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 with what happened during the second world 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…
——
Mayer fought the urge to panic, and then consider giving himself up. He remembered what the Standartenfuhrer said, and knew that it was not an option.
He slid back into the forest, then far enough back, stood, and ran, the thick snow not only hampering his speed but also covering the sound of his flight.
He stopped and listened for the sound of the following soldiers, but all he could hear was the sound of a locomotive and his breathing. His heart was pounding, not used to such exercise or fear.
The soldiers must have stopped where the running person had fallen, and then on the verge of the tree line when the Standartenfuhrer had been shot.
He kneeled down and struggled to catch his breath. He had the bad the Standartenfuhrer had thrust upon him as they got out of the car, and hoped it had a map, but it was too dark to look now.
From earlier, he remembered the other side of the railway tracks had trees too, and the road that led to the border, the village, if there was one, and the railway station. There would also be a small shunting area, freight sheds, or something else to hide in, maybe even a signal tower.
Somewhere warm, and with some light, so he could plan his next move. He was not sure what the Standartenfuhrer Had planned, but it certainly could not be by car the whole way, and they would not make the rendezvous by walking.
The plan had to include going by train.
Brenner pass was along the main track from Austria to the south of Italy, and from an earlier look at a map, the train would go through F, Verona, Bologna, to Florence where he would find the next guide.
Details of that guide hopefully were in the bag, a bag that he would have to hide or lose if he was captured because it would give away the escape route and resistance members who helped those fleeing Germany.
If he had the time or could think straight. The cold was making that very difficult. And there was the shock of losing the Standartenfuhrer.
It took five minutes to regain a certain amount of calm and be able to think.
First, he had to get back to the tree line and see where he was, in proximity to the village, and the railway tracks.
That took about ten minutes carefully picking his way through the trees. There was no path, it was dark, and he kept hitting low branches and getting covered in snow. There was enough down the back of his neck to make him very uncomfortable.
When he reached the tree line he looked back from where he had been, about a kilometer, and he could see the torches of the soldiers milling around where he and the Standartenfuhrer had been. The train was still there, the locomotive’s light blazing in front, lighting a short distance of the track in front of it, almost blindingly bright.
He was not sure why it was waiting on the track.
Looking the other way, there were two sets of tracks, a wide clear area, then another track with several flat cars and a guards van sitting in darkness, all of which were covered in snow. They were not being used, so the van might provide some shelter.
He just had to get over there, about 100 meters distant. The problem was there were lights, not very bright, at regular distances, but short enough that a man might present a shadowy outline if anyone was looking.
If he stayed low and run fast, it might just work.
A train whistle in the distance, coming from Italy caused him to shrink back into the cover of the trees. Another train was coming. It was oddly busy at a very late hour.
The locomotive also had a bright light that lit up the edge of the tree line, so he had to go further back to get away from it, and wait until the train passed. It had a lot of flat cars with tanks and troop carriers on it, going back to Germany. There were no soldiers so perhaps the equipment was needed elsewhere, maybe that final push to England he kept hearing about.
Once that train passed, the one that had been waiting finally restarted itsjourney south and slowly rumbled past him. It was almost like a passenger train with no priority had had to wait until essential war trains passed.
When that train had gone, the surrounding area descended into a quiet, also silent field. The snow had begun to fall heavier, which would be advantageous, and after several long looks in both directions, he ran, crossing the tracks, the empty space, and then to the guard van where he hid between it and the freight car until he caught his breath.
And see if anyone had seen him, expecting whistles and shouting coming from up the track.
Another look showed that only two torches remained back where there had been frenetic activity. He hoped they considered they had caught the people they were looking for.
He went down the side of the guard’s van to the door, climbed the ladder, and tried the door. It was unlocked. There was no reason why it would be locked.
He went in and shut the door, and immediately it was warmer, and certainly dryer. IT was impossibly dark inside, so he felt around in the bag and found a torch. Someone had been clever enough to add a torch, some first aid equipment. The papers included a map.
He checked the cabin for windows and found the shutters were closed, so he didn’t have to stifle the torches light. A further check showed a bed at the end of the cabin, with a blanket, musty but dry.
There was a stove, a kettle with water, and a tin of tea leaves. He wasn’t going to start a fire, so no tea. There was no food, so the hunger would have to remain for a while longer. The water tasted alright, but he could melt some snow if he needed more.
A place to stay, at least until daybreak when it would be wise to get into the forest on the roadside, and head towards the village, or perhaps wait for a train and see if he could hide on it for the trip south.
