The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 48

A meeting of department heads

…

First impressions, I was told, were everything.

Back on earth, before this mission, before I had been selected for the crew, we had to spend time learning diplomacy.

I didn’t mind it because I was used to working with multiple nationalities as crew members aboard the cargo ships I worked, some often at odds with each other, and I had to broker peace.

But this brand of diplomacy was more about meeting aliens from other worlds and what to do, even though those running the sessions really had no clue. The problem was, we would have no idea of what their customs and rules were, much like on earth where the same applied, but you could look them up before going to an ‘alien’s destination.

I could say that now I had experienced one encounter. And nothing we did in any of those sessions gave me any help or guidance on what I should do. Yes, we may have learned a little about their culture, but that was never going to be enough, not in the time I had in front of them.

What needed to happen was for us to set up something similar to the old-time embassy where we could exchange information and prevent the problems of new travellers before they got here. And there would be more travellers now we had the spaceships and not everyone was going to be a positive influence’ ad the Russian example quite clearly illustrated.

But, getting someone or some people to stay with unknown people on a relatively unknown planet, was going to be a difficult ask.

It was one of a dozen topics on the head of department meeting I had called immediately after being transported back to the ship’ joined by the Princess’ whom we had agreed to return to her people.

I suspect that the aliens who had all but incarcerated her did not want to wear the wrath of her people. Perhaps we would be treated better and hopefully, we would be able to engage in meaningful diplomatic discussions. It was a subject I had raised with the Princess when escorting her to her transit quarters. Accommodation befitting a Princess.

She was hateful to come aboard but she seemed apprehensive to go home. That was something else that would fuel another conversation. Because there was definitely more to that story. I didn’t quite trust our so-called new friends.

The next task was to ensure the princess had a private security detail, and dampeners installed to prevent her being transported off the ship.

After that my first call was to the diplomatic unit where I gave them five minutes of my thoughts on the subject before heading back to my quarters to freshen up, and get down the bare bones of the report I was eventually hoping to send on our first encounter, one that I doubted was over yet.

I will still be getting over the fact they knew of our existence, lived among us, and we had no idea. And they didn’t believe we were worthy yet to be told. Sadly, given my knowledge of humankind, I was not really surprised, but others like the Admiral would be shocked and offended and it was their reaction I was worried about.

It was also not so much of a surprise there were others out there, places and people, we knew nothing about because our telescopic technology still wasn’t up to see beyond the limits of our known galaxies and we were the first well technically the second to go beyond it.

And now we proved we could get to that theoretical barrier, set at Pluto, perhaps a telescope launched from there might help us see what was beyond in the first instance because they did hint at a number of civilisations with their own galaxy.

My idea would be to suggest caution and not hit them with a flood of ships but to spend time building a space station at the edge, and then launch exploratory forays from there, when it was complete. It would take time ten or more years, but the aliens weren’t going anywhere.

But I knew it didn’t matter what I thought. That was up to the Admiral and the rest of the Space Alliance, and they would want to be out there getting as many aliens on side, much the same as the others would.

The Russian ship had stayed long enough to offload the prisoners and get ready for the return trip. That was going to be some homecoming because the Space Alliance was going to want answers long before it hit Earth’s outer limits.

Stolen technology, an unannounced foray into space that could have ultimately destroyed any chance of relations with our nearest space neighbours, I wouldn’t want to be the captain of that vessel, at home, or in front of an international jury.

It highlighted just how easy it was to make mistakes, or how badly everything could go wrong very quickly over a nuance. His background hadn’t helped him either but that shoe could also have fitted elsewhere too. I had been lucky, he had not.

I walked into the conference room packed with both relevant and interested parties, all eyes on me. It was, to say the least, uncomfortable. Whatever noise there was had subsided into silence.

There was one seat remaining. Mine.

…

That word: Home – in sayings

I’m always on the lookout for inspiration for stories, especially the short stories I attach to photographs in my Being Inspired series, and one of the topics that has been suggested is along the lines of the following.

There is certainly a lot of scope with these.

Home is where the heart is

One’s home is the preferred place to all others, the one you are most emotionally attached, i.e. you have the deepest affection for. It may not necessarily be a physical place though.

I must say I tend to agree with this because every time I go away, I’m always looking forward to coming home.

