Z is for – Zeppelin

…

Appearances were everything.

In a country where underlying suspicion and fear prevailed in a way that was far more terrifying than the manner in which the German authorities made everyone appear welcome in the so-called ‘New Germany’, I had a secret.

And I only had to maintain it until I was on the Hindenburg and on my way home.

We were lucky, or perhaps not, that the Olympic Games were on, and the regime was on its best behaviour.

Or seemingly so.

I’ll be honest, I always wanted to do a grand tour, but just never got there, confining my visits to my work.  France, Greece, Italy, if only to exercise my curiosity in archaeological artefacts and digs, and then an opportunity arrived on my doorstep in a rather unique manner.

Stanley Davis Jackson, a member of the United States State Department, came to see me.

Perhaps that was the polite way of putting it, because he was sitting in my favourite chair in my folks’ old house, they’d left me in a will, the same day I arrived home from their funeral.

It was mid-July 1936, and the world was in a crazy state, with all manner of strange, at least to me, things happening.

An end to a war, a period of prosperity, a depression, and who knows really what it could be called.  Someone said it was going to be another war, but maybe if we just ignored everything going on over the seas…

Or not.

Stanley Davis Jackson had other ideas.

In what he may have believed it to be in a personable manner, he explained how a few people were working towards making the world a safer place for everyone.

Why did I get the feeling that exactly the opposite was happening, and of course, the most important question: what did it have to do with me?

Easy…

I had a working relationship with a museum and an archaeological organisation in Germany, a range of German contacts who were well placed in the ‘New Germany’ government, and I was able to travel and move about the country relatively freely.

First thought after his introductory spiel, they needed a spy.  I was not going to be a spy.  A university acquaintance had also been approached, told it was simple, just keep your eyes and ears open, anything out of the ordinary.

Until he was ‘detained’.

So I asked Stanley Davis Jackson the question.

“Why exactly are you here?”

The way he shifted nervously in his chair was as telling as the grave expression on his face.

“We have a favour to ask you.”

..

Herr Doctor Hans Kneissl and I had just arrived at the Hamburg Hof hotel, the assembly place for the 50 or so passengers of the Hindenburg zeppelin airliner, after a productive week of investigations, one of which was his candid view of the ‘New Germany’.

Stanley Davis Jackson’s parting comment had been that if the opportunity was there, to ask for the doctor’s opinion.  There didn’t seem to be one until, on the drive into Frankfurt, we had been stopped briefly by a road incident.

A truck was on the side of the road, and two vehicles were stopped, and the occupants of the cars were lined up, and men in brown uniforms were standing in front of them.

“Identity checks,” Hans said.  “It is called vigilance for troublemakers from alien countries, using the Olympic Games as a cover for illegal activities.”

“They don’t look like foreigners?”

“More likely Jewish.  It does not bode well for you if you are Jewish.”

We drove past slowly, several of the soldiers, if they could be called that, waving us on, yelling in German, “Move along, nothing to see here”.  Or words to that effect.

“Are they members of the army?”

“No, though I believe they are now being trained to become soldiers.  They wander the streets, looking for trouble, though not as much as they used to.  Still, avoid them when you see them.  I believe they have been replaced by the Gestapo and SS, the intelligence arm of the Army.  I’m never sure who is whom these days, except you never know who’s watching, listening, waiting.  You keep your head down and mind your own business.”

I was going to ask a few more questions, but I got the sense things were not quite as they seemed.

And a lot different to the picture Stanley Davis Jackson painted for me.  In and out.  Keep your eyes and ears open.  Discreet observation.

Enjoy the flight on the Hindenburg, a once-in-a-lifetime treat.

I hadn’t realised at the time, but it was like selling your soul to the devil.  There was always a price to pay.

…

There was little else to say, that sighting of what Hans muttered later as arrests in plain sight, though I had not seen that happening, I suspect he knew more than he was telling.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, and we reached the Frankfurter Hof hotel, the last stop before the new airport, [name].  It was the home to the hangars and two zeppelin balloons, one of which I would be travelling on, the Hindenburg.

The hotel was also referred to as the Grand Hotel, and I could see why.  Frankfurt’s elite were in attendance, and it was not surprised this was the starting point of an experience of a lifetime.

I felt remarkably out of place, and had it not been for Stanley Davis Jackson, I would not be here.

