For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
…
Wallace had not returned upstairs by the normal stairs, but the one by the radio room, far removed from the basement area where the prisoners were kept.
If he had, he might have realised that something was very, very wrong.
There were no more prisoners, except for Martina. The other defectors that had been captured had, on Johannsen’s orders, taken away by the three remaining resistance fighters, to be executed in the woods not far from the castle.
They had gone an hour before Schmidt’s men had departed, but in a different path, and would avoid running into the others. Johannesen had given Fernando’s second-in-command a silenced luger and told him to only use that gun for the execution. And to make as little noise as possible.
When they had left an eerie silence fell over the cellar.
Johannsen passed by Martina’s cell and looked in. She was lying on the ground, still badly injured from the beating Fernando had given her. She let him look at her for a minute, then said, “When is this going to be over. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment?”
“Where did you send the rest of the prisoners?”
“Back to Germany. Someone else can deal with them.”
She didn’t believe him for one moment, but let it pass. “Why betray your country?”
“England? England wasn’t my country, it’s just where I ended up before the war. Then it seemed a good idea to become a double agent.”
“Germany isn’t winning the war, you know, despite what the fools in Berlin keep telling you.”
“I could have you shot for saying that.”
“Then get on with it. I’m over waiting for whatever you’re going to do to me.”
“All in good time. The new people have brought some very good interrogators and they promise they’ll have you singing like a canary in no time.”
She shrugged, and it hurt.
“Fools.”
“Actually, I’m inclined to agree with you. So much so, I believe, if I can get you out of here, you might put in a good word for me. Atherton is out there, and he’s coming, isn’t he?”
“Atherton is just a boy pretending to be a soldier.”
He smiled. “That’s what he wants everyone to think, but Thompson, the man you take orders from, he thinks Atherton is one of his best agents. And he will have a plan, and being the archaeological major that he was, he’ll know how to breach this place.”
And the fact she didn’t argue or deny what he was suggesting told him she was waiting.
“You expect too much, there are no more resistance fighters except for a few young lads, and that dog of his.” She laughed. “Rescued by three children and a dog. I wonder if Germany will record that piece of history if it comes to pass. Go away, whoever you are, and leave me to die in peace.”
“When the time comes, I’ll be back.”
She ignored him, and rolled over to face the wall.
The two guards had been watching him, though they had not been following the conversation. The officer in charge, Wallace, had told them to keep an eye on everyone who came and went, and though Johannesen was on that watch list because he treated them better than Jackerby or the commandant did, they simply ignored him.
At their peril.
Johannesen wandered up to them, bade them a good evening, and then shot them. He dragged the bodies to a place where no one would look and then headed along to the radio room. The guards and radio men would not be changed for another eight hours, so no one was going to miss them. Unless someone came down top check, but Johannesen had done several nights observation, and no one had.
The two radio men disposed of, it was time to block off the entrances to the basement so no one could come down. These exits or entrances were large iron gates bolted and locked with ancient locks. There was only one key to each, and Johannsen had the key ring with them on it. He’d taken that of one of the dead guards.
Once the entrances were locked, he went back to Martina’s cell and unlocked the door.
At the sound of the key, she turned back.
“Time to go,” he said. “We have a very small wind to escape before they find out upstairs.”
“I cannot save you, if Atherton thinks you are a traitor.”
“Atherton is probably the only level headed person in this area. He’ll appreciate what I;ve done and give me a second chance.”
She shook her head.
“Once a traitor, always a traitor.”
“Be that as it may, just hold that thought. I’m giving you a gun, and I’m hoping you won’t use it on me.”
He went into the cell and assisted her to stand. She was weak, but the thought of escaping death put a little life into her limbs.
“It will not be a quick getaway,” she said.
“Just as long as it is a getaway,” he said, as they headed for the exit.
At the same time, there was a very large explosion from above, the percussive sound almost deafening them.
“What the hell was that?” Johannesen muttered.
“Most likely the diversion we needed, that you forgot to arrange.”
Y is for — You can sort it out. The boss thinks certain people are not needed until they are.
…
For someone who continually professed that they would never let work affect them outside of business hours, and who usually dropped off to sleep when their head hit the pillow, I was still awake at 2:30 am.
Perhaps it was the unofficial rumour running through the company like wildfire that the CEO of the family-run business had disappeared, and the prodigal son was considering selling the company off to the highest bidder, something his father would never do.
Perhaps it was the fact I knew that son, Jeremy McMaster, only too well, practically from the day he was born, we both went to the same schools, university, and I watched him turn into the disloyal, lazy, incompetent fool, and eventually, the major disappointment to his father that he was now.
Perhaps it was the fact that without the old man in charge, the company would soon be on life support and a great many people who depended on it for their livelihood would soon be out of work, and then, like other cities around us, it would wither and die.
Perhaps it was the fact that good people were leaving every day in the absence of any news that could give them hope.
Perhaps it was the fact that I knew there was nothing I could do to turn things around. I could try, but the prodigal son had forbidden it and dismissed anyone in Management who could have made a difference.
At least he couldn’t fire me. The old man had ensured that I would have a job for life or as long as the company was in business. That was the promise my father had extracted when he lent a swag of money to the old man when things went awry about 30 years before.
Now, it didn’t seem it would be long before my tenure would be over. Either way, to me, it didn’t matter. The prodigal son would soon discover that he had to repay my father’s loan before he could take anything for himself, and the way it was going, he was not going to make anything at all.
And the interesting part of all this was that I don’t think he knew what would happen in the event of the business being sold. That, I figured, would be within the next three days when an offer would be tendered to take over the business or parts of it
Someone had anonymously sent me a copy of the draft proposal, and it was horrendous.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t sleep.
I dropped into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken by the shrill sound of my cell phone. Obviously, I’d forgotten to turn it off the night before, but usually, that wasn’t a problem.
Very few people called me, and even less knew I had it. I had a work phone as the main point of contact, and I turned it off. By the time I had gotten out of bed, it stopped ringing. Good. If it were important, they would call again.
I moved it to beside the bed, glancing at the time. 3:37 AM I sighed, getting back under the covers. It was cold, and I was tired and a little annoyed.
13 minutes later, the phone rang. I rolled back the covers, picked it up, and glared at the screen. Private number. I considered ignoring it and switching off the phone, and going back to bed.
I didn’t. Wondering who it could be, I pressed the answer button. “What?” I put just enough annoyance into my tone to make the caller think twice before they annoyed me.
“That’s a nice way to greet a long-lost friend, Michael.”
I knew that voice and the girl it belonged to, the one that had broken my heart ten years ago when she abruptly up and left without so much as a goodbye
Elaine McMaster, quite literally the boss’s daughter.
The girl I had been madly in love with, and quite likely still was, if missing a few heartbeats just hearing her voice was anything to go by.
“You have a new phone, and if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have answered.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
Nothing ever was. She was one of those people who always had an excuse, always passing the blame to anyone else but herself, and had a Daddy who could buy her way out of trouble. She was quite literally the female version of Jeremy.
“Not a discussion I want at this hour of the night, nor at any time. Go away, Elaine and make some other poor wretch’s life miserable.”