There is always something strange about certain photographs that is not evident when you take them.
For instance, the photograph above.
While this might look like vegetation by the side of a river or stream, it’s the blackness behind what look like steps up from the water level that adds a level of intrigue or mystery.
For instance:
…
We had spent two weeks slowly going upriver looking for a needle in a haystack. It was an apt description, because there had been quite a large number of likely spots, all of which, after investigation, came to nothing.
I mean, the description Professor Bates had given was as hazy as day is long in these parts.
His recollection: that it was a cave-like space behind lush undergrowth, with stone steps.
It was all the more confusing. Because when we found him, he was drifting on a rough-hewn and constructed raft, half dead from dehydration. We were told he’d been on the raft for nearly a week.
That meant the cave could be anywhere between where we found him at the 10 mile mark and 200 miles further on, based on river flow.
We were currently at the 150-mile mark, and the river was losing depth and width; soon, there would not be enough water to continue in the boat.
It was dusk and too dark to continue. We’d been enthusiastic in those first days, continuing on in the dark, on shifts, using the arc lamps.
Then, after a week, having lights on made us target practise, and after several brushes with death, and the loss of all the bulbs being shot out, we got the message.
There was the odd marauder during the day, but we had the width of the river for safety. Now that had gone too, and we had lookouts posted, but seeing into the dense jungle was difficult.
But we got through another night with no activity, and come morning, what looked like the entrance to a cave was not fifteen feet from us.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Maury drops in for a search
I moved to the doorway and switched off the light, sending the room back into inky darkness. Not good for the eyes, going bright light to instant dark. We stood together behind the door as it opened inwards, Jan ready with her gun.
The door opened slowly, at the same time letting light in from the corridor, making it easier to see.
Opened fully, the visitor tentatively stepped into the room, and once the shape moved past the door, I slammed it shut and Jan lunged with the gun.
I was not sure what result she was expecting but the person fought back, and as they turned to wrench the gun out of her hand, I let loose a punch, aiming for the head, and as hard as I could. I head a cracking sound followed by a thump as the body hit the ground.
When I turned the light back on, there were two surprises. The first, that I’d managed to knock someone out, and the second, Maury was back for a second look.
Why?
It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be unconscious for very long. Jan had some twine in her room, I wasn’t going to ask why, and she tied his hands and legs together, trussed almost like a turkey.
We left him on the floor when he’d fallen. Unconscious, he was too heavy to move, or lift.
“Is this man Severin, Maury or Nobbin?” she asked. She’d saved the questions until after he’d been neutralized, and we’d taken his gun off him. Also, a knife. She’d also look through his pockets to see if he carried any identification. He didn’t, and I wouldn’t expect to find anything. At the moment I was the same, and since I threw the phone’s sim card, I was now completely anonymous.
“Maury,” I said.
“The attack dog?”
“Not able to attack us at the moment, but yes. I wonder why he came back?”
“We should ask him,” she said, “when he wakes up.”
We were sitting in the chairs, turned around to face Maury lying on the ground. He had wriggled, and realizing he was tied up, tried harder to escape the bonds, and then relaxed when he realized he couldn’t.
His eyes turned to us, and it felt like a death stare.
“This is a mistake,” he said. “untie these ropes and I might make an exception for you.
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
“That’s none of your business.”
“But it is mine. This is my flat, and you’re trespassing,” Jan said.
He switched his death gaze to her.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To ask you if your next-door neighbor left anything here with you to collect at a later date.”
No doubt with a menacing attitude, which would end in violence because Maury was not the sort to take no for an answer.
“Most people would knock on the door, and politely wait until it was answered.”
Most people.
“I was told there would be no one at home.”
“And it couldn’t wait until I returned? I’m sorry, but you have broken into my flat and I’m going to call the police.”
He looked at me.
“That’s not a good idea. Tell her, Jackson.”
“I don’t work for you, or Severin, anymore. In fact, when I went back into the office, I got dragged aside and interrogated. No one seems to know who you and Severin are.”
“That’s because our operation was on a need to know basis. How do you think our business works? Not by telling everyone what you’re doing. Now untie me, and I’ll be on my way.”
“No,” Jan said. “Not until you tell us exactly who you are and who you work for, and why you deemed it necessary to murder O’Connell.”
Maury looked at me again, and there was no mistaking the anger.
“You do understand what the Official Secrets Act means, don’t you Jackson?”
“More or less. But it depends on who it is you speak to whether that’s relevant or not.”
Back to Jan.
