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 realises 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.
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
I ordered breakfast to be brought to my room, then sat back and read the paper, culminating in a second cup of coffee and a half-hearted attempt at the crossword.
My mind was not sufficiently clear of all the implications of what I’d seen last night, and before that.
The first task was to go back to the office and get onto the computer to track down the address the car was registered to. It was not the flat. My guess that it was a sort of safe house. He may not have had reservations about Jan, or who she worked for, not until he became the prey.
Then it occurred to me that if Jan didn’t know where the USB was, then she had to realize he might have rumbled her perfidy. Maybe he was not as easily fooled as I first thought.
But it didn’t explain why Nobbin was in the dark over the USB’s whereabouts, as he had told me to give Nobbin a message. Perhaps there’s been a secret message behind that message.
Now, my mind was spinning out of control.
Like O’Connell/Quinley, and in accordance with more lessons on tradecraft, I too, had what I would like to have called a safe house, a small flat on the outskirts of Wimbledon.
I also had an off-site parking space that was a reasonable distance from the flat, so that if I was being hunted, the car would not lead them to my hiding spot.
There I had a shower, changed, and headed for the underground.
I took the train to Charing Cross, getting there around nine, to take the short walk to the hotel.
Not expecting to find her in the room, I used my key to let myself in.
I was wrong.
She was in bed, still asleep. Or was until I let the door slam shut.
She didn’t exactly come out from under the covers with a gun pointing at me, but I would be willing to be there was one under her pillow and her hand was on it.
“Sam?” It was uttered sleepily, the sort that would normally send a shiver down my spine. Not now.
“I hope you’re not intending to shoot me?”
“No.”
I could see her hand moving slowly withdrawing, and then watched her sit up and swing her legs over the side.
Still in basic clothes. Obviously, no time to go and get some pyjamas then.
“What happened to you?”
“Got side-tracked on what I thought might be a lead, and it wasn’t. Just a waste of time and a long night. Thought I’d come here and get some shuteye. Perhaps not. Are you going to order breakfast?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll have a pot of coffee and a paper, preferably one with a crossword.”
She rang down a breakfast order, full English, then said she was having a quick shower. I heard the water running and wondered if she was giving Severin a short report. Old trick, running water hides conversations.
Breakfast arrived at the same time as she came out of the bathroom, hair up in a towel, and in one of the hotel dressing gowns. My imagination got a five-second workout before I grabbed the paper and the coffee and sat in the corner.
She could have the desk.
“Do we know where Maury is?” I asked suddenly.
“Who?”
She hesitated before answering, a moment to give herself time to process the question, and if there were any hidden meanings.
“You know? You dropped a tracker on him.”
“Oh, him. He must have found and dumped it. It was pinging about 100 yards from the flat.”
Of course. There probably wasn’t one in the first place.
“Pity. I’d like to turn up unannounced, give him a bit of a scare.”
I went back to the crossword, keeping an eye on her, noticing every now and then giving me a sideways glance.
“Did you go anywhere after the flat?” Again sudden, out of left field.
“No. Just come straight back here. Do you want to keep the room for a few days? See what happens.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Look, I have to run an errand this morning, unfortunately, it’s not a work matter, so I’ll give you a call on my way back. You must want to talk to your people and let them know what’s happening if you haven’t already.”
I finished the coffee, folded the paper, and stood.
“At the very least,” I added, “I have to go back into the office and report to Nobbin. I’m sure he’ll be impressed with the lack of progress.”
“Won’t you run into that other fellow, what’s his name?”
“Severin?”
“Him, yes.”
“I don’t think so. His name will probably be very high on the ‘we’d like to talk to you’ list if he shows his face. Anyway, I’ve got your number.”
I deliberately waved the phone where she could see it, and the implication she could probably use it to track my movements. That might have been the case if there was a sim card in it, and it was similar to the phone she last saw me with.
It was not.
Where I was going, no one was going to follow me or find me.
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.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
We have a situation
…
Home wasn’t home anymore.
I stood inside the front door, as I had many times in the past, but this time it was different.
Maybe it was the near-death experience, maybe I hadn’t been there for a few days, maybe I had irrevocably changed in those few short days.
It seemed that I was someone else, that the old Sam had gone away, and a new version had replaced him. Had I finally grown up, or was I still reeling from the ordeal and, more likely, mourning the loss of what had been my one true friend.