Silence. I hoped she had hung up in my ear. She hadn’t.
“Can’t.”
“Can’t what?” I wasn’t going to forgive myself for taking the bait.
“Can’t go make some other wretch’s life miserable. I’m outside your door. I thought it best to call first before pounding on your door.”
“I could have moved.” It was a lame comeback, but only she could make me feel like this. I could never hate her.
“You’re a creature of habit, Michael. A place for everything, and everything in its place.”
“Except you.”
“I told you from the outset that loving me would be your greatest challenge. But, having said that, I chose you to go to the prom for a reason, and that reason holds today as it has for most of my life. Now, are you going to open the door, or do I have to start pounding on it?”
That begged the question: how did she get past the security?
“I’m hanging up now.” And did
I was of two minds whether to open the door. I knew the moment I saw her I would melt, so it was probably wiser to leave her there
Damn her.
I knew I was going to regret it the moment I opened that door.
I never understood why she picked the shy, gangly, awkward teenager I once was to go to the prom when she could take anyone. That one night changed me forever.
Until, of course, she left.
And there she was, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, with that whimsical expression I used to think she saved for me. It wasn’t, but I had my fantasies.
She stepped over the threshold and into my space, and without a second hesitation, put her arms around my neck and reached up that short distance, inviting me to kiss her.
The first time, I had not understood the nuance, and it annoyed her
How could I refuse?
And in that short period, anything from a few seconds to an hour and a half, I lost myself in a world I thought I’d never go back to.
“Damn you, Elaine,” I cursed under my breath.
“Because you never stopped loving me, or because I never stopped loving you.”
She brought her roller case over the threshold and closed the door, leaning against it.
“My mother, just before she died, sent me away to her sister in Switzerland. The reason I left in such a hurry and without a word was that I was pregnant. Not your child; I was raped by one of Jeremy’s friends the day after the prom. They were all staying over and were drunk. It was not a pleasant experience, and my parents refused to believe me, preferring to blame you for my predicament. It was terminated, but I was forbidden to see you or even communicate with you. I’m sorry.”
It was a compelling story, but was it true? She also had a reputation for telling the most convincing lies.
“Proof?”
“Ring my aunt in Berne. Go ask Bernard Davies, the guy who raped me, and got paid a lot of money to shut his mouth. And if that doesn’t satisfy you, I’m happy to go to any doctor you choose who will tell you what happened to me.”
Was she banking on the fact that I wouldn’t, that I would take her at her word?
“Why are you here, now?”
“To see you. I want to pick up where we left off, but I’m willing to accept that you might have reservations. If that’s the case, I will try very hard to convince you that there never was, and never will be, anyone else for me.”
“What about your parents, who have this thing against me. Your father never mentioned it, just you and your mother were off travelling. He never treated me any differently.”
“He was like that. I think he hated me more than he hated you. He always said that he had big plans for me, that Jeremy was a waste of space, and when what happened to me happened, all those plans went west.”
“Where is he now. All we know is that he’s taking an extended leave of absence and that the company was in good hands while he was away. Pity he didn’t consider that Jeremy would fire the management team he trusted and install himself as the lord and master.”
“He had to leave because the customers were getting worried about his health. It turned out to be stage four lung cancer. Came to Switzerland for what was touted as a miracle cure, and it wasn’t. I buried him a week ago.”
It didn’t make sense, but nothing the McMasters did ever made sense.
“But before he died, he changed his will and left me with his shareholding, and with yours, he told me we have a majority, certainly enough to bury Jeremy. He doesn’t know yet that Daddy changed his will, and he now just has a minority shareholding. Daddy knew what he was doing and had to wait until he died to rearrange things.”
“You’re too late. He’s all but wrecked the business, and there’s not much left to salvage.”
“Well, all you have to do is resign, and then we’ll see what we see.”
The Elaine I knew had no business sense and was content to spend the family fortune on clothes and overseas holidays before she disappeared without a trace.
Whether the old man changed his will or not, the company had been destroyed in the six months he had been gone, and Jeremy had taken the reins.
If I resigned, it would precipitate the clause that would compel the company to pay back the loan my father had given them.
It would benefit both of them financially as well as get a millstone off both their necks. I couldn’t discount the possibility that Jeremy and Elaine were working together now their father had died, with the idea of maximising their inheritance.
I shook my head. “There is a spare bedroom, you can put yourself there. I have some calls to make.”
“At 4am?”
“The people I know don’t have 9 to 5 jobs. Or the luxury of swanning around Europe without a care in the world.”
“Those days ended when Jeremy stopped paying my aunt for my upkeep. I literally just got off the plane after travelling in coach.” The expression on her face was priceless.
Yes, how the mighty have fallen. She was about to find out how cold and harsh it could be in the real world. “Then have a long, hot shower and get some rest. We’ll talk again later. I’m going back to bed and trying to make up for the interruption. Some of us have to work for a living.”
With that, I went into and shut the door to my room, leaving her standing by the door. If she had any common sense, she would leave. Whatever I may have felt about her, it would not affect my judgment in business matters. It was perhaps the one thing the old man and my father had taught me.
The first call was to my lawyer, who, like me, never seemed to sleep.
His father was my father’s legal representative and was, for a long time, old man McMasters. After the two men clashed, McMaster found a new legal practice to handle his affairs
Alistair Crewsbury was the son, third generation named Alistair, and still had copies of a lot of McMaster’s documents, one of several secrets between us.
What was more important was his father’s notebooks that gave a great deal of detail on McMasters affairs, and particularly relation to my father’s investment, and in the handling of his affairs in the event of his death, and his disbursements to his children, Jeremy and Elaine.
Admittedly, it was twenty years old and may not be relevant, but there was no indication that the old man was dead or that he was in Switzerland getting cured. His cancer, Alistair had said, was real, and he had gone to Europe to be with his daughter and left the running of the company in Jeremy’s hands.
It wasn’t ideal, nor did he trust him, but at the time, blood was thicker than water. I was not blood, but my family had a lien, of a sort, on the business that had to be settled if it wound up or was put out of business
Alistair had said more than once that if the McMasters wanted to get around that lien, they had to run the business into the ground. Until it was worthless.
Jeremy was certainly trying to do that. And it would not leave me with any options.
This much was clear.
Weigh in with the fact Elaine was back on the pretext that Jeremy had cut her off, didn’t sit with the fact her father had gone to see her, on his way to get treatment.
When Alistair answered the phone, knowing who was calling him, he said, “So Elaine McMaster has landed on your doorstep.”
It was a statement rather than a question.
“You know. I don’t think I want to know how. Yes. Some story about being cut off.”
“I believe she sent you the plans for the company’s future. I’m not sure why, because it alerts you to the fact that Jeremy intends to just hand it over to a rival for nothing. In doing so, he will be relieved of the outstanding loans and says liability. It says nothing about the fate of the employees, but you can be assured that four-fifths will be fired.
“He has to get something out of it.”
“According to the consulting accountants, he’s been squirrelling away nearly fifty million in offshore accounts, which he thinks no one is aware of.”
“Can it be proved?”
“Not yet. He’s not as stupid as some would think. He has managed to hire some very clever and very interesting employees to do his bidding.”
