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…
——
When Carlo heard the shot, he stopped his ‘interrogation’ and sent a soldier over to investigate. To avoid getting shot inadvertently, I came out of the woods with my hands up, and, thankfully, was instantly recognized.
I went over to the barn and looked at the man on the ground. “Do he have anything to say?”
“No.”
The other man, awaiting ‘interrogation’ was visibly shaken by the events. Two dead including Leonardo, and one a bloody pulp on the ground, with a very angry Carlo standing over him, his outlook was very bleak.
“You speak English,” I asked him.
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“Alberto, sir. I didn’t agree with anything Fernando did. A few of us refused to kill any of the villagers. That was Fernando. He was the one who beat up the women.”
“You could have stopped him.”
“You know the bastard, Carlo. Not even you could, and you tried.”
Carlo grunted. To make sure the men on the ground were dead, he shot them again, and emptied his gun into Fernando, adding a curse with each bullet.
I glared at Alberto. “Pick a side.”
“I’m with you. There are several others, back in the castle. We would be able to help if you were planning an attack.”
“The last person who told me that is out there in the woods with a bullet in his head. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“We can help.”
“And, you will. When we decide to go, we’ll take you with us. You double-cross us, the Carlo gets his five minutes. You try to run away, Carlo will hunt you down and kill you. Understood?”
He nodded.
“Fernando?” The man sent to find the defectors had come back.
I shot him before he could make any sort of move, just as he realized what had happened.
I motioned to the soldiers to get the defectors, who, hearing the shots, had started to flee. Two shots in the air stopped them. Two of them were small children, who would not have survived if they’d been taken to the castle.
All four were visibly frightened by what they’d seen, and of what their fate might be. I assured them, they were now in safe hands, and we were going not to the castle, but to a different place. Desperate people in a desperate situation, I couldn’t imagine where they’d come from, or their journey from Germany with nothing on a promise of safety taken at face value.
“We go to the castle now,” Carlo asked.
“Soon. We need a plan. Let’s go back and make one. But, yes. We go to the castle now.”
Storming the castle might have worked if I had a hundred men, not about ten. Granted Carlo would be the equivalent of another five, but in a hail of bullets, he would not last long.
I had to put myself in Wallace’s shoes and figure out how he would defend the castle once he realized Jackerby and the resistance members were dead.
Panic would be my first thought. Then, when rational thought returned, block off all the known entrances and exits, and post sentries outside. We had about twenty men to deal with, but a dozen were hardened battle soldiers, and that would make a difference. The fact they were inside covering most of the entrance points would make the job harder.
If we had to use the known entrances.
When the time came, they were going to get a surprise because Carlo knew of two others no one but he, and the owners of the castle, were the only ones who knew about them.
But, first, we had to even the odds if possible.
For that, one of Blinky’s team was a sniper, and with him was a sniper rifle and suppressor which meant we would be able to pick off the sentries without anyone hearing the bullets coming for them.
We were only going to get one shot at it because once Wallace discovered the sentries, he wouldn’t post anymore, and would know of our intent.
But, in the end, none of that mattered.
We just got a short communication that Meyer was in Florence and his arrival would be in two days’ time. We were charged with making sure he arrived safely and passed into the pipeline. The only issue with that was that we needed the castle to complete the process.
That meant we had to move up the plans to retake the castle, and there werealways problems when details were missed. We had the advantage in our knowledge of the castle and its underground passageways, but would that be enough?
Then there was the surprise. It had just been learned that a very high-ranking Nazi officer was coming to the castle to personally take Meyer back to the fatherland. That meant we had to be in the castle when he arrived, so he could be sent back home for interrogation.
Both men, it appeared, had the capacity to turn the tide of the war in our favour.
Blinky simply shrugged when he got the news, then said, “We could do with some more men.”
Stating the obvious.
“It’s the war, you know. Shortages of everything.”