Right then, it felt like Boggs had never existed, and that Nadia had invaded that space.
Nadia.
Until now, right this moment, I hadn’t really thought about what I was about to do. Since being in the hospital, every movement I’d made felt mechanical, and someone else was manipulating the controls.
Wanting to leave was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that failed to recognize others may have a role in what happened, like my mother. I gad completely discounted her because of her association with Benderby, but what if that was no longer the case.
With Alex off the hook, they no longer had to worry about Nadia or what I might say or do, not that there was anything we could do. I felt for Charlene who literally was between a rock and a hard place, having to compromise her principles to uphold justice and her disappointment in her father.
To be honest, his actions came as a surprise, despite the rumors of corruption. It didn’t occur to me that it might have been the lesser of the evils, getting Vince off the streets, nobbling the Cossatinos, and to a lesser extent, using the situation as a bargaining chip with the Benderby’s.
But all of that was moot. Another rumorcirculating, according to the newspaper I’d seen at the hotel, was that a third term for the current sheriff was looking unlikely. It was joined by an interview with Benderby on the construction of a new resort on the mall site. Noticeably absent were any reports on Boggs, the treasure, or Cossatino.
I considered briefly whether I should go to the newspaper and tell them the whole story. If he considered it had any element of truth, he’d publish it and be damned, but the thought of how his wife, an Ormiston, would take the news of finding her father, only for the body to disappear, would serve no purpose. If there was a body, I would not hesitate.
But, now, it was enough to make a decision on what I would do next. Pack a bag, tell my mother I was leaving, and call Nadia.
It was impossible to fit a lifetime into a bag. It was fortunate, perhaps, that my situation had not afforded me the luxury of too many possessions, or anything of value.
Even so, what fitted wasn’t much. I wanted to believe it was going to be a new start, but it seemed like I was just running away, that the problems I was running from would just come with me.
And, then, there was Nadia. I was today’s flavor of the month, but would I be in a month, or two?
That thought was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. I stepped onto the passage just as my mother closed the door.
“Sam. Where have you been? I’ve been calling, and leaving messages.”
She wasn’t angry, but there was an edge to her tone. I should have at the very least sent a message to say I was OK. It didn’t help my phone battery had died. I’d put it in the recharge, and minutes later continually dinged with missed messages
“I had to get away. Either that or I would have done something I regretted. I thought you’d moved in with Benderby.”
“You thought wrong. This business with Alex. I remember you told me he was responsible for what happened to you and Nadia, and when I overheard him arguing with his father, I realised you were telling me the truth, and neither of them could be trusted. I just told him I needed some time to sort out some issues.”
“You’re not going back?”
“No. What are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing for me here. I’m not going back to the warehouse, nor do I want to be here anymore. Not while Alex is put and about. It’s only a matter of time before he comes after Nadia and I.”
“Then you’re still going to Italy with her.”
“For a while, see how it works out. You should come too, at least for a holiday, think about what you’re going to do. Personally, I think you should also leave, start fresh somewhere else.”
“Maybe you’re…”
We both heard the screeching tires of a car coming to a sudden stop outside, followed by the slamming of doors.
Alex not waiting to clean up his mess?
A sudden pounding on the door revised that assessment, if anyone was here to do us harm they would have kicked the door down.
I moved my mother behind me, and the protection of the door as I opened it.
The sheriff.
“We have a situation,” he said in his most serious tone
Warning us the Benderby’s were coming for us?
When neither of us responded, he added, “Elsie Boggs has the Benderby’s at gunpoint at the Blue Circle, and she will only talk to you.”
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 them.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
I’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
Was it too late to admit that I was way in over my head?
Of course, it should not come as a surprise that Jan would know of his alter ego if she was the friend she said she was. Her name was on that scrap of paper with part of the address, and I should have guessed.
Again, my lack of knowledge and training was letting me down.
Now it seemed I had both Severin and Maury, Nobbin and Josephine, and Jan all working against me.
He had more enemies that I did, which begged the question, what the hell was he in to? What could he possibly have found that was so damaging?
Perhaps I’d find that out if or when I found the missing USB drive.
In the meantime, I had to get back to the hotel before Jan did and try and keep a straight face.
But just as I started to put the seat belt on, another figure was walking from the road towards the front door. A man, tall, with a purposeful stride.
The light was still on so I would get to see who it was once he reached the door. Then I saw the front door open, and Jan standing in it. A second later I saw the face, just as he passed through the doorway and the door shut.