Security, Hans said, would be tight, which was why they did the pre-boarding for passengers at the hotel before being taken to the hangar and airship, directly by bus.

We arrived at 4pm.  Immigration and ticketing would start at 6pm. We had two hours, and Hans had decided to stay with me.

It was obvious who the passengers were.  Although there was a handful when we arrived, by five thirty, nearly all had arrived, and groups were forming.  Americans, English, European, German.

The Americans were noisy, some brash.  It was not cheap flying, so most of the passengers were wealthy, and you could tell. 

Stanley Davis Jackson had given me a role to play.  What interested me was how much he knew about me, what I had done, where I’d been, and who I knew.

And how that could be woven into a story that had already been created.  Had they assumed some time in the past that I would be working for them?

My role was that of a reclusive archaeologist and philanthropist who financed and attended digs.  Anyone digging into my past would see that my wealth came from parents who made a fortune from oil, discovered on their ranch

If only that were true.

I was also engaged to be married, which I certainly was not, to a rather equally reclusive daughter of bankers, who was ‘somewhere’ in Europe on a pre-wedding hike with friends.

Whoever wrote the script for this was a master storyteller.  He gave me a few days to read the novella and then burn it.  There was so much to the story, I hoped I could remember it all.

The key piece of information, my fiancé might or might not turn up at Frankfurt, so the happy couple could return to America on a pre-honeymoon.  Stanley Davis Jackson thought he had made a joke, but sadly, I didn’t laugh.

I was the only time I saw him feel ill at ease, realising suddenly that I might not be able to pull off a so-called simple task.

I had mentioned Eloise Matilda Bainborough to him several times, particularly when Mrs Hans asked if I’d met anyone, and seemed surprised when I said I had. 

It was all the questions she asked about her, and I felt in the end I was dodging and weaving because they were the sort of intimate details I should know.

So much so, I did wonder if she was not just a Hausfrau, but a Gestapo interrogator.

We did the rounds of the room, making myself known to the other passengers, navigating introductions which I hated, and questions which, because of the underlying nature of why I was there, always made me wary of everyone and everything.

Especially when Hans pointed out the possible Gestapo, Air police and security officials, some overt, some not, because, he said, the government could not allow anyone to sabotage such a valuable asset, and propaganda tool.

It was the first time he used that word, and for me, a lot of things I’d seen and heard made perfect sense.  Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor, and his team were ‘selling’ a product, not only to his people, but to the rest of the world.

And, to me, it seemed like everyone was buying it.

…

The moment of truth came at 5;42.  That time will stay in my memory forever, not because it was a heart-stopping, horrendous moment when everything could fall apart…

It was when Eloise Matilda Bainborough arrived.

It was supposed to be low-key, almost invisible.

It was anything but.

“Darling…”

It came from the doorway and travelled across the floor in such a riveting tone that no one could miss it.

Timed stopped.

Everyone, including me, looked.

I gasped.

And seconds later, I was hugging and kissing the most beautiful girl I had never seen or spoken to before.

And going weak at the knees.

Literally.

Ten maybe fifteen seconds, or perhaps a week, my mind was so boggled she stepped back, both my hands in hers, looking at me with what someone later told me were the most adoring eyes.

“My God, Ethan, you have missed me.  I sure as hell missed you.”

And kissed me again, in a way that pushed my heart rate way beyond the recommended limit.

The rest of the room sighed, and the murmurs of conversations started up again, and I was positive I knew what they would be talking about.

A hotel staffer brought her backpack over from where she had dropped it.

I could see Hans grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh, sorry, Eloise, Hans, my archaeological nemesis and very good friend.”

“Doctor Kniessel.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.  Ethan is always telling me all this stuff, and you know us girls.  It’s fashion, marriage, children and not rocks, artefacts and relics.  The only relics I know about are my grandparents, which I shouldn’t be sounding so awful…”

All of which tumbled out in a mish-mash of breathlessness, the sort of babble a rich girl might indulge in.

I was almost madly in love with her myself, because now she was here, people gave us just enough time to reacquaint ourselves before turning her into the centre of attention.

Then, a few minutes later, a tap on my shoulder, a whispered, ‘doorway’, I saw what Hans was referring to.  Uniformed officers, plain-clothed Gestapo, conferring and looking in our direction.  Then in the next, they were gone.