“Didn’t envisage this at Prep school, did we? Seems the world was a different place, but my father said it couldn’t last.”
“Nothing ever does. It’s going to be interesting when this ends if it ends. There are days I wake up and I can’t remember what it was like, before all this.”
”Well, maybe we get this done, and it’ll be a step closer. At least, we have to believe that.”
I nodded. “Good pep talk. As I remember, you were always trying to talk me into doing something stupid.”
Carlo had been listening to us was a puzzled look. “Are all you English like you two?”
Blinky answered. “No. We’re unique.”
Clearly, he had no idea what that meant. Blinky was going to try and explain but instead, shrugged. “Let’s go kill some Germans.”
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.
…
“A hundred square miles, that must have run up the coast close to Patterson’s Reach?” I asked.
Patterson’s reach was about five miles to the north, a small town, where there was little fishing done and allegedly a lot of ferrying drugs being dropped off by large ships coming along the offshore shipping lanes. No one could prove it, and every trap set by the coast guard had failed to find any evidence. That meant that someone was tipping them off.
It was also the domain of the Cossatino’s who discouraged anyone else from living there. It was said that Cossatino owned all of the lands the town sat on and the people who lived there worked for him.
“Only as far as Patterson’s reach and then inland for about 20 miles, about as far as the Faultline and perhaps the closest point between the foothills and the sea. Ormiston had bought all the land thinking that the treasure was buried on it. You see, he had a map too, long before Boggs senior had started forging them for the Cossatino’s.”
And in hearing that it begged the question, who had first found the original map? If Cossatino found it, then getting Boggs senior to forge a lot of useless maps would hide where it really was.
What if Boggs ‘original’ map was yet another elaborate forgery, given to him by Cossatino to create others? I put that thought to one side.
I wondered if Boggs had been to see her, to get some background. If there was going to be an expert on the treasure, if it existed or not, she would know. In fact, she probably knew old man Ormiston.
“Does that map still exist?”
“Perhaps. It was not found in his effects after he died. Spent his last years in an asylum. It wasn’t not finding the treasure, or losing his fortune that sent him mad, it was Alzheimer’s, poor old man. Whatever documents that were found when his relatives cleaned the place out were brought to the library to be stored, cataloged at some point, and one day when someone decides to write a history of the area, no doubt they want to see the collection.”
“I couldn’t look at the papers?”
“Are you interested in writing a local history. I’m sure your hunt for the treasure and the many fruitless other expeditions looking for it would make a very entertaining chapter.”
“Maybe I will.”
If that was what it took to look at the documents. There might be something interesting to be found. Especially if he kept a diary. I thought it best not to ask, and fuel suspicions.
“Elmer said there might be relations of Ormiston still around here?”
“Yes, I did say that which I now regret. There are, but I don’t know who they are. I knew his wife’s family name was Maunchen, and that the Maunchens came from California originally, and there’s nothing to say they didn’t go back. Certainly, the wife would be deceased by now, and they had three daughters, all of whom would have married, and changed names. You’d have to go digging through wedding records in at least a dozen parishes. If you were thinking of investigating.”
“Sound like too much hard work. Besides, the treasure doesn’t; exist. I’m only helping Boggs to keep him from doing something stupid.”
“Like father, like son, unfortunately. You do realize the father made some outlandish claim in the hotel one night that he had found the clue to where the treasure was buried. Trouble was, he was prone to making outlandish claims, and by that time, a drunkard. He went missing the next day, and has never been seen since.”
“You think he found it?”
“No. But I’m guessing someone thought he had and killed him trying to find out. We’ll never know.”
“A lesson to be learned then. I’ll keep an eye on Boggs junior just in case he’s thinking of making an equally outlandish claim.”
“You do that.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out a form and handed it to me.
“What’s this for?”
“A request to look at the archives. You have to register, and I have to give you a special card, the key to the history of Arkwon County.”
Where it said signature, I signed it.