“No surprises there. Where does this leave me?”
“Do you care? Your father left you far better off than the McMasters are currently. I don’t think your father ever expected to recoup the money he gave McMaster, and it didn’t bother him. I’m sure if my assessment of you is correct, I doubt it is a concern. It’s probably a principal thing.”
“I care more about the people losing their jobs, as hadvold man McMaster, and I’m surprised he hadn’t done anything to curb his son’s excesses.”
“If you want an opinion, Elaine returning means he died. Recently. I haven’t yet heard from his new lawyer, but they will have to tell us soon. It was a codicil on his will.”
“What if I simply resign and walk away?”
“As you are aware, it would invite a clause in the loan agreement, and given the financial state, you would be blamed for bringing the company down and cause the workforce to be made redundant with no benefits. That at least would leave the McMaster children much better off, and with their reputations intact. Go on leave and watch from the sidelines.”
“It would be difficult. A lot of those people are my friends.”
“Well, here’s a thought. If you could find a way to sabotage the company and not make it a going concern, according to the terms of the sale, the agreement would lapse. The magic expiry date is the 25th, in twelve days. As they say in the classics, the ball is in your court.”
It was. The fact that the blame would rest on me if i resigned and that the McMaster children would get off Scott free was reason enough not to. Best let Jeremy be the reason, through bad management. His advice to take some leave and watch the fun from the bleachers was good advice.
He then added a very interesting fact, that one of his associates had seen Jeremy and Elaine together that afternoon over lunch, having what seemed to be a friendly discussion.
It wasn’t the cheapest restaurant in the city.
I thanked him for his observations.
My second call was to William Prentice, the production manager, and I asked to see him at 9 am.
Staring at the ceiling provided two observations: the first that the roof needed repainting, or I had a slow leak that was wrecking the roof; the second, what was Elaine’s game?
If I tried to think too hard about it, it would probably lead me down the path to hell and damnation. I wanted to believe her, but it didn’t quite stack up. The thing is, a lot must have happened to her in the last ten years.
And that story about Bernard? I would have a chat, but it wasn’t going to be pleasant for him. The thing is, I knew Bernard, and he always had a thing for Elaine. He was also a bully, so if he did what he did, it would be totally in character.
Except Mr McMaster would have killed him, not paid him off to keep his mouth shut. I never had any illusions about the old man. You didn’t get where he was without a few strong-arm tactics
And he would not let any man do that to his daughter and still be around to talk about it.
So, the first job inside the room was to check for any obituary notices for one Bernard Davies and after spreading a larger net than the five towns nearby, found the versatile man, dead from a car accident a week after the prom.
I guess Elaine really did believe I would take her on trust.
Morning dawned, and having got a couple of hours of restless sleep, I decided it was enough and went out to make some coffee.
It was already made.
Elaine was wandering down the passage when she looked up, saw me, and jumped, giving a little squeal of surprise.
“I’m not that scary,” I said
“You are when you’re creeping about like that. Get some more shut-eye?”
“A little. Wouldn’t be the first time I went in more tired in the morning than I was when I went home.”
“Stay at home then. You can reacquaint me with the town.”
“It’s one street, Elaine, and only two shops have changed hands, and they were two you never went to. You don’t need me to hold your hand. You’re all grown up and heiress to an alleged fortune. Well, maybe not so much a fortune, but what was once a great little earner. I have to go in. Besides, didn’t you say I had to resign?”
“You can do that over the phone.”
“You might, but I have principles and integrity. I’ll be doing it in person as it should be done. When I get around to it. I will have to clear my desk.”
I was going to do more than that, but she didn’t need to know.
Elaine wanted to go with me, and I said there was no point alerting Jeremy she was back and plotting against him.
She seemed to accept that, but an odd look from her when I mentioned Jeremy’s name was interesting, to say the least. She would never make a good poker player.
I drove to work as I did every morning, parked in the car space that had my office title on the ground, not my name, and made that walk from the car to the front door
At the hour, nearly everyone on the day shift had arrived, and the car park was quite full. There were 2,500 people working on this particular day in seven of the eight factories and warehouses on this site.
All were dependent on the main assembly line, in building C had been the subject of a dozen lengthy memos that basically pointed out that if it was not stopped for a period of three weeks to perform major maintenance, it was likely to stop permanently
The major maintenance would cost upwards of 10 million dollars, an expense Jeremy had vetoed because he believed it would last long enough for the sale to go through, and then it would be someone else’s problem.
At 9 am, William Prentice arrived at my office, closed the door, sat down and shared a wee dram of a single malt I had sent over from my father’s favourite Scottish whiskey distillery.
At 9:05 a.m., he stood, nodded, and then left.
At 9:10 a.m., my 4 weeks off on annual leave began with a walk down to HR.
As Jeremy’s personally selected employee, he refused. I simply said I would see him in four weeks’ time and left my work phone on his desk before walking out the door.
Behind me, he snatched up the intercom receiver and was dialling Jeremy’s number. The lift door closed before I could confirm who it was he called.
I made it as far as my car in the car park.
Jeremy was coming towards me, the fastest I had ever seen him move.
“Michael.”
I thought about ignoring him, but it wasn’t worth the problems.
I turned and waited until he arrived
“Jeremy?”
“You can’t go on leave. Not right now. It’s imperative the plant remains operational “
“Whether or not it remains operational doesn’t depend on me being here, Jeremy. Last managers’ meeting I believe you said to me specifically, and the others in general, that nothing in this place depended on my being here or in Timbuktu. That being the case, Jeremy, I thought I’d go there to see what happens.:
“Go where?”
“Timbuktu.”
“You’re mad. I was just making a point, Michael. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Well, too late. I’m off. The place can run without me, like you said, the first day you took over as CEO, and you were right. Back then, I had overinflated ideas of my worth to the company. Now I do not. Now, I have to pack a bag and get to the airport.”
As I turned to unlock the car door, a siren ramped up, similar to the one used in London at the time of the Blitz in WW2
Jeremy’s head swivelled around to look in the direction of the buildings, and we could both see workers exiting from them quickly and orderly.
“What’s happening?”
“You’re the CEO, Jeremy, you’re supposed to know everything that happens.”
“That’s why I employ fools like you, so I don’t have to. What’s happening?”
“One of two things, Jeremy. It’s a fire drill, or the main assembly line just crashed. I hope for your sake it’s not the latter.”
“So should you. Go sort it out.”
I shrugged. “I’m on leave. That’s officially now William Prentice’s purview. I suggest you find him, and he’ll tell you what’s happening.”
“If you leave, you’re fired.”
“Sorry, Jeremy. You can’t. No one can. Read my employment contract. Now, you’d better hurry up and see what’s going on.”
The workers were now assembling in the fields adjacent to the car park.
I got into my car and drove off, just as the wailing of the fire service trucks started heading towards the site.
I was half expecting Elaine to be gone, accepting I would resign, and then join her brother to execute the fait-accompli.
Instead, she was sitting in a lounge chair reading a women’s magazine. She looked up when I came into the room.