I knew they would be back.

Eloise had her back to them, but I had seen her briefly just as she arrived, look back as she reached the door.  Had they been in pursuit?  Was that why we had the attention-grabbing entrance?

Plain sailing, Stanley Davis Jackson said. 

We were about to go side-on to a tidal wave in a dinghy.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

Z is for – Zeppelin

…

Appearances were everything.

In a country where underlying suspicion and fear prevailed in a way that was far more terrifying than the manner in which the German authorities made everyone appear welcome in the so-called ‘New Germany’, I had a secret.

And I only had to maintain it until I was on the Hindenburg and on my way home.

We were lucky, or perhaps not, that the Olympic Games were on, and the regime was on its best behaviour.

Or seemingly so.

I’ll be honest, I always wanted to do a grand tour, but just never got there, confining my visits to my work.  France, Greece, Italy, if only to exercise my curiosity in archaeological artefacts and digs, and then an opportunity arrived on my doorstep in a rather unique manner.

Stanley Davis Jackson, a member of the United States State Department, came to see me.

Perhaps that was the polite way of putting it, because he was sitting in my favourite chair in my folks’ old house, they’d left me in a will, the same day I arrived home from their funeral.

It was mid-July 1936, and the world was in a crazy state, with all manner of strange, at least to me, things happening.

An end to a war, a period of prosperity, a depression, and who knows really what it could be called.  Someone said it was going to be another war, but maybe if we just ignored everything going on over the seas…

Or not.

Stanley Davis Jackson had other ideas.

In what he may have believed it to be in a personable manner, he explained how a few people were working towards making the world a safer place for everyone.

Why did I get the feeling that exactly the opposite was happening, and of course, the most important question: what did it have to do with me?

Easy…

I had a working relationship with a museum and an archaeological organisation in Germany, a range of German contacts who were well placed in the ‘New Germany’ government, and I was able to travel and move about the country relatively freely.

First thought after his introductory spiel, they needed a spy.  I was not going to be a spy.  A university acquaintance had also been approached, told it was simple, just keep your eyes and ears open, anything out of the ordinary.

Until he was ‘detained’.

So I asked Stanley Davis Jackson the question.

“Why exactly are you here?”

The way he shifted nervously in his chair was as telling as the grave expression on his face.

“We have a favour to ask you.”

..

Herr Doctor Hans Kneissl and I had just arrived at the Hamburg Hof hotel, the assembly place for the 50 or so passengers of the Hindenburg zeppelin airliner, after a productive week of investigations, one of which was his candid view of the ‘New Germany’.

Stanley Davis Jackson’s parting comment had been that if the opportunity was there, to ask for the doctor’s opinion.  There didn’t seem to be one until, on the drive into Frankfurt, we had been stopped briefly by a road incident.

A truck was on the side of the road, and two vehicles were stopped, and the occupants of the cars were lined up, and men in brown uniforms were standing in front of them.

“Identity checks,” Hans said.  “It is called vigilance for troublemakers from alien countries, using the Olympic Games as a cover for illegal activities.”

“They don’t look like foreigners?”

“More likely Jewish.  It does not bode well for you if you are Jewish.”

We drove past slowly, several of the soldiers, if they could be called that, waving us on, yelling in German, “Move along, nothing to see here”.  Or words to that effect.

“Are they members of the army?”

“No, though I believe they are now being trained to become soldiers.  They wander the streets, looking for trouble, though not as much as they used to.  Still, avoid them when you see them.  I believe they have been replaced by the Gestapo and SS, the intelligence arm of the Army.  I’m never sure who is whom these days, except you never know who’s watching, listening, waiting.  You keep your head down and mind your own business.”

I was going to ask a few more questions, but I got the sense things were not quite as they seemed.

And a lot different to the picture Stanley Davis Jackson painted for me.  In and out.  Keep your eyes and ears open.  Discreet observation.

Enjoy the flight on the Hindenburg, a once-in-a-lifetime treat.

I hadn’t realised at the time, but it was like selling your soul to the devil.  There was always a price to pay.

…

There was little else to say, that sighting of what Hans muttered later as arrests in plain sight, though I had not seen that happening, I suspect he knew more than he was telling.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, and we reached the Frankfurter Hof hotel, the last stop before the new airport, [name].  It was the home to the hangars and two zeppelin balloons, one of which I would be travelling on, the Hindenburg.