“You fill out the rest. When do you want me to pick up the card?”
“Monday next week. In the meantime, be careful.”
She said it like she knew I would be walking into trouble.
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.
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!
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…
——
A second report from Blinky’s surveillance of the castle had Leonardo on the move, and a second shadowy person following them.
It had to be Jackerby, Atherton thought. Jackerby would be the only one who didn’t trust anyone, or, perhaps, he had more murderous intentions. Maybe he had worked out that Leonardo was rapidly becoming a liability.
Or he had some other agenda.
“How many of resistance are waiting at the barn?” Atherton asked the soldier.
“Four. The fifth went to find them.”
“OK. Carlo, take some of the soldiers and stop them.”
He grinned. At last.
“I’ll deal with the other man.” I whistled and Jack came over. “We have a job to do, Jack.” He had no idea what I was saying, but his enthusiasm was obvious.
“Taking any prisoners,” Blinky asked.
“If the situation warrants it, but if the fire on us, we fire back.”
“And, once that’s done?”
“We retake the castle.”
“Sounds a bit like a story out of a Boys Own annual.”
“It does. It’ll certainly make a good story to tell your grandchildren one day.”
“If we make it back.”
“We will. If we’re careful and don’t take unnecessary risks. I won’t be bringing a prisoner back. If it’s Jackerby, I have a score to settle with him.”
“Don’t let revenge cloud your judgment.”
“I won’t. See you soon.”
When we reached the woods, on the opposite side of the castle, I planned to come at Jackaby from an angle he would not be expecting anyone.
From the moment we entered the woods, Jack went into what I would call stealth mode as if he was hunting. In a sense he was, and perhaps he knew instinctively what we were looking for.
It took about a half-hourof carefully moving through the woods to get to a point where I could just see Jackerby, sitting beside a tree, watching the barn. I moved a little closer, and the change of angle brought Leonardo and two other men of the resistance, sitting behind the barn, and one of sentry duty, waiting for the fifth to return.
I turned back to see where Jack was, but he had gone off. A rabbit perhaps, or something else.
I moved closer; Jackerby’s attention was fully on the resistance members, so he would not hear me coming.
What was he doing? He was taking an enormous risk coming out of the castle alone or did he think that if I was clever enough to have the castle under surveillance, he could assume I might be stupid enough to follow him.
It was an interesting thought, broken by the sudden rustling through the undergrowth, and then a yelp, as Jack launched himself at Jackerby, taking him completely by surprise, then, when Jackeby tried to get a gun in hand, Jack attacked that hand.
Long enough for me to get there, gun in hand. “Stop resisting, or I’m sure Jack will do some serious damage to that hand.”
It looked serious enough to me.
“So, this is where you’re hiding?”
“Enough, Jack.”
Curiously, the dog stopped, but remained menacingly close, growling.
“I should have shot that dog when I had the chance.”
Jack moved forward and growled in his face, baring his teeth, and Jackerby shrank back.
“Don’t upset him. He obviously doesn’t like you.”
Our attention was interrupted by gunfire, and a glance over to the barn saw two men with their hands up against the wall, and the two on the ground, including Leonardo. Carlo was in the process of ‘interrogating’ the other two.
“Carlo is not a happy man, Jackerby. And I promised him five minutes alone with you.”
Another glance over at the barn, Carlo was kicking one of the men who had fallen on the ground, with enthusiasm. I didn’t rate the man’s chances of surviving. “You really shouldn’t have let Leonardo mistreat Chiara or Martina, wherever you’ve got her.”
“She is still alive. We can do a deal here, Atherton.”
“The trouble I have with anything you say is that I can’t believe you. I’m sure you’d say or do anything to stay alive and renege the moment you got back to the castle.”
“I give you my word as an officer. We are, like you, men of honor.”
I shook my head. “You’re Gestapo, or worse, Jackerby. And they, as far as I’m concerned, are the lowest of the low, little more than murderous thugs. No.”