Severin.
She had lied. So, why was it making me so angry?
I should have realized the whole Maury thing was a setup. She hadn’t called her office, she had called Severin, and he can’t have been far away to get there in the time he had.
So, why didn’t he drag me off?
Easy. So I would see the need to keep working with Jan, and in doing so, when I found the USB I’d tell her, and the next minute I’d get whacked over the head, and lose it.
Damn.
I was being played like a finely tuned fiddle.
But at least I knew about the car and had removed any evidence and the letters that were left on the ground inside the door. It was something, and she would not find anything to help her, even if she knew he had a car. It meant I was one step ahead of her.
After thanking a last look at the block, I left. Better to find somewhere else to stay, just for tonight, and then go back to the hotel in Charing Cross and see if she returned.
I found a small hotel just off Bromley Road, a short distance down Avondale Road. Out of the way and unassuming, with car parking that couldn’t be seen from the main road. The late hour raised an eyebrow, but I used the excuse of getting in late from the airport. After all, it was 02:30 in the morning and I was surprised there was anyone available on the front counter.
He gave me a room tucked away in a corner where there was only one entrance, and I could see anyone coming. I wasn’t expecting anything, but just in case I had checked the car for a tracker.
None that I could find.
I needed sleep, but lying there staring at the ceiling, I replayed the arrival of Jan at the flat, followed by Severin. It was a reminder that I should not believe or trust anyone.
It reminded me of the words of one of the instructors who said, one morning, quite abruptly, that we were about to become the loneliest people in the world. If we trusted anyone, even if they were from our own side, it could mean one thing and one thing only. Death.
We could not and should not trust anyone.
We should not believe a word of anything anyone tells us.
We should not recruit anyone from outside the service because unless they could be fully vetted, they could be your undoing.
We could not have friends, and certainly no romantic interests otherwise they would be used as leverage against us.
It was the worse hour lecture we’d been given, and the instructor had told us he had left the best till last. It was time to decide whether we wanted to go on or bail. Several had.
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’.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
I really am leaving, really
…
A lot can happen in a week.
After leaving the mall carpark, we drove past a scene that could have been right out of a movie, it seemed that surreal. There were 6 police cars, lights flashing, and officers everywhere.
Cossatino was up against his car, with two officers standing over him. Both the sheriff and Charlene were not far away, and I had no doubt Charlene’s career was about to take a huge leap, bringing down members of both crime families.
His two bodyguards were on the ground, looking like they’d just gone ten rounds against the reigning heavyweight boxing champion.
Nadia didn’t slow down when passing, and unless he recognized the car, Cossatino would not have seen us, so dense was the tint she had on the car windows.
One of the other cars had both Alex and Vince in the rear, both looking very forlorn. At that moment in time, I felt like Boggs would get the justice he deserved, in a manner that didn’t require bloodshed, and had to admire the planning and forethought Nadia had put into the operation.
We didn’t go back to her hotel, she suspected the arrest of her father, brother and Alex would not go unnoticed, along with her part in it, despite Charlene assuring her she’d try to keep it under wraps. Instead, we headed out of town to a small motel that few knew about, and an owner who wouldn’t recognize her, or me.
The room was dingy, with a musty aroma that comes from lack of use, but the sheets were clean, the water in the bathroom hot, and the company perfect.
We didn’t speak, there was no need to, and in the end, everything was just perfect.
Of course, expecting the serenity to last was a forlorn hope.
It wasn’t just the thunderstorm that passed through around midnight, but more a sense of foreboding left hanging in the air.
We were woken, firstly by the rhythmic sound of light rain on the roof, which in a way was quite soothing, but then by the sound of the TV news, part of an early morning show that I had only seen a few times, and disliked because of the presenters.
This morning they sounded positively garish, one reporting, in a tone that might have been used to report an end-of-world event,
“This morning we are waking to the news that the two largest crime families in the county have been finally brought to justice.”
It was a tag team event.
“Yes, John. We are learning that the head of the Cossatino clan has been charged with conspiracy to murder and that his son Vincent, had been charged over the murder of a local boy, Anton Boggs.”
To the other presenter,
“Yes, Alice. We understand that the Boggs family hasa rather infamous connection to the search for Captain X, long believed to have stashed a large cache of his plunder somewhere along the coastline. This treasure hunt was first started in earnest by another local identity, X Ormiston, who, like the victim’s father, disappeared mysteriously, some years ago.”