The hotel was also referred to as the Grand Hotel, and I could see why.  Frankfurt’s elite were in attendance, and it was not surprised this was the starting point of an experience of a lifetime.

I felt remarkably out of place, and had it not been for Stanley Davis Jackson, I would not be here.

Security, Hans said, would be tight, which was why they did the pre-boarding for passengers at the hotel before being taken to the hangar and airship, directly by bus.

We arrived at 4pm.  Immigration and ticketing would start at 6pm. We had two hours, and Hans had decided to stay with me.

It was obvious who the passengers were.  Although there was a handful when we arrived, by five thirty, nearly all had arrived, and groups were forming.  Americans, English, European, German.

The Americans were noisy, some brash.  It was not cheap flying, so most of the passengers were wealthy, and you could tell. 

Stanley Davis Jackson had given me a role to play.  What interested me was how much he knew about me, what I had done, where I’d been, and who I knew.

And how that could be woven into a story that had already been created.  Had they assumed some time in the past that I would be working for them?

My role was that of a reclusive archaeologist and philanthropist who financed and attended digs.  Anyone digging into my past would see that my wealth came from parents who made a fortune from oil, discovered on their ranch

If only that were true.

I was also engaged to be married, which I certainly was not, to a rather equally reclusive daughter of bankers, who was ‘somewhere’ in Europe on a pre-wedding hike with friends.

Whoever wrote the script for this was a master storyteller.  He gave me a few days to read the novella and then burn it.  There was so much to the story, I hoped I could remember it all.

The key piece of information, my fiancé might or might not turn up at Frankfurt, so the happy couple could return to America on a pre-honeymoon.  Stanley Davis Jackson thought he had made a joke, but sadly, I didn’t laugh.

I was the only time I saw him feel ill at ease, realising suddenly that I might not be able to pull off a so-called simple task.

I had mentioned Eloise Matilda Bainborough to him several times, particularly when Mrs Hans asked if I’d met anyone, and seemed surprised when I said I had. 

It was all the questions she asked about her, and I felt in the end I was dodging and weaving because they were the sort of intimate details I should know.

So much so, I did wonder if she was not just a Hausfrau, but a Gestapo interrogator.

We did the rounds of the room, making myself known to the other passengers, navigating introductions which I hated, and questions which, because of the underlying nature of why I was there, always made me wary of everyone and everything.

Especially when Hans pointed out the possible Gestapo, Air police and security officials, some overt, some not, because, he said, the government could not allow anyone to sabotage such a valuable asset, and propaganda tool.

It was the first time he used that word, and for me, a lot of things I’d seen and heard made perfect sense.  Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor, and his team were ‘selling’ a product, not only to his people, but to the rest of the world.

And, to me, it seemed like everyone was buying it.

…

The moment of truth came at 5;42.  That time will stay in my memory forever, not because it was a heart-stopping, horrendous moment when everything could fall apart…

It was when Eloise Matilda Bainborough arrived.

It was supposed to be low-key, almost invisible.

It was anything but.

“Darling…”

It came from the doorway and travelled across the floor in such a riveting tone that no one could miss it.

Timed stopped.

Everyone, including me, looked.

I gasped.

And seconds later, I was hugging and kissing the most beautiful girl I had never seen or spoken to before.

And going weak at the knees.

Literally.

Ten maybe fifteen seconds, or perhaps a week, my mind was so boggled she stepped back, both my hands in hers, looking at me with what someone later told me were the most adoring eyes.

“My God, Ethan, you have missed me.  I sure as hell missed you.”

And kissed me again, in a way that pushed my heart rate way beyond the recommended limit.

The rest of the room sighed, and the murmurs of conversations started up again, and I was positive I knew what they would be talking about.

A hotel staffer brought her backpack over from where she had dropped it.

I could see Hans grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh, sorry, Eloise, Hans, my archaeological nemesis and very good friend.”

“Doctor Kniessel.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.  Ethan is always telling me all this stuff, and you know us girls.  It’s fashion, marriage, children and not rocks, artefacts and relics.  The only relics I know about are my grandparents, which I shouldn’t be sounding so awful…”

All of which tumbled out in a mish-mash of breathlessness, the sort of babble a rich girl might indulge in.