I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
The only way Jackerby was leaving the woods was as dead weight.
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.
…
Aside from working on what I was going to tell my mother, and Boggs for that matter, where I’d been all night, the last thing I could say was that I spent the night with Nadia.
It had a curious ring to it when I said to myself, I slept with Nadia. Most people would take it the wrong way, but, by a quirk of fate, it was true. I guess that little gem of truth would have to stay locked away in my head.
One the other hand, if I told my mother I was out doing reconnaissance work for Boggs, she would get very angry, messing around in Boggs’ fantasies. She had no time for people who didn’t want to get a job, and work hard for a living.
At least I’d gone up in her estimation when I started working for the Benderby’s.
But the reconnaissance line would work with Boggs, and all I had to do was come up with a plausible set of circumstances he would believe. At the moment, all I had was Alex going to the mall, and that I waited to see when he came out. The question I would pose, what was he doing in there for four or five hours.
All I had to do was hope Alex had been out of town and Boggs hadn’t seen him. Always a chance of coming unstuck. Perhaps I should just not volunteer anything.
As for my mother, I couldn’t say I was working overtime for Benderby. She was likely to call him and tell him off for making me work so hard.
I was still no further advanced on that point when I got to the library.
It was a familiar place for me, and I had spent a lot of my time there escaping the real world, and of course, being able to keep away from Alex and Vince.
The librarian, Gwen, had been there for a hundred years or more, or so they said, and she should have retired about 20 years ago.
Pity the poor mayor who got the job of telling her to leave. Three had tried, and three had failed. The current incumbent was smarter than that. He just hired an assistant and told her that she had no problems handing over the reins when she was ready.
That woman, Winifred Pankhurst, no relation to the suffragette, was quiet, polite but firm in doing her duties and dealing with the public. She and I had butted heads a few times, especially when Gwen wasn’t in, but today was not going to be one of those days.
I could see Gwen in her office, and headed straight there, under Winnie’s watchful eye. And no, I didn’t dare call her Winnie. Her name, she said, was Miss Pankhurst thank you very much.
Gwen looked up as I knocked on the door, and she smiled.
“Long time no see.”
It had been several weeks. The job and everything else had made it less of a priority to get there,
“New job, crazy hours. Never thought I’d become a working stiff.”
“About time. All that talent being wasted.”
I came in and sat down opposite her.
“How are you?”
“Getting old.”
For her to admit that was a worry. She was, last time I checked, somewhere between 93 and 95. She never quite told anyone her actual date of birth, not even the Mayor’s office who employed her. And she didn’t look a day over 80. Good, clean living she said.
“Isn’t that inevitable?”
“For some of us. Now, enough of being maudlin, what can I do for you?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
“That expression. A cat’s curiosity.”
She could still see through me. The only other people who could was my English teacher in the final year at school and my mother.
“What do you know about the Ormiston’s.”
A change in expression on her face told me it was not a surprise I was asking. Alex’s thug had been here earlier, had someone else?
“They’re popular this week. Young Elmer was in here a few days ago asking the same question. I suspect he was working for Alex Benderby.”
The way she said his name, it was with the usual venom used for him. She had a run in with Benderby a long time ago, and she’d never forgotten. Or ever will. That’s why Alex would never get anything from her about anything.
“He was.”
“Is this in relation to the treasure you and that lad Boggs are searching for?”
Of course, she’d know who and what was going on in this town. No one could keep a secret from her. Or her extensive network of old ladies in the knitting club.
“Boggs seems to think he had some idea of where it might be, though I’m not so sure. I just go along for the ride, it balances out the depressive life we have to live living here.”
“Oh, come now. It’s not all that bad.”
“Perhaps not, now that I have a job. What can you tell me, if there’s anything to tell?”
