.
“Sir?”
James, the butler who had served my father, then me, the very soul of discretion, looked over from the sideboard.
The question, in not so many words, was whether I wanted a drink, not whether I needed one. The truth was, I needed one.
A nod in his direction, he put ice in a crystal glass and poured a small quantity of Scotch into it. He placed it on a tray and brought it over.
“Thank you, James. That will be all.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”
Silence reigned after the door closed for a few minutes before my cell phone, sitting on the armrest of the chair, buzzed.
I looked at the screen. “Cecily.”
My sister was calling. Why? Our business was concluded the week before, and she had promised not to call me unless it was absolutely necessary. She wanted to run the company her way, and I was happy for her to do so.
I shrugged and answered it.
“Yes, Cecily?”
“I just had a strange call from Jack Burroughs.”
Jack Burroughs was the Chief Financial Officer. He moved in strange, or what I called strange, circles. He was also just a little strange himself, but work-related, he was a genius.
“He is strange, Cecily.”
“He told me he saw Margaret in a …” and then didn’t, or couldn’t bring herself to use the words.
I didn’t think she knew that Burroughs was gay simply because he didn’t identify as one.
“He saw her at Moreno’s.” Moreno’s was an obscure bar that celebrities sometimes went to so they would not make the media headlines. When I didn’t answer immediately, she took a deep breath, then said, “You know?”
“I got a call from someone else.”
“What is she doing there?”
“What do you think she is doing there?”
Silence as she grappled with the ramifications.
“So, you knew that she was…?”
“I suspected. She told me before we married that she had been in a relationship with a girl, and it wasn’t who she thought she was. Seems it’s not the case, and they’re back together.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s done. I’m no longer part of the company or anything. There’s the prenuptial you insisted on, so no one is walking away from this with anything. It hasn’t been much of a relationship for nearly six months now, so I’m going to break the news that there’s no more money and we’re moving to the log cabin, courtesy of your generosity.”
“Oh. Make me the bad guy.”
“You’ll make such a good one. Don’t worry yourself. I’m disappointed, but it’s not unexpected. And I’ll get over it. I am going to the log cabin, by the way, in the next few days.”
“OK. Call me if you need anything.”
She took it better than I thought she would.
…
I waited.
I thought about watching a movie or reading a book, but in the end, I decided to do some reading of a different sort. I had been sent a prospectus and background paper on a new concept car, one that wasn’t going to destroy the world.
By the time I got through to the end, three hundred pages of technical details that I would have to pass to the research department, I heard the front door open and close.
Frances had returned.
I looked at the clock, and it was 3:13 in the morning.
I heard her take that first step up the staircase to the room, then stopped. Perhaps she had seen the light under the door in the sitting room.
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. She still had that ability to make my heart miss a beat every time I saw her.
I wondered then I’d she ever really loved me.
“You’re up late.”
“Reading, lost track of time.”
“Oh.” She came in and sat opposite me, slightly askew on the chair. She never really sat properly in the chair or any chair.
“Did you have a good night?”
She had said she was going out with some of her old friends from school days, and technically, she was not lying.
“I did.” She gave me a curious look. “Eloise was there.”
Eloise was the previous girlfriend. I had our legal department check up on her, and she was one of those people whose private life was private. She wasn’t married, had male friends, but was financially independent.
I never understood why she had picked Margaret as her lover, but I freely admit I didn’t know much about love.
“You did say they were your old friends. Was she happy to see you?”
Again, another curious look, though this time, is more wary.
She sighed. “How long have you known?”
“Long enough. And before you say anything, I’m not surprised. I haven’t really been there for you of late. I’m sorry.”
“Who told you?”
“Would you believe me?”
“Eloise.”
“She said you were unhappy when you ran into each other. It just grew from there. She said she had never stopped loving you. I can see why.”
“She asked me to come back.”
“And?”
“I am married to you. You are my husband, and people have expectations. You might have expectations.”
I shrugged. “Maybe once upon a time, but now? I’m no longer working for the company or any part of it. Everything I had, the company owned. If you so desire, you can leave without regret. There’s nothing more for you to do.”
“You’ll still be that many about town.”
“No. You’ll find that once people discover you have nothing, no job, no wealth, no status, they simply stop calling and stop inviting. Cecily had offered me the use of a log cabin my father used to go to when he needed a few days away. Montana or Wyoming or some such place.”
“Are you alright? I mean, the company and everything. It’s your life.”
“Not any more. It’s Cecily’s now. Everything.”
“When?”
“About two months ago. When I realised that whatever we had was over. Like I said, I don’t blame you. I did to you what my father did to my mother. Things are a little different in my case. You found someone else to fill that void. My mother simply killed herself.”