I was almost madly in love with her myself, because now she was here, people gave us just enough time to reacquaint ourselves before turning her into the centre of attention.

Then, a few minutes later, a tap on my shoulder, a whispered, ‘doorway’, I saw what Hans was referring to.  Uniformed officers, plain-clothed Gestapo, conferring and looking in our direction.  Then in the next, they were gone.

I knew they would be back.

Eloise had her back to them, but I had seen her briefly just as she arrived, look back as she reached the door.  Had they been in pursuit?  Was that why we had the attention-grabbing entrance?

Plain sailing, Stanley Davis Jackson said. 

We were about to go side-on to a tidal wave in a dinghy.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

Y is for – You just never know what’s around the corner

…

Someone told me once that things happen for a reason.  I think it might have been my father when the life I had expected to spend with Nina didn’t happen.  Of course, he would add that at the time it was not apparent why, only after time had healed that wound, would you discover why.

Nina never told me why she left, and I never asked.  I simply assumed she didn’t like the city, or me, or both, and went home.

As for the promotion, I wanted to believe fate was telling me the company I chose to work for didn’t appreciate hard-working employees, and that it was time to move on.

Outside the door, looking back, I shrugged.  If anything, it had been a stepping stone to be chalked up to experience.  Right then, I had no idea how it would help me later, but there would be time for rumination.  Perhaps I would go home for a week or two, if only to regain my perspective.

I’d timed my meeting so that if it did or didn’t go south, I would be able to celebrate or commiserate at my favourite cafe not far from the office.  For the first time in years, I was not in a hurry and could amble along the sidewalk like a tourist rather than a harried employee, taking in everything I had missed.

When I reached the café, one of several, as well as bars, where I was almost persuaded to have something stronger than coffee, and going to open the door, my hand reached the handle at the same time as another. I stepped back, seeing it was a lady, and manners took over. When she turned to thank me, I saw it was Nina.

She also stepped back and smiled.  “Kevin.”

“Nina!”

I opened the door, she went through, and I followed.  We stepped up to the front desk together. 

“Are you here to meet someone?” I asked, still slightly awestruck that it was her.  Of all the places she could be…

“As it happens, yes.  You.  If you remember, we used to come here on a Thursday, which is today.  I hoped you would still come here.”

The girl came back to the desk after taking another couple to a table.

“Are you together?” She asked.

I looked at Nina.

“If you are not here to see someone else?” Nina said.

“I’m not.”

“Then,” the girl said, smiling, “You are together.  Follow me.”

We weaved between the tables to the back near the bar and sat at almost the same table we had sat the last time we had eaten there, the day Nina left to go home.

Drink order taken, she left us with menus.  I think we both knew what we were having.

“Remember that last lunch, nearly two years ago, you said that I should try the lobster and champagne.  It was very expensive, but you said it would be a perfect way to cap off what had been a wonderful two weeks.”

“Then we should have it again.”

Only this time, I would not suggest paying for it.  After some time to think about it, I could see why she didn’t like the idea of my paying for her.  I’d always believe it was my responsibility if I asked her, or anyone else, out and forgot that she lived in a different world from the one my parents expected me to live in.

The drinks arrived, and we ordered.

A few sips of the champagne and a few moments to discreetly observe her, I realised that she had changed not just her hairstyle, but just about everything else.  We had been younger then and in awe of everything the large city had to offer, and back then, it had intimidated her more than it had me.  She had not said specifically why she had gone back home, but I suspected it was homesickness, and not landing the job she had come to interview for.  I had more success, and though I had said she could stay with me, she believed that she had to stand on her own two feet.

From the monthly letters I received from my mother, first asking when I was going to find a nice girl and settle down, she would tell me the news from home, and invariably, a paragraph or two about Nina.

She had always liked Nine and had expected that we would end up together.  It was interesting that she had not married back home.  Certainly, there were several of the boys she had liked at school still available, and one in particular that I almost lost out to as my Prom date.

I suspect she had been observing me, too.  Mother would have told her that I was still unmarried, but would not have known the reason, other than that city girls were not likely to be interested in going back to my hometown.  I was not sure if I wanted to either.   If what my mother said was true, there were even fewer opportunities there than before I left.

I let her ask the first question.

“It’s a bit early for you to be coming out for lunch.  Problems at work?”