She didn’t have that guilty look on her face, but a whimsical smile. “You were always the most unpredictable boy I ever knew. And never did what I asked, no matter how politely, or with the most tempting bribes. Did you ever care about me?”
It was an interesting question. I did realise when I was eight that she was trouble and that Jeremy was not above using her to get at me.
“Of course. I loved you with all my heart. And you broke it. It was a pain I felt for a very long time, and in that time, I realised you never really cared about me. So, coming back, laying that story on me like pancake makeup, well, a leopard never changes its spots. Was any part of that story you told me true?”
“It was. I was raped by that moron nnnn, and Daddy had him removed. I hated Jeremy for a long time after that, grateful that Daddy sent Mother and me away. To be honest, I never wanted to come home even more to see you again because I knew how you would react. But Jeremy was a shit about everything and cut off my allowance until I agreed to help him with you.”
“And yet you failed to realise that as my wife, you would be richer than Jeremy or you could ever hope to be?”
“I know, but I left you without so much as an explanation, and I knew that I would only get one chance. Daddy always said that you were too good for the likes of me, that if I didn’t hurt you at first, it would not take long before I did. He was a very astute judge of character, Michael. I came back several times, but when I saw you, I couldn’t go through with meeting you.”
“You could have said hello.”
“No. I knew how you would be when you saw me, ever the optimist. Yes, you’d hate me, but you wouldn’t turn me away, just like now. Just like I knew you’d scratch below the surface and find out what Jeremy was up to. Jeremy believed you were the same naive fool you’ve always been, but I know you’re not. Daddy told me how you kept the place going, how you were the son he always wanted, and how he wanted you and me to be together until that day after the prom. While he never said it, I knew I was as big a disappointment to him as Jeremy.”
I could see the tears, and not fail to notice the break in her voice. It was perhaps a little churlish of me to think for a moment that this was one of her best acting performances.
“For what it’s worth, Michael. I really did love you. Then and now. I don’t think I’ve had any sort of relationship since you that’s lasted longer than a month or two, and I honestly believe there is no one else.”
“Then stay.”
“And how long would it be before you really despised me?”
Using alternate words to Love, Announce, Beautiful, Delicious, and Move.
…
There was something about Felicity that had struck me from the first time I saw her, across a hall, through a crowded dance floor. Had it been the dress, or the way she stood, cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, casually watching those on the dance floor trying to execute a fluid and in-sync waltz.
Or was it the expression of disdain?
All I knew in that moment she was the one, and it was love at first sight, for me.
A half hour later, after my sister, the reason for the gathering, announced her engagement to Mr Phillip Alexander William Thorogood, she left him to explain himself to her friends and came over to where I had been watching the proceedings.
Her engagement was entirely unexpected by me and our parents.
“So, what do you think?”
“He has too many names, and therefore must be a criminal.”
“He’s English. They all have too many names. It’s their idea of keeping the relatives of the past unforgotten, or something like that. I confess I switched off when he started on the history of the Thorogoods.”
“I hope you will be happy.”
“But you want to know about Felicity. I’ve seen you giving her that look.”
“What look?”
“She interests you. But as beautiful as she appears, I can assure you she is not. With her, beauty is only skin deep.”
“That’s hardly the way you should speak of your friends.”
“She is not my friend, she’s a relative or some such of Phillips, who came with her parents. But enough about her, have you tried the Apple cake? It’s absolutely delicious, if not divine. It’s going to be my wedding cake.”
I shook my head. She had an obsession with apples. “And what did Phillip think of that?”
“He doesn’t know yet, but he won’t care?”
I saw Felicity look in my direction, though I suspect it was directed more towards my sister. I got the impression she was here at Phillip’s parents’ behest, checking her out.
Then, a glance at me, Felicity started walking towards us.
“Oh, dear. I just don’t want to talk to her, so I will move around and mingle. Head her off at the pass, will you, Peter? There’s a good little brother.”
She went sideways, and I headed towards Felicity to head her off at the pass, happy to take one for the team.
….
Now to replace the above key words…
….
There was something about Felicity that had struck me from the first time I saw her, across a hall, through a crowded dance floor. Had it been the dress, or the way she stood, cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, casually watching those on the dance floor trying to execute a fluid and in-sync waltz.
Or was it the expression of disdain?
All I knew in that moment she was the one, and it was love at first sight, for me.
A half hour later, my sister, Annabel, was called up, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming, to tell the gathering in her usual coy manner that she had accepted Mr Phillip Alexander William Thorogood’s hand in marriage. Afterwards, like a deer caught in headlights, she left him to explain himself to her friends and came over to where I had been watching the proceedings.
Her engagement was entirely unexpected by me and our parents.
“So, what do you think?”
“He has too many names, and therefore must be a criminal.”
“He’s English. They all have too many names. It’s their idea of keeping the relatives of the past unforgotten, or something like that. I confess I switched off when he started on the history of the Thorogoods.”
“I hope you will be happy.”
“As much as I can see you’re dying to hear all about him, I can see you want to know about Felicity. I’ve seen you giving her that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you reserve for interesting people that won’t have anything to do with you. She may appear to have that certain thing about her, I can assure you, she can be and has been trouble for Phillip and his parents. If you want an opinion, her beauty is only skin deep.”
“That’s hardly the way you should speak of your friends.”
“She is not my friend, she’s a relative or some such of Phillips, who came with her parents. But enough about her, have you tried the Apple cake? It’s one of several cakes the bakers of my wedding cake tendered as a sample, and it’s divine. We’ve practically decided it’s going to be the wedding cake.”
I shook my head. She had an obsession with apples. “And what did Phillip think of that?”
“He doesn’t know yet, but he won’t care?”
I saw Felicity look in my direction, though I suspect it was directed more towards my sister. I got the impression she was here at the behest of Phillip’s parents and checking her out.
Then, a glance at me, Felicity started walking towards us.
“Oh, dear. I just don’t want to talk to her. You use your charm on her while I mingle. Head her off at the pass, will you, Peter? There’s a good little brother.”
She went sideways, and I headed towards Felicity to head her off at the pass, happy to take one for the team. The fact that Annabel didn’t like her made Felicity far more interesting.
Well, it’s almost over, and it’s only the first week of the King’s reign.
There’s more, but I think the tale of the wedding might consume another book, with the plots and twists it can bring
And then there’s the coronation and the missing brother. Yes, there’s every chance he’ll be thawed out and brought back to life.
Well, I doubt that can happen, but there is the spectre of his brother hanging over everything, and it’s going to play a part in the coronation.
The summer palace is going to become an international equestrian school.
Ruth is going to challenge all comers to many duels in the sword room.
And prove she’s going to be a force to be reckoned with.
Elizabeth is going to make a bid for the top job, Queen, and our new king is going to have to learn more about the country and its archaic laws, yes, we’re going back 800 years to the original charter when the land was granted to the first King.
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’.
Using alternate words to Love, Announce, Beautiful, Delicious, and Move.
…
There was something about Felicity that had struck me from the first time I saw her, across a hall, through a crowded dance floor. Had it been the dress, or the way she stood, cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, casually watching those on the dance floor trying to execute a fluid and in-sync waltz.
Or was it the expression of disdain?