“Ormiston was as bad if not worse than the Boggs, father and son alike. He had the treasure bug too. Obsessed. In the end drove away his wife and family, eventually ran out of money after mounting six different search operations, and then, when that happened, sold the land to the Navy. Quite an extensive area, about 100 square miles or so, from the coast back to the fault line. Used to be a lake, once, now it’s just a dustbowl.”
A fault line? This was something Boggs didn’t know about, and it could be significant. But just how significant?
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.
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 was woken by the abrupt jolting of the guard van, and for a few moments was disorientated. It was no longer dark, and the light was coming in through the cracks of the windows, and he could see now the van was quite old and battered.
And that odd smell was the residue of many fires in the potbelly stove, that presumably kept the guard warm in winter. There were a few scattered coals on the floor.
Then he remembered he was in the van and it felt like it was being connected to a shunting loco.
That, and the sound of voices outside the van.
“How long has this lot been sitting here?”
“Three weeks, the shunting crew seem to have just forgotten about these wagons. They were supposed to be sent back south months ago.”
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the stones outside.
Mayer slipped down off the bunk, taking the blanket with him, and looked for somewhere to hide. There was a door in the panel under the bed; he opened it and saw an empty space.
It was not very big, and in places, daylight could be seen through cracks in the outside wall. It was smelly but manageable, and he wriggled into the space and jammed the door closed so if they tried to open it, it would not, and they would assume it had not been used in a long time. Or he was hoping that’s what they’d think.
Just in time, steps on the ladder, and the door bang open.
“Ghastly, it’s ready for the scrap heap.”
“It’s for the war effort, even scrap is good. You staying?”
“Until they hook it up, but outside. This place feels like someone died in it.”
Mayer squirmed until he was in a more comfortable position, thankful that the space was large enough to stretch out, though cold.
He could see through the cracks, back up the track where another train was waiting.
His watch said it was near seven in the morning, and that mean he had slept for about four hours. He had intended to get off before anyone would notice, but it was too late for that now.
At least he would be going in the right direction, it was just a matter of where the wagons would end up. Maybe he would get lucky, and that would be Florence.
But, the chances were he would be discovered before then because if the man who had boarded before was going to stay with the train, the chances were he’d come back to the van, it would very likely he’d explore out of sheer boredom, and that would include that space behind the door.
For now, though, the two men were still outside beside the van, waiting for the signal to get aboard.
Another hour passed before there was more clanking and jolting as another engine connected to the wagons. It was only a matter of time before the men came back.
A minute passed, two, five, ten, then the shrill sound of the whistle of a steam engine, followed by the stretching of wagon joiners and the slow movement forward. The men had not returned, but, Mayer knew, they were aboard the train somewhere.
For the moment, it didn’t matter. With each passing minute, he was closer to his objective, Florence.
It was slow progress, with a stop nearly once an hour, shunted aside while a more important train raced by. People going about their business as if there was no war. Mayer had time to lament his foolishness of being swept up inthe fervor of restoring the Reich to its rightful place in the world.
It had also sounded legitimate, but, as it wore on, the news that they were winning the war and it would all be over soon, turned to disenchantment. They could not have so many victories and not have won already.
Several of his friends had private said they believed the war was going badly, hence the pressure on his group to create better weapons so they could turn the tide. Of course, no one would openly say things were going bad, that would invite the Gestapo on your doorstep, but people were beginning to suspect.
Mayer was not the first to consider turning himself over to the other side before it was too late.
The sporadic stop-start motion of the train went on all day, and into the night, after passing through several large rail yards, and cities. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed they had passed through Verona, and then hours later, Bologna.
At Bologna, the stay was protracted, and once again the men came to the wagon, and this time, as he feared, they had a look around, rattled the door that he had barricaded, and at least they didn’t stay, one of them saying it had probably rusted with age.
Still, he didn’t breathe again until they left.
Nighttime, and very cold, he tried to get comfortable, and finally fell into a fitful sleep.
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.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 