“No.  Just decided to clear my head.”

“How far up the ladder have you climbed.  I seem to remember you wanted to be one of the section managers by now.”

“It was one of my goals.”

“Not there yet?”

It was a simple question, but to me it was particularly pointed because when I thought about it, for the first time since I’d left the building, it seemed like it was always going to happen.  I realised then that I was not the sort of person who had that blind ambition to get to the top.

“No.”

Perhaps it was the time, or my demeanour, or something else that she picked up on.  Nina always had that instinct that could see through the wall I often put up to protect myself, especially when things got difficult.

She took my hand in hers and asked, softly, “What are you not telling me?  I know something is wrong, Kevin.  I know you.”

I shook my head.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.  I can feel it.  What happened at work?  It is work, isn’t it?”

I could spar with her, but in the end, she would get it out of me.  “I didn’t get the promotion I wanted.  The one I deserved.”

It was a bit presumptive, and maybe that had something to do with why I didn’t get it.  Or that I wasn’t willing to play the same game as the other candidates.

“So, where does that leave you?”

“Out of a job.  I resigned.  I couldn’t work for people who didn’t respect the time and effort I’ve put in over the last two years.”

“When?”

“This morning, just before I came here.  It’s why I’m early.  I was coming here to have a few drinks and contemplate what I was going to do.  To be honest, I’m glad you are here.  Now I don’t have to think about it.”

“Maybe, just maybe, my coming here was serendipitous.  Would you like to talk about it?”

“There’s not a lot to say.”

“Can you get another job? Do you want to do the same thing, or would you like to take a break?  Your mother laments the fact that you didn’t come home last Christmas and would like to see you.  I had hoped you would come home too, but I guessed you needed to consolidate your position at the company.  So much for rewarding dedication.”

My mother had more than hinted she wanted me to come home, if only for a few weeks, to sort out their affairs.  Dad wanted to retire, and let my older brother, Alfie, step up, but she said he had concerns that Alfie didn’t have the inclination to take over; he preferred to be one of the workers.  Susannah wanted to, but her marriage was falling apart, and the two young children needed her full attention.

The last letter had shifted the hinting to pleading, so perhaps the events at work had been part of a bigger plan that I had no control over.

But, aside from everything else, she was right.  Maybe it was time for me to take a hiatus from the plan and get my feet planted firmly back on the ground.  “You’ve probably just said what I was thinking.  With everything my mother tells me about Dad and the business, perhaps I should go home for a while.  Has it changed much?”

“As far as you and I are concerned, no.  The diner’s there, and Mary still waits tables, and Fred still can’t fry eggs properly.  Mr Halliday still runs the drug store, but his daughter helps in between college.  Our haunts have not been part of what the county calls urban renewal, even though our town could hardly be called urban.  Mum and Dad were glad I went home, because like all of the parents, they’re getting older.”

That was when the food came out, and it looked like a feast for the eyes as well as for the eating.  The conversation was just enough for me to seriously consider what I would do next.

What did interest me, and a point that had been carefully avoided, was why she had decided, now rather than any time in the past, to come visit.  Mother’s letter had not said it was specifically to see me, and the main reason anyone would come to the big city was for medical reasons.

I would wait until she told me, or if she didn’t, I would ask.

Lunch was a welcome diversion; I wouldn’t have thought of having Lobster and Champagne if she hadn’t been here, but it could only put off the inevitable for so long.

She could see I had something I wanted to say.  She had always known when, as she described it, I had a bee in my bonnet.  It was a quaint expression, but she had taken English Literature and was now the fountain of all things English.  It had been for another purpose, to aid in a writing career, and she had hoped to become a journalist at one of the prestigious city newspapers.  It hadn’t happened, but she did get a job back home at the local paper, a weekly digest of all things country.

When the lunch dishes had been removed and an apple pie was on order, she gave me one of those looks, the one that told me to fess up.

“You want to know the real reason I’m here, don’t you?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“I couldn’t come just to revisit and see how you were getting on?”

“It’s a long train ride.  I know you don’t like planes.”

“I could have changed.”

“Not that much.”

“You know if God wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings.”

Another saying, trotted out when I originally asked her to come with me, was almost across the whole continent.  Oddly, I liked the idea of taking the train, if only for the time it gave us to spend together.

“Where’s Icarus when you need him?”