“Who are you, then?”
“As you keep pulling out of your hat, it’s on a need to know basis, and, of course, we just tell everyone what we’re doing either. But one thing I’m sure of, we do not go around killing agents. As far as I can tell, O’Connell was working for an agency, possibly yours but I don’t think so, and in the course of his investigation, he came across some valuable information. Information, I’m told, you want. What is it and why?”
“Are you serious?”
He shifted his glare back to me.
“Seriously Jackson, who is this person?”
“Someone, I fear, who is going to cause you a great deal of grief if you don’t answer her questions.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have to tall you or anyone else the nature of my business.”
I saw her shake her head. “I take it, that’s a no.” She shrugged and pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Always the hard way with you people.”
“Sir,” she said when the call was answered. “I’ve got a character named Maury tied up in my flat. Breaking and entering for starters. Yes, I’ll be here.”
She put the phone back in her bag. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
All we had to do was hope that Maury didn’t have a backup.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
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 with what happened during the second world 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…
——
The Standartenfuhrer checked his gun and settled his nerves for an onslaught. If they were going to die, then he was going to kill as many of them as he could.
He threw his hand pistol to Mayer. “Shoot anything that comes in the door.”
Mayer fumbled the weapon, dropping it on the floor, then finding it hard, with cold hands, to pick it up. Perhaps his life wasn’t sufficiently in danger to be more proactive.
The Standartenfuhrer shook his head. Boffins were all the same. The slightest threat and they went weak at the knees. And Mayer was no exception.
Mayer managed to get the gun into his hand.
“Don’t forget to turn off the safety.”
Mayer looked at the gun, and found the switch.
At the same time, another burst of gunfire ricocheted off the walls of the hut. It was followed by a harsh order to stop firing, and save the ammunition for the enemy. There was also a mutter about alerting the enemy, but that ship had sailed.
The soldiers seemed content to shoot randomly at the cabin, rather than check to see if anyone was inside, and soon the sounds of men, guns, and dogs were gone. The dogs had not picked up their scent, and the Standartenfuhrer had managed to cover their tracks sufficiently to keep them at bay.
Relief, but not enough to rest. The Standartenfuhrer knew they had to keep moving.
In the background, both could hear a stream locomotive at slow speed passing. In the circuitous route they’d taken to escape, they must have circled back towards the railway line which must be on the other side of the forest.
That proximity of the railway line would work in their favor because the next phase of the journey was going to be on a train.
Just not one full of soldiers, if possible.
After a half-hour, just to ensure the soldiers didn’t return, the Standartenfuhrer dragged himself up off the ground.
“We’d better move. They’re likely to come back, or had a second sweep when they don’t find us.”
“Surely we can have a rest.”
“If you want to get caught. I don’t have to tell you what they’ll do to you if they capture you.”
“Probably send me back to that hell hole.”
“Hitler is not that forgiving. The odds are you’ll be handed over to the SS and I’m sure you’ve seen what those people are capable of.”
He had, especially with the forced labor from the Jewish camps and POW camps. At times it beggared belief.
Mayer dragged himself up off the floor.
The Standartenfuhrer checked his weapon, then looked out through the crack in the door. It was dark and snowing, not too heavy, but enough to hide their movement. It was a shame their coats were dark, they would stand out against the white background, but it couldn’t be helped. That was a problem for daylight, still some hours away.
“Keep your weapon handy. You may need it.”
Mayer was worried his hands would be too cold and stiff, and instead of having it in his hand, slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t think too many people would be about at this hour.
“Once outside, head straight for the trees, as fast as you can.”
The Standartenfuhrer was in the doorway one second, gone the next, and Mayer followed. He could just see the dark figure in front of him, then almost ran into him when he stopped just past the first line of trees.
He could see lights intermittently through the trees, a train or houses along the railway line perhaps.
It was much darker in the forest, and they had to go slower, picking their way through the trees, running into low branches, and getting a face full of wet snow, often trickling down the back of their necks.
It was cold, wet, and very uncomfortable.
The Standartenfuhrer stopped. The trees had thinned and the lights became more pronounced. They could now definitely hear a locomotive close by, and a train well lit up stopped. The windows were fogged from condensation on the inside, but it was clear enough to see heads.
It was a passenger train, waiting.
A piercing whistle shattered the relative quiet, and another train coming in the other direction at speed flashed passed very loudly, the wheels of the carriages clanking on the track joints. An empty freight train with many flat cars, going back to Germany.
Then suddenly shouting, a whistle, and gunfire.