All I knew in that moment she was the one, and it was love at first sight, for me.
A half hour later, after my sister, the reason for the gathering, announced her engagement to Mr Phillip Alexander William Thorogood, she left him to explain himself to her friends and came over to where I had been watching the proceedings.
Her engagement was entirely unexpected by me and our parents.
“So, what do you think?”
“He has too many names, and therefore must be a criminal.”
“He’s English. They all have too many names. It’s their idea of keeping the relatives of the past unforgotten, or something like that. I confess I switched off when he started on the history of the Thorogoods.”
“I hope you will be happy.”
“But you want to know about Felicity. I’ve seen you giving her that look.”
“What look?”
“She interests you. But as beautiful as she appears, I can assure you she is not. With her, beauty is only skin deep.”
“That’s hardly the way you should speak of your friends.”
“She is not my friend, she’s a relative or some such of Phillips, who came with her parents. But enough about her, have you tried the Apple cake? It’s absolutely delicious, if not divine. It’s going to be my wedding cake.”
I shook my head. She had an obsession with apples. “And what did Phillip think of that?”
“He doesn’t know yet, but he won’t care?”
I saw Felicity look in my direction, though I suspect it was directed more towards my sister. I got the impression she was here at Phillip’s parents’ behest, checking her out.
Then, a glance at me, Felicity started walking towards us.
“Oh, dear. I just don’t want to talk to her, so I will move around and mingle. Head her off at the pass, will you, Peter? There’s a good little brother.”
She went sideways, and I headed towards Felicity to head her off at the pass, happy to take one for the team.
….
Now to replace the above key words…
….
There was something about Felicity that had struck me from the first time I saw her, across a hall, through a crowded dance floor. Had it been the dress, or the way she stood, cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, casually watching those on the dance floor trying to execute a fluid and in-sync waltz.
Or was it the expression of disdain?
All I knew in that moment she was the one, and it was love at first sight, for me.
A half hour later, my sister, Annabel, was called up, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming, to tell the gathering in her usual coy manner that she had accepted Mr Phillip Alexander William Thorogood’s hand in marriage. Afterwards, like a deer caught in headlights, she left him to explain himself to her friends and came over to where I had been watching the proceedings.
Her engagement was entirely unexpected by me and our parents.
“So, what do you think?”
“He has too many names, and therefore must be a criminal.”
“He’s English. They all have too many names. It’s their idea of keeping the relatives of the past unforgotten, or something like that. I confess I switched off when he started on the history of the Thorogoods.”
“I hope you will be happy.”
“As much as I can see you’re dying to hear all about him, I can see you want to know about Felicity. I’ve seen you giving her that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you reserve for interesting people that won’t have anything to do with you. She may appear to have that certain thing about her, I can assure you, she can be and has been trouble for Phillip and his parents. If you want an opinion, her beauty is only skin deep.”
“That’s hardly the way you should speak of your friends.”
“She is not my friend, she’s a relative or some such of Phillips, who came with her parents. But enough about her, have you tried the Apple cake? It’s one of several cakes the bakers of my wedding cake tendered as a sample, and it’s divine. We’ve practically decided it’s going to be the wedding cake.”
I shook my head. She had an obsession with apples. “And what did Phillip think of that?”
“He doesn’t know yet, but he won’t care?”
I saw Felicity look in my direction, though I suspect it was directed more towards my sister. I got the impression she was here at the behest of Phillip’s parents and checking her out.
Then, a glance at me, Felicity started walking towards us.
“Oh, dear. I just don’t want to talk to her. You use your charm on her while I mingle. Head her off at the pass, will you, Peter? There’s a good little brother.”
She went sideways, and I headed towards Felicity to head her off at the pass, happy to take one for the team. The fact that Annabel didn’t like her made Felicity far more interesting.
I’d read about out-of-body experiences, and like everyone else, thought it was nonsense. Some people claimed to see themselves in the operating theatre, medical staff frantically trying to revive them, and being surrounded by white light.
I was definitely looking down, but it wasn’t me I was looking at.
It was two children, a boy and a girl, with their parents, in a park.
The boy was Alan. He was about six or seven. The girl was Louise, and she was five years old. She had long red hair and looked the image of her mother.
I remember it now, it was Louise’s birthday and we went down to Bournemouth to visit our Grandmother, and it was the last time we were all together as a family.
We were flying homemade kites our father had made for us, and after we lay there looking up at the sky, making animals out of the clouds. I saw an elephant, Louise saw a giraffe.
We were so happy then.
Before the tragedy.
When I looked again ten years had passed and we were living in hell. Louise and I had become very adept at survival in a world we really didn’t understand, surrounded by people who wanted to crush our souls.
It was not a life a normal child had, our foster parents never quite the sort of people who were adequately equipped for two broken-hearted children. They tried their best, but their best was not good enough.
Every day it was a battle, to avoid the Bannister’s and Archie in particular, every day he made advances towards Louise and every day she fended him off.
Until one day she couldn’t.
Now I was sitting in the hospital, holding Louise’s hand. She was in a coma, and the doctors didn’t think she would wake from it. The damage done to her was too severe.
The doctors were wrong.
She woke, briefly, to name her five assailants. It was enough to have them arrested. It was not enough to have them convicted.
Justice would have to be served by other means.
I was outside the Bannister’s home.
I’d made my way there without really thinking, after watching Louise die. It was like being on autopilot, and I had no control over what I was doing. I had murder in mind. It was why I was holding an iron bar.
Skulking in the shadows. It was not very different from the way the Bannister’s operated.
I waited till Archie came out. I knew he eventually would. The police had taken him to the station for questioning, and then let him go. I didn’t understand why, nor did I care.
I followed him up the towpath, waiting till he stopped to light a cigarette, then came out of the shadows.
“Wotcha got there Alan?” he asked when he saw me. He knew what it was, and what it was for.
It was the first time I’d seen the fear in his eyes. He was alone.
“Justice.”
“For that slut of a sister of yours. I had nuffing to do with it.”
“She said otherwise, Archie.”
“She never said nuffing, you just made it up.” An attempt at bluster, but there was no confidence in his voice.
I held up the pipe. It had blood on it. Willy’s blood. “She may or may not have Archie, but Willy didn’t make it up. He sang like a bird. That’s his blood, probably brains on the pipe too, Archie, and yours will be there soon enough.”
“He dunnit, not me. Lyin’ bastard would say anything to save his own skin.” Definitely scared now, he was looking to run away.
“No, Archie. He didn’t. I’m coming for you. All of you Bannisters. And everyone who touched my sister.”
It was the recurring nightmare I had for years afterwards.
I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the thoughts, the images of Louise, the phone call, the visit to the hospital and being there when she succumbed to her injuries. Those were the very worst few hours of my life.
She had asked me to come to the railway station and walk home with her, and I was running late. If I had left when I was supposed to, it would never have happened and for years afterwards, I blamed myself for her death.
If only I’d not been late…
When the police finally caught the rapists, I’d known all along who they’d be; antagonists from school, the ring leader, Archie Bannister, a spurned boyfriend, a boy whose parents, ubiquitously known to all as ‘the Bannister’s, dealt in violence and crime and who owned the neighbourhood. The sins of the father had been very definitely passed onto the son.