Even when I’ve had to stay away for a few months, it’s not possible to call that home; it’s just another place to stay.

On the other hand…

It’s the name of a song by Elvis Presley.

And it has been the title of several films.

The Hallmark channel presses this point home time and time again.

Pliny the Elder is credited with coming up with the saying.

Home is what you make it

This is a similar saying, but to me, it means something completely different

Though many will say this means that it’s where family and friends can come to, a place where memories can be made, I don’t believe it’s the same as the first saying.

What you make of it depends on your circumstances; you can hate it because it might be because you’re stuck with one parent, with perhaps a step-parent. Or you might love it because you’ve escaped a bad situation.

But it’s not necessarily where your heart is.

Wherever I hang my hat, I call home

Barbra Streisand made this song famous, and probably means that no matter where you are, it is home to you. It would be more fitting for someone who doesn’t necessarily see their true home very often, i.e., you work in the diplomatic service or in the military, and you move around a lot.

Home away from home

This is a place that is as good as your real home.

“I was minding my own business when…”, a short story

What do you say, when everything that could be had been said, and then some.

What did marriage counselors know, other than they are right, and you are wrong?

I don’t think either of us, with the same belief, could be wrong. The marriage was over, and there was no use prolonging the agony.

Except we had to try to at least put some of the pieces back together, if only for the sake of walking away with a sense of closure and peace.

But, peace was the last thing in the atmosphere inside the car, and it had been like that since leaving Vancouver.

There had been a momentary truce in Kamloops where we had to stay, in separate rooms, and polite conversation over breakfast, until I put my foot in my mouth.

Again.

I’m not sure if I knew what to say to her anymore. To her, everything I said was laced with an agenda or a subliminal plot. I got it, I’d lied to her once too often, and once she proved one right, and, from there, it didn’t take long for the whole charade to unravel.

I’d been advised against marrying her, that I would not be able to do my job and have some sort of life with Eloise, but I wanted it.

And, fifteen months down the track, my employers had been proved right.
Eloise was driving. Her parents lived in Banff, and we had made the trip in all of the four seasons, and now winter, she was more used to the icy conditions than I.

It gave me a chance to look at her from my side of the mid-sized SUV. We were going to take her car, a rather small sedan, but it had broken down, so I hired a Ford Flex.

If you’re going to take on the elements, I wanted a car that could handle the conditions.

In that, I think I’d managed to surprise her, and not in a bad way.

For the first time in a long time.

Then, of course, she had to look sideways, and that ruined it. The frown followed by the pursed lips. Something caustic was about to come my way.

Except a very loud bang took us both by surprise, and skewing the car sideways, catching the edge of the ice on the road, and we started spinning.

As good as she was, there would be no containing this calamity.

I looked behind to see what the hell had hit us.

An F350 or RAM 2500, definitely larger than us, definitely deliberate, and definitely with intent to hurt us.

Or me.

My work had finally come home.

There was a scream just on the edge of her terror as the car had spun sideways and the car behind us slammed into it us again, arresting the spin and pushing us towards the edge of the road.

I could see what the pursuer’s intent was. Down the side, a roll if possible, then pick off the survivors as they scrambled from the wreckage.

Or not have to worry, the roll may do the job for them.
We hit the edge as the other car braked, and we continued on, that stifled scream from Eloise now erupting.

She could see what was going to happen, just as our car tipped.

Six seconds.

Seat belt or not, totally unprepared for what was about to happen, she was not going to walk away from this.

Unless I did something about it.

Seatbelt unhitched I dragged her to me and protected her as best I could. She didn’t resist, but the look in her eyes, terror laced with something else, no time to think about it now, told me she would do whatever I wanted.

Over on the roof, upside down, I prayed it stayed there, and slide, The ice, snow, and slush was going to help.

Seconds passed, taking what seemed forever, till we reached the bottom of the hill and hit a rock, arresting the movement with a loud bang and a crunch of bending metal.

Stopped.

Engine still running.

No movement from her. Yet.

And relief. No bones were broken, or none that I noticed.

Under me, she stirred.

Just as a bullet smashed the rear passenger window, and the shattered glass splattered the interior. A moment later, the side window, above my head did the same.
I lifted myself, whispering in her ear, “Slide towards the front window.” It was buried in the snow and dirt kicked up in the final run to the bottom. The shooter would not be able to see it, or her.