A man was running towards them,, and several soldiers were in pursuit, randomly shooting in his direction, and into the forest. A shot hit the running person and they fell.
Mayer heard a thud and a groan, then realized that the Standartenfuhrer had been hit. By the time he turned the Standartenfuhrer over, he was dead.
Mayer ducked out of sight just before torchlight shone on the spot he was crouching.
There was another shout, and the soldiers started heading towards him.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
Jan hailed a taxi and had it drop us off a block from her building. It was agreed that we would not just arrive out the front and trust to luck that everything would be fine.
I had a feeling that Nobbin would have come to the same conclusion I had, that it was possible the USB might be in the neighbor’s flat. I’m sure Josephine hadn’t thought of that possibility. Severin had, but I suspect he might not know of the cat.
Nor would Nobbin.
We did a circuit of the building before going in. There were no suspicious cars, nr anyone lurking in the shadows. If we had surveillance, it was really good, or there was none. I preferred to think the latter option was right. After all, neither Nobbin nor Severin knew exactly where I was.
Jan unlicked the front door and we went into the brightly lit foyer.
During the day there was a concierge sitting at the desk. At night, it was empty. The building manager couldn’t afford 24-hour security, beyond the bright lights, and camera in each quadrant recording the comings and goings of residents. I’m not sure how Josephine got in, but I would have like to have the time to go through the old footage to check on O’Connell in the past, and Josephine, if she came through the front door, recently.
I glanced at the monitor, at present on screen saver mode, then followed Jan to the elevator lobby.
She pressed the button to go up, and the doors to the left-hand elevator opened. We stepped in, she pressed the floor button, the doors closed, and we slowly went up.
It hesitated at the floor, jerked up about an inch or two, then a click signified it was level and the doors opened.
I could see her door from the elevator. As we got closer, I could see it was open, ajar by about half an inch. There was no tell-tale strip of light behind the opening so it could mean someone was in her flat searching by torchlight, or there was no one there.
After a minute waiting to see if there was a moving light somewhere in the flat, it remained dark.
Standing behind me, I could see she had pulled a gun out of her handbag and had it in one hand ready to use. She could have used it any time since we first met, but she hadn’t.
I pushed the door open slowly, and thankfully it didn’t make a creaking sound. Wide enough to walk in, I took a few tentative steps into the first room. There was little light, and my eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness.
I could feel her going past me, further into the room, and with the gun raised and in two hands to steady the shot. She took more steps, slowly towards the passage leading to her bedroom, I assumed, as it was a reverse copy of that next door, O’Connell’s.
There was no one in this part of the flat, and she had disappeared up the corridor and into her room. Nothing there either.
“Clear,” she called out.
I stepped back to close and lock the door. At the same time, she switched on the main room light and for a second it was almost blinding.
When my sight cleared, I could see the signs of a search, furniture tipped over, books dragged from the shelves, other items tossed on the floor, one of which was a vase, now broken into a number of pieces.
“Looks like they were in a hurry,” she said.
“Or frustrated.” I could see clear marks of an item that had been thrown against the wall and dented the plasterwork. The broken shards of the ornament were on the ground beneath the indentation.
I heard her sigh when she saw the broken pieces.
“Not the best way to treat a genuine Wedgewood antique.”
She disappeared into the bedroom again, and I could hear her calling the cat, Tibbles. Interesting name for a cat.
I didn’t hear it answer back. It was probably traumatized after the breaking and the smashing of crockery.
I had a quick look in places I thought the cat might hide, but it was not in any of them. And, oddly enough, no traces of cat hair. Usually, cats left fur wherever they lay down. At least one cat I knew did that.
She came back empty-handed.
“I think it’s done a runner,” she said. “He’s not in the usual place he hides, nor under the bed, or under the covers, as he sometimes does, usually when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Well, it was a good idea. We might have to search outside. The cat was allowed to go outside?”
“He’d escape, yes, but no. O’Connell thought if he got out, he’d get run over. It’s a reasonably busy road outside.”
“Better out there than in here, though. Open windows?”
She did a quick check, but none were open.
“Did O’Connell ever come in here?”
“Once or twice, but he only dropped in if he was going away to ask if I would look after the cat, or when he came back. Never further than the front door.”
“Knowing who is was, now, do you think he might have come in and hidden the USB in here?”
“He might, but there isn’t anywhere I could think he could put it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
Both of us heard the scratching sound at the front door, not the sort made by a cat trying to get in, but by someone using a tool to unlock the door.
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 