Back again,
“We also understand that the son of a businessman and long believed to be involved in a number of suspect activities, none of which have been proved, I might add, Alexander Benderby, has also been arrested as an accomplice in the murder of Anton Boggs.”
There was a momentary break, just enough time to turn to the TV in our room. As the picture came on, “Just a moment,” the man held a hand to his ear, no doubt listening to someone updating the situation or reporting something more important.
Then, “we have breaking news, and we’re crossing to the Sheriff’s office where he’s about to make an announcement.”
The picture changed, coming live from outside the sheriff’s office, with a row of microphones and more standing in front, waiting.
“This is not looking good,” Nadia said.
I think she thought the same as I did, and exactly what I’d told Charlene a few days before, that money trumps justice.
“You think the sheriffs sold out and will recant the charges?”
“Given how much money both of them have funnelledone way or another his way, I wouldn’t be surprised. I honestly thought that Charlene was different “
“She means well, but you have to remember she is subject to the will of the sheriff first, and her father second, though those lines may be blurred at times. Had it been anyone else, justice would prevail.”
No time for any more discussion, the sheriff came out to address the media pack.
“At 5:45 am this morning, Vincent Cossatino was found deceased in his cell, along with a suicide note asking for absolution for his crimes.”
“Here it comes,” Nadia muttered.
“The note also stated that he alone was responsible for the death of Anton Boggs, that Alex Benderby had taken no part in it and therefore has been released from custody, innocent, and all charges dropped.”
Nadia turned off the TV. “There’s no way in hell Vincent committed suicide or wrote such a note. He was made the scapegoat so all the others could go free. Something had to be done about Vince, and this was Dad’s way of cleaning up the mess he left behind. Bastard.”
Deals were done, there was no doubt about it. I wondered what Charlene thought about it?
So did Nadia, who had her phone in her hand, and no doubt calling her.
If I were Charlene, I would not answer, but she did.
Nadia put it on speaker and put it between us. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“I was taken off the case for obvious reasons. Is Sam there?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You were right. A deal was done last night, but I had no idea what the outcome was until the same time you just heard. This isn’t justice.”
“Nor what we agreed,” Nadia said.
“And for that, I’m sorry, but I stupidly thought that the law was the law, but apparently it isn’t. I’m about to hand in my resignation, but that won’t change anything. Alex will get away with it, despite the confession. Apparently, the recording was damaged when it came to anything he said.”
“Alex might like to think he has, but justice has a way of catching up with the guilty.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Nadia. They’ll be expecting you to do something.”
“Yes, I guess so. Maybe Sam and I will just leave. This place no longer has anything to keep me here. I’m sure my father will get off with lesser charges, and seek to make my life hell for what he perceives as disloyalty.”
“Like I said, I was deliberately sidelined. There’s not a lot I can do, and even if I tried, I’m sure they’d do something about it and then ruin my chances of getting another job. I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Nadia said, then disconnected the call.
She sat still for a minute, maybe more, before she looked at me. “How long will it take you to pack a bag?”
“Italy?”
“Anywhere but here. Unless you have a compelling reason to stay?”
I thought about it for all of a minute. There was nothing. If my mother were staying with Benderby, then she would be acquiring a new husbandand losing a son. There was no way I was going to be associated with the Benderby’s, and less so, a stepbrother to Alex.
“None that I can think of. I just have to go home and collect a few things.”
“You do have a passport, don’t you?”
Since I had never travelled out of the country, and never looked like I ever would, a few months ago, the answer to that question would have been an emphatic no. But my mother had floated the idea of going to England, where her ancestors came from, and, having mentioned a recent death of a relative I had not heard of before, decided that we might take the first step, and get passports, essential items if one wanted to travel.
The plan had not been mentioned again, not since getting the job in the warehouse, and the treasure hunt started with Boggs, but the passport had arrived a few days before we disappeared, and she left it on my bedside table.
I was not sure how I was hoping to pay for my airfare, but that was a bridge to cross later.
“I do, as a matter of fact, all shiny and new.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place when you’re ready. Just send me a text.”
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.
Investigations of crimes don’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage, the police thought I had murdered my own wife, though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbours reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months, the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last time I saw Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact that she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months, I was barely functioning, to the extent that I had all but lost my job and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in that she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened became our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each other about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realise that all she had was her work; personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police, and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone, then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