It had been preventable, and I had blamed my father for it. It culminated in the argument that killed him. Yelling at me, he had a heart attack and dropped dead in front of me. I hadn’t recovered from that, but bounced into this relationship, then married, and some could say it was doomed from the start.
“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to get past it, but instead of sharing, I just threw myself into the job. There was no need to burden yourself with my problems.”
She shook her head. “That was silly. I made the commitment and would have helped in any way I could. It might have brought us closer together.”
“Or pushed you away. You can not change who you are, Frances. It will always be there, and if you have to fight it, it will eventually be a fight you will lose. I don’t want that for you.”
“But what about you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll get to read the classic, sit by a light fire, catch and eat food that is fresh, not supermarket fresh. The fresh mountain air, well, that might kill me or cure me.”
She sat, the conversation seemingly over, adjusting her dress and then readjusting it as if something was not quite right. I knew she preferred tank tops, short skirts, and jeans to the expensive clothes she believed she had to wear.
“I can stay, if you like. Go up to the cabin, wherever it is. Are there bears and snakes?”
“Probably. You don’t have to, but you can’t stay here. You can take what’s yours, though, but it will have to be before the end of the week.”
She gave me a steely look. “Then it’s over, we’re over?”
“Yes. You should have told me, Frances. I deserved at least that much.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
There was another knock on the door. For the hour of the morning, it was quite busy.
James came out to open it, then ushered the visitor in. Eloise.
I saw Frances glance at her and mouth the words, “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to take Frances home.” She said it in a tone that suggested she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I looked at her. “I have no objection if that’s what you think. Frances has always been free to decide what she wants to do. I only asked if she was intending to get into trouble, that she be discreet.”
“It has always been so
“Until you went to Moreno’s, which was a calculated move on your part. Whatever your reasons, it was wasted effort. I have nothing, I own nothing, nor does Frances.”
“It was not about the money,” Frances said, looking at Eloise, and her expression was priceless. “Was it?”
Eloise looked at me. “You’re in the top one hundred richest men in the country. You can’t tell me that just disappeared overnight.”
“No, you’re right, it didn’t. That happened last week when I signed the final documents to give it all to my sister Cecily. I had reached the end of my association, and the company rules state that I could only be in charge for five years, at the end of which I have to walk away. I didn’t have to forgo my personal wealth during the process, but having it all wasn’t the same as having everything. Frances, according to her agreement, will be equally as penniless the moment she walks out of this apartment. She now owns as much as I do. Nothing. I truly hope you were not asking her to come back because she was about to become a billionaire.”
Judging by the expression on Eloise’s face, I think that was exactly what she believed.
Eloise swivelled on Frances. “Is this true?”
“Why does it matter?”
“You are entitled to half of everything he had, prenuptial or not. Even your lawyers would…”
And there she stopped, perhaps realising what she had said and done, because Frances was greatly surprised, and her expression, to me, didn’t augur well for their relationship lasting.
Her tone was soft, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. Perhaps now the full realisation of Eloise’s intent was clear, “Even if I didn’t divorce him, there was never any money. There never was because I never needed it. I had nice things, but they were never mine, and I have no claim on them, nor would I want to. I told you a while back that I’ve had enough of the high life. Now I think I would prefer to embrace the country air in Wyoming.”
Perhaps Eloise, too, was beginning to see what the reality of the situation was. I got the impression Frances had tried to tell her, and she wouldn’t listen.
“I thought…” Eloise began.
“She was about to become mega-rich?” I finished the sentence for her. “No.”
I could see the expression on Frances’ face change from surprise, to shock, to something bordering on anger, if not rage. And come to the same conclusion about the same time I did.
“You didn’t just run into me, did you?” Frances said, so quietly I almost missed it.
“You’re a silly girl who will never have anything. Not unless you stand up for yourself. I’ll show myself out.”
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
Yes, I actually heard that answer given in a television interview, and thought, at the time, it was a quaint expression.
But in reality, this was a person for whom English was a second language, and that was, quite literally, their translation from their language to English.
Suffice to say, that person was not happy when lost the event she was participating in.
But that particular memory was triggered by another event.
Someone asked me how happy I was.
Happy is another of those words like good, thrown around like a rag doll, used without consequence, or regard for its true meaning.
“After everything that’s happened, you should be the happiest man alive!”
I’m happy.
I should be, to them.
A real friend might also say, “Are you sure, you don’t look happy.”
I hesitate but say, “Sure. I woke up with a headache,” or some other lame reason.
But, in reality, I’m not ‘happy’. Convention says that we should be happy if everything is going well. In my case, it is, to a certain extent, but it is what’s happening within that’s the problem. We say it because people expect it.
I find there is no use complaining because no one will listen, and definitely, no one likes serial complainers.
True.
But somewhere in all those complaints will be the truth, the one item that is bugging us.
It is a case of whether we are prepared to listen. Really listen.
Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 