She frowned, a prelude to a scowl.  I knew better than to push her.

“What if I said it was to come and see you, to find out if you were coming home in the near future?”

It was plausible, but why didn’t she tell my mother?  They were constantly talking.

“My mother just said you were coming to the city.  Not why.  I figured if you didn’t tell her, then it must be something serious.  You are not unwell, are you?”

“No.  I’ve been thinking about you a lot.  It’s one of those things where I had always imagined we would end up together.  You remember the pact we made on prom night, out the back, after a few drinks and how silly we were after one too many.  We promised each other that if we were not married at the end of the two years, we would find each other and have this conversation.”

To be honest, I had forgotten it.  It had been drunk, and when I went home afterwards, my father threatened to kill me, not because I was drunk, but because I was incapable of protecting Nina.  Responsibility, he said, was never, ever, to be taken for granted.

I learned from that mistake and never indulged to that extent again.

“I remember going home that night and my father completely losing it.  He expected more of me, so much so, I got to the point where I never thought I would ever live up to his expectations.”

“Alfie hasn’t, so don’t fret too much.  You got me home safely, and that was all that mattered.”

“Except if you had been in trouble, I would not have been much use.”

“Nothing happened, that was all that mattered.  However, not to get off track, though sometimes I believe you deliberately do it, it’s been two years.  You’re not married, and I’m not married, but Giles has asked me to marry him.”

“Westerby?”

She nodded.  “As you can imagine, my parents have been telling me I’m not getting any younger, and I should not wait for the man of my dreams to make up his mind.  Except, I really don’t want to marry Giles.  He’s a nice boy, but he’s too nice, no ambition, content to simply plod through life with two point four children, alternate Sunday lunches with family, and once a year camping vacation in Yellowstone with the rest of his family.  They’ve been doing the same thing for centuries.”

She sighed.  “Unless I get a better offer…My mother thinks I’m about to become an old maid left on the shelf and has been working her way through Oldbury County’s eligible bachelors.  Giles is the latest, and he’s keen.”

“Because no one else will take him.”

“Perhaps, but he can provide a girl a life of luxury to which she could become accustomed.”

“Is that what you want?”

“If there’s nothing else in the offing.  According to my mother, my childbearing days are rapidly diminishing.”

“You’re barely into your mid-20s.”

“You know, mother’s.  You also have one, and she longs to hold a grandchild, yours preferably, and more likely than one from your brothers.”  She shrugged.  “We could go home and pretend we’re engaged.  It’d solve the Giles problem, and we could string the engagement out for a few months and then let it fizzle.”

“Or we could just get married.  I mean, we always said we would.  If no one else wanted us, or at least had first right of refusal.”

“Would you still want to.  I mean, we were silly kids back then, all starry-eyed and full of impossible plans.”

“I meant it.  Didn’t you?”

“I did, but I never thought you’d remember.  I thought you were just saying what I wanted to hear.”

The fact I had forgotten about the pact was one thing, but I had never stopped loving her, not from the first time I saw her.  It was that proverbial, impossible, love at first sight.

“I loved you more than anything.  It broke my heart when you went home.”

“I had to.  I missed home too much.  You were the only one, and as you can see, I waited.  And then now I’m here giving you first right of refusal.”

“That sounds pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t think of a better way of putting it.  You are my first and, to be truthful, only preference.  But, if you have had a change of heart…”

“I have not.  Let’s have apple pie and coffee to think about it, and if you still want to go through with it, we’ll go to Tiffany’s.  If we’re going to do this, let’s do it in style.” I took both her hands in mine.  “Oh, and just to be formal, will you marry me?”

“Fine.  I had hoped it might be more traditional, but yes.”

I kissed her hand.  “Excellent.  We will make a stop after going to Tiffany’s.  There’s a special spot in Central Park where I’m told you can propose.  We’ll get a horse and carriage and flowers.”

“And photographs.”  She smiled.

“And photographs.”

“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but not why.  It was my horoscope this morning, one that was too coincidental to not come true.  ‘An old friend will come back into your life, causing you to make a life-changing decision. 

In fact, I made three.  I quit my job, I decided to go home, and I proposed to and was accepted by the only girl I ever loved.  What more could any man ask for?”

The twinkle in her eyes told me there was a lot more than I could ever imagine.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026