At school, I used to be the whipping boy, Archie, a few grades ahead of me, made a point of belting me and a few of the other boys, to make sure the rest did as they were told. He liked Louise, but she had no time for a bully like him, even when he promised he would ‘protect’ me.
I knew the gang members, the boys who tow-kowed to save getting beaten up, and after the police couldn’t get enough information to prosecute them because everyone was too afraid to speak out, I went after Willy. There was always a weak link in a group, and he was it.
He worked in a factory, did long hours on a Wednesday and came home after dark alone. It was a half mile walk, through a park. The night I approached him, I smashed the lights and left it in darkness. He nearly changed his mind and went the long way home.
He didn’t.
It took an hour and a half to get the names. At first, when he saw me, he laughed. He said I would be next, and that was four words more than he knew he should have said.
When I found him alone the next morning I showed him the iron bar and told him he was on the list. I didn’t kill him then, he could wait his turn, and worry about what was going to happen to him.
When the police came to visit me shortly after that encounter, no doubt at the behest of the Bannister’s, the neighbourhood closed ranks and gave me an ironclad alibi. The Bannister’s then came to visit me and threatened me. I told them their days were numbered and showed them the door.
At the trial, he and his friends got off on a technicality. The police had failed to do their job properly, but it was not the police, but a single policeman, corrupted by the Bannisters.
Archie could help but rub it in my face. He was invincible.
Joe Collins took 12 bullets and six hours to bleed out. He apologized, he pleaded, he cried, he begged. I didn’t care.
Barry Mills, a strong lad with a mind to hurting people, Archie’s enforcer, almost got the better of me. I had to hit him more times than I wanted to, and in the end, I had to be satisfied that he died a short but agonizing death.
I revisited Willy in the hospital. He’d recovered enough to recognize me, and why I’d come. Suffocation was too good for him.
David Williams, second in command of the gang, was as tough and nasty as the Bannisters. His family were forging a partnership with the Bannister’s to make them even more powerful. Outwardly David was a pleasant sort of chap, affable, polite, and well mannered. A lot of people didn’t believe he could be like, or working with, the Bannisters.
He and I met in the pub. We got along like old friends. He said Willy had just named anyone he could think of, and that he was innocent of any charges. We shook hands and parted as friends.
Three hours later he was sitting in a chair in the middle of a disused factory, blindfolded and scared. I sat and watched him, listened to him, first threatening me, and then finally pleading with me. He’d guessed who it was that had kidnapped him.
When it was dark, I took the blindfold off and shone a very bright light in his eyes. I asked him if the violence he had visited upon my sister was worth it. He told me he was just a spectator.
I’d read the coroner’s report. They all had a turn. He was a liar.
He took nineteen bullets to die.
Then came Archie.
The same factory only this time there were four seats. Anna Bannister, brothel owner, Spike Bannister, head of the family, Emily Bannister, sister, and who had nothing to do with their criminal activities. She just had the misfortune of sharing their name.
Archie’s father told me how he was going to destroy me, and everyone I knew.
A well-placed bullet between the eyes shut him up.
Archie’s mother cursed me. I let her suffer for an hour before I put her out of her misery.
Archie remained stony-faced until I came to Emily. The death of his parents meant he would become head of the family. I guess their deaths meant as little to him as they did me.
He was a little more worried about his sister.
I told him it was confession time.
He told her it was little more than a forced confession and he had done nothing to deserve my retribution.
I shrugged and shot her, and we both watched her fall to the ground screaming in agony. I told him if he wanted her to live, he had to genuinely confess to his crimes. This time he did, it all poured out of him.
I went over to Emily. He watched in horror as I untied her bindings and pulled her up off the floor, suffering only from a small wound in her arm. Without saying a word she took the gun and walked over to stand behind him.
“Louise was my friend, Archie. My friend.”
Then she shot him. Six times.
To me, after saying what looked like a prayer, she said, “Killing them all will not bring her back, Alan, and I doubt she would approve of any of this. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Now I was in jail. I’d spent three hours detailing the deaths of the five boys, everything I’d done; a full confession. Without my sister, my life was nothing. I didn’t want to go back to the foster parents; I doubt they’d take back a murderer.
They were not allowed to.
For a month I lived in a small cell, in solitary, no visitors. I believed I was in the queue to be executed, and I had mentally prepared myself for the end.
Then I was told I had a visitor, and I was expecting a priest.
Instead, it was a man called McTavish. Short, wiry, and with an accent that I could barely understand.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Alan.”
When I saw it was not the priest I told the jailers not to let him in, I didn’t want to speak to anyone. They ignored me. I’d expected he was a psychiatrist, come to see whether I should be shipped off to the asylum.
I was beginning to think I was going mad.
I ignored him.
“I am the difference between you living or dying Alan, it’s as simple as that. You’d be a wise man to listen to what I have to offer.”
Death sounded good. I told him to go away.
He didn’t. Persistent bugger.
I was handcuffed to the table. The prison officers thought I was dangerous. Five, plus two, murders, I guess they had a right to think that. McTavish sat opposite me, ignoring my request to leave.
“Why’d you do it?”
“You know why.” Maybe if I spoke he’d go away.
“Your sister. By all accounts, the scum that did for her deserved what they got.”
“It was murder just the same. No difference between scum and proper people.”
“You like killing?”
“No-one does.”
“No, I dare say you’re right. But you’re different, Alan. As clean and merciless killing I’ve ever seen. We can use a man like you.”
“We?”
“A group of individuals who clean up the scum.”
I looked up to see his expression, one of benevolence, totally out of character for a man like him. It looked like I didn’t have a choice.
Trained, cleared, and ready to go.
I hadn’t realized there were so many people who were, for all intents and purposes, invisible. People that came and went, in malls, in hotels, trains, buses, airports, everywhere, people no one gave a second glance.
People like me.
In a mall, I became a shopper.
In a hotel, I was just another guest heading to his room.
On a bus or a train, I was just another commuter.
At the airport, I became a pilot. I didn’t need to know how to fly; everyone just accepted a pilot in a pilot suit was just what he looked like.
I had a passkey.
I had the correct documents to get me onto the plane.
That walk down the air bridge was the longest of my life. Waiting for the call from the gate, waiting for one of the air bridge staff to challenge me, stepping onto the plane.
Two pilots and a steward. A team. On the plane early before the rest of the crew. A group that was committing a crime, had committed a number of crimes and thought they’d got away with it.
Until the judge, the jury and their executioner arrived.
Me.
Quick, clean, merciless. Done.
I was now an operational field agent.
I was older now, and I could see in the mirror I was starting to go grey at the sides. It was far too early in my life for this, but I expect it had something to do with my employment.
I didn’t recognize the man who looked back at me.
It was certainly not Alan McKenzie, nor was there any part of that fifteen-year-old who had made the decision to exact revenge.
Given a choice; I would not have gone down this path.
Or so I kept telling myself each time a little more of my soul was sold to the devil.
I was Barry Gamble.
I was Lenny Buckman.
I was Jimmy Hosen.
I was anyone but the person I wanted to be.
That’s what I told Louise, standing in front of her grave, and trying to apologize for all the harm, all the people I’d killed for that one rash decision. If she was still alive she would be horrified, and ashamed.
Head bowed, tears streamed down my face.
God had gone on holiday and wasn’t there to hand out any forgiveness. Not that day. Not any day.
New York, New Years Eve.
I was at the end of a long tour, dragged out of a holiday and back into the fray, chasing down another scumbag. They were scumbags, and I’d become an automaton hunting them down and dispatching them to what McTavish called a better place.
This time I failed.
A few drinks to blot out the failure, a blonde woman who pushed my buttons, a room in a hotel, any hotel, it was like being on the merry-go-round, round and round and round…
Her name was Silvia or Sandra, or someone I’d met before, but couldn’t quite place her. It could be an enemy agent for all I knew or all I cared right then.
I was done.
I’d had enough.
I gave her the gun.
I begged her to kill me.
She didn’t.
Instead, I simply cried, letting the pent up emotion loose after being suppressed for so long, and she stayed with me, holding me close, and saying I was safe, that she knew exactly how I felt.
How could she? No one could know what I’d been through.
I remembered her name after she had gone.
Amanda.
I remembered she had an imperfection in her right eye.
Someone else had the same imperfection.
I couldn’t remember who that was.
Not then.
I had a dingy flat in Kensington, a place that I rarely stayed in if I could help it. After five-star hotel rooms, it made me feel shabby.
The end of another mission, I was on my way home, the underground, a bus, and then a walk.
It was late.
People were spilling out of the pub after the last drinks. Most in good spirits, others slightly more boisterous.
A loud-mouthed chap bumped into me, the sort who had one too many, and was ready to take on all comers.
He turned on me, “Watch where you’re going, you fool.”
Two of his friends dragged him away. He shrugged them off, squared up.
I punched him hard, in the stomach, and he fell backwards onto the ground. I looked at his two friends. “Take him home before someone makes mincemeat out of him.”
They grabbed his arms, lifted him off the ground and took him away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a woman, early thirties, quite attractive, but very, very drunk. She staggered from the bar, bumped into me, and finished up sitting on the side of the road.
I looked around to see where her friends were. The exodus from the pub was over and the few nearby were leaving to go home.
She was alone, drunk, and by the look of her, unable to move.
I sat beside her. “Where are your friends?”
“Dunno.”
“You need help?”
She looked up, and sideways at me. She didn’t look the sort who would get in this state. Or maybe she was, I was a terrible judge of women.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Nobody.” I was exactly how I felt.
“Well Mr Nobody, I’m drunk, and I don’t care. Just leave me here to rot.”
She put her head back between her knees, and it looked to me she was trying to stop the spinning sensation in her head.
Been there before, and it’s not a good feeling.
“Where are your friends?” I asked again.
“Got none.”
“Perhaps I should take you home.”
“I have no home.”
“You don’t look like a homeless person. If I’m not mistaken, those shoes are worth more than my weekly salary.” I’d seen them advertised, in the airline magazine, don’t ask me why the ad caught my attention.
She lifted her head and looked at me again. “You a smart fucking arse are you?”
“I have my moments.”
“Have them somewhere else.”
She rested her head against my shoulder. We were the only two left in the street, and suddenly in darkness when the proprietor turned off the outside lights.
“Take me home,” she said suddenly.
“Where is your place?”
“Don’t have one. Take me to your place.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I’m drunk. What’s not to like until tomorrow.”
I helped her to her feet. “You have a name?”
“Charlotte.”
The wedding was in a small church. We had been away for a weekend in the country, somewhere in the Cotswolds, and found this idyllic spot. Graves going back to the dawn of time, a beautiful garden tended by the vicar and his wife, an astonishing vista over hills and down dales.
On a spring afternoon with the sun, the flowers, and the peacefulness of the country.
I had two people at the wedding, the best man, Bradley, and my boss, Watkins.
Charlotte had her sisters Melissa and Isobel, and Isobel’s husband Giovanni, and their daughter Felicity.
And one more person who was as mysterious as she was attractive, a rather interesting combination as she was well over retirement age. She arrived late and left early.
Aunt Agatha.
She looked me up and down with what I’d call a withering look. “There’s more to you than meets the eye,” she said enigmatically.
“Likewise I’m sure,” I said. It earned me an elbow in the ribs from Charlotte. It was clear she feared this woman.
“Why did you come,” Charlotte asked.
“You know why.”
Agatha looked at me. “I like you. Take care of my granddaughter. You do not want me for an enemy.”
OK, now she officially scared me.
She thrust a cheque into my hand, smiled, and left.
“Who is she,” I asked after we watched her depart.
“Certainly not my fairy godmother.”
Charlotte never mentioned her again.
Zurich in summer, not exactly my favourite place.
Instead of going to visit her sister Isobel, we stayed at a hotel in Beethovenstrasse and Isobel and Felicity came to us. Her husband was not with her this time.
Felicity was three or four and looked very much like her mother. She also looked very much like Charlotte, and I’d remarked on it once before and it received a sharp rebuke.
We’d been twice before, and rather than talk to her sister, Charlotte spent her time with Felicity, and they were, together, like old friends. For so few visits they had a remarkable rapport.
I had not broached the subject of children with Charlotte, not after one such discussion where she had said she had no desire to be a mother. It had not been a subject before and wasn’t once since.
Perhaps like all Aunts, she liked the idea of playing with a child for a while and then give it back.
Felicity was curious as to who I was, but never ventured too close. I believed a child could sense the evil in adults and had seen through my facade of friendliness. We were never close.
But…
This time, when observing the two together, something quite out of left field popped into my head. It was not possible, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought she looked like my mother.
And Charlotte had seen me looking in their direction. “You seem distracted,” she said.
“I was just remembering my mother. Odd moment, haven’t done so for a very long time.”
“Why now?” I think she had a look of concern on her face.
“Her birthday, I guess,” I said, the first excuse I could think of.
Another look and I was wrong. She looked like Isobel or Charlotte, or if I wanted to believe it possible, Melissa too.
I was crying, tears streaming down my face.
I was in pain, searing pain from my lower back stretching down into my legs, and I was barely able to breathe.
It was like coming up for air.
It was like Snow White bringing Prince Charming back to life. I could feel what I thought was a gentle kiss and tears dropping on my cheeks, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Charlotte slowly lifting her head, a hand gently stroking the hair off my forehead.
And in a very soft voice, she said, “Hi.”
I could not speak, but I think I smiled. It was the girl with the imperfection in her right eye. Everything fell into place, and I knew, in that instant that we were irrevocably meant to be together.
In the distance, he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself. Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent-up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.
In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.
Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived. He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.
Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.
She was in her mid-twenties, slim, with long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines. She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied. Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.
Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity. And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain. Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.
All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.
Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one. Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner. Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”
Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He purposely didn’t look back. In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six. Out of a thousand!
“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….” She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.
He didn’t mind and said so. Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.
“Good.” Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over. Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.
“Thank you. You are most kind.” The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.
“I try to be when I can.” It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.
Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”
They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.
Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be. There was something about him.
His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying? There was a tinge of redness.
Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.
No. That wasn’t possible.
Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?” Seconds later she realized she’d spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.
It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.
“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”
At least we agree on that, she thought.
It was obvious he was running away from something as well.
Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal. All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.
After getting through this evening first.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It is that.”
A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.
Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”
Slightly abrupt in manner, perhaps, because of her question and how she asked it.
She looked up. “Rest. And have some time to myself.”
She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note. No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had said she was here for a holiday.
Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.
Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel. Of course, there had been no conceivable way she could know that anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.
Was that what she was expecting?
Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.
Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for quite varied reasons.
On discreet observance, whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced, and he had no sense of humour.
This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown. And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame. They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.
Rebellion was written all over him.
The only other thought crossing her mind, and incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed. In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.
“Mr. Henshaw?”
He looked up. “Henshaw is too formal. Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.
“Then my name is Michelle.”
Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, and then return to the kitchen.
“Staying long?” she asked.
“About three weeks. Yourself?”
“About the same.”
The conversation dried up.
Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere. It was, she thought, unbearably awkward.
Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.
“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself. Care for some wine?”
Henry looked at Michelle. “What do you think?”
“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”
You would, he thought. He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone. Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked, and she bustled off.
“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humour.
“Yes, so do I.”
Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.
It was five minutes before Mrs Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses. After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.
Henry resumed the conversation. “How did you arrive? I came by train.”
“By car.”
“Did you drive yourself?”
And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.
“After a fashion.”
He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.
And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.
“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.
“Whatever for?”
“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident. I ran up the back of another car. Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”
“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.
“Do you drive?”
“Mostly people up the wall.” His attempt at humour failed. “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”
The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came. Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.
“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.
“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.
“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling. She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.
“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.
He had a feeling she was not particularly interested, and it was just making conversation.
“I’m a purser.”
“A what?”
“A purser. I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”
“I see.”
“And you?”
“I was a model.”
“Was?”
“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.
As the evening wore on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well. Even the carefully applied makeup, from close, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark-ringed eyes.
“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work. I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”
“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you. I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”
Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.
Dinner over, they separated.
Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.
But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.
Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.
She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.
It seems that there are many ways of bringing children to life in your stories.
The most obvious is your own, but those traits might seem so polarised they and others might realise who they are based on, with the distress that comes with it.
Then there are the children of your friends and relationships, definitely fodder for many stories because those children are definitely far worse than your own, or better perhaps.
It leaves you questioning where you went wrong, or why you didn’t get the manual when the hospital kicked to the kerb with this screaming bundle of joy, their words not yours.
So we start with real-life experiences.
To muddy the waters so they don’t get the impression you’re paying out on them, you can always add the traits of those you see in the shopping malls.
Shopping malls are a gold mine for behavioural traits, from the very worst tantrum thrower to the best behaved. For my money and proven time and time again, those well-dressed, very well-behaved children are purely evil.
With the tantrum thrower, what you see if what you get.
With the well-behaved, you spend all of your time watching your back and waiting for the knife to penetrate your spine between the fourth and fifth vertebrae. You just know instinctively they’re medical school prodigies.
Of course, there are one or two good children, Santa has to have a reason for existence, but they are like 1,000 ounce gold nuggets; very, very hard to find.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
…
Meyer was cramping, having been confined to a relatively small space in the box car for far too long.
He had considered when the train was moving to come out to stretch, but then the train had stopped several times for lengthy periods when soldiers had searched all of the cars.
There had been one time when he had almost been discovered, a soldier getting a little too close for comfort, and had been called away a few moments before he lifted the palings that covered his hiding spot.
Then, at another siding, the soldiers brought dogs, and one had stopped near the carriage sniffing and making moaning sounds before then doing what dogs do against the wheels.
Expletives and laughter from the soldiers, relief from Meyer. He knew if he was caught, the chances were he’d be shot.
Now, it was night, very, very late and the train had arrived at Florence and some time was spent unconnected the wagons then reconnecting to a shunting engine and pushed into a siding one across from the last. From the crack in the back wall, he could see the station platforms in the distance, where only a few lights were on.
Next to where the boxcar sat was a wall, or houses or warehouses he didn’t know, but safety was just 30 meters away. All he had to do was get from the car, and through or over that wall.
He waited, and during the next hour there was a train arrival, where the lights were turned on just before, during and after it left, back the way it had come, most of the time taken putting the locomotive on the other end.
It was going to be a problem if he chose to leave, and a train was arriving. All the advance notice was the whistle.
The other problem was the sporadic nature of the patrols, two German soldiers wandering up and down the tracks, aiming their torches at walls and windows, loading telling each other war stories and crude stories. They were bored, which would work in his favour.
There was, he noted, about an hour between each one.
Figuring it was about three in the morning after the second patrol had returned to the station, he came out of his hiding spot. He tried not to make any noise which meant the harder he tried, the more it happened.
Once out he peered through the rear guard’s window at the station and it was deserted. There were no lights up the lines where the wagons were parked. There was no sign of the shunting locomotive.
He went over to the door and pulled. It was stiff and at first, didn’t move. A harder tug loosened the track and the door slid sideways about 30 centimetres. He put his head out to check. The moon was out, and it was quite light, light enough to see up and down the track.
There were about 20 wagons on the siding. The wall ran for most of that distance, with what appeared to be an opening opposite the tenth or eleventh wagon. That’s where he would go.
He pushed the door open wide enough to squeeze through and climbed down onto the tracks. Once down he closed the door. If anyone had checked, it had been closed before. Keeping close to the side of the wagons, he headed away from the station.
About three wagons along, a light came on almost opposite him, illuminating the tracks,, the wagons and him. Several seconds later, a whistle sounded, not a train whistle but one like a guard.
Then a man yelled out “Halt!”
He looked back towards the station and could see two soldiers running awkwardly in the middle of the tracks towards him.
Meyer started running for the gap in the wall, keeping as close to the wagons as he could.
When he looked back over his shoulder, he could see they were gaining on him. He was still stiff and sore from being in that confined space for so long.
Another light came on further along.
He stopped and looked around. The soldiers were raising their guns.
He saw only one way out, and climbed under the train and over to the other side of the train, away from his objective.
He ran harder and was nearly at the end of the wagons when a man stepped out in front of him. He was not in a uniform.
Meyer almost stumbled and fell trying to stop crashing into him.
“Meyer?”
The man knew his name. He looked Italian, was he from the resistance?
“Who are you?” he asked in halting Italian.
“What is the doe word?”
Code word? What code word? The piece of paper in his pocket, given to him by the British officer. He pulled it out. “Winston.”
“Right, you’re the one I’m here for. Follow me if you want to live.”
The man then ran across the tracks to the opposite side, and Meyer followed as quickly as he could. Then just short of the stone wall, there was an opening in the ground where another man was half in, half out.
“This way,” he said, then disappeared down the hole.
The soldiers had been held up crossing under the train to follow and were now so far behind they were out of sight.
Meyer saw the hold, with a ladder and climbed down. The man who had led him there followed and put the lid back over the top.
“Where are we?” Meyer asked.
“The sewers. A little smelly, but you’re safe. For the moment.”
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 