Above me, I reached up to feel under the seat and found the package.

A gun. Always be prepared.

Ten seconds since the last shot. From up top, the shooter would not be able to see us, or any movement. He was going to have to come down and finish the job.

And hope we were would not be able to fight back.

That was the purpose of running us off the road.

Pity then that he had not been given my file. If he had he would have driven off and tried again later.

That he was halfway down the hill when I saw him told me this operation had been cobbled together quickly, with no time to find a professional.

And now I knew why Barnes had told me to be careful.

A lone wolf looking to make a name for himself.

And failing.
Ten minutes, the police arrived.

Long enough to bury the body and the weapons under a lot of snow, in a ravine that no one would discover until the thaw.

The car that rammed us had gone. Soon as he saw his partner go down, he left. A wise man, he had stayed at the top of the hill, having more sense than his friend.

Live to fight another day,

The policeman asked the questions, and Eloise answered. Not one mention of being rammed, run off the road, being shot at, or that there was anyone else involved.

As cool as a cucumber.

It took her a minute after I shot our attacker to ask the questions I’d expected a week ago when she finally discovered my other life, prefaced by, “No more lies, just tell me the truth. What the hell is it you do for a living?”

“Make the world safe for people like you, and in my case right now, for you in particular. Sorry, I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Even from your wife?”

“Especially from you. You now know why.”

“Bit late for that now, do you think?”

“Just a little.”

And then I saw the look, the one I had fallen in love with 15 months ago. The one that made my heart miss a few beats.

“You do realize you are the biggest idiot on the planet, don’t you?”

“Does this mean I can stay?”

She punched me on the arm., OK, no broken bones, but there was going to be bruising, major bruising.

“If you promise to tell me only the truth from now on.”

What harm could it do? She knew enough.

“Good. We should probably do something with that man out there. I’m assuming the police do not take too kindly to you working in their jurisdiction.”

Too many thrillers, too much TV, or an educated guess, she was right. This would be impossible to explain, and Barnes was already angry at me.

I held out my hand and she took it as I helped her out of the wreckage. Out in the fresh, cold air, she took in a huge breath and let out a slow sigh.

“Is it always this exciting?”

“This is the Sunday in the park stroll. Wait till you have a hand held rocket boring down on you.”

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

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.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

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.

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 47

The four members of the high council – maybe

…

There was a man in a red suit, a man in a blue suit, a woman in a green suit and another woman in a grey suit.

Grey suit spoke first, “Are all you people from the earth as tiresome as you are Captain?”

She was either the lowest rank or the highest.

“We are an interesting bunch when you get to know us, which, despite this turn of events, I hope we do. We have a predilection for interfering in matters where we see injustices.”

“Be that as it may, I would like to remind you, that what might pass as acceptable behaviour on your planet, might not be on ours. You should be aware that in your travels, everyone you may or may not meet has their own specific rules, customs, and regulations which can and will be a lot different to yours.”

“I accept that, and in fact, in the briefing we had before leaving earth, it was impressed upon us that very premise. And I understand that we may be seen to be interfering in matters that are not our concern. But, and there’s always a but, that’s how we humans think and rationalise the many situations we often find ourselves in, we don’t like injustices.”

“Does what might appear an injustice to one, not be one to another? There is ample evidence in your history that points to those overlooking so-called injustices for the greater good?”

“That may be true in the past, but we like to think we have evolved into a better civilization. But we are not perfect, as you point out. However, this instance does not qualify as an instance for the greater good, it is simply the selfish whim of a single person. We have people who are supposed to set an example too and don’t, because they don’t believe the rules apply to them, and I would like to believe that you, too, would not tolerate this sort of behaviour in your leaders. Your people have been living on our planet for some time, I gather, so you should know that.”

Blue suit had been looking rather severely at me. “It was a mistake to let you people develop space travel capability. Our efforts to delay it haven’t been as successful as we had anticipated. You are not ready.”

That someone or something had been manipulating our progress would probably not come as a surprise to some back home. My knowledge of the steps we took to get where I was now pointed to several disasters that set the whole program back nearly twenty years, if not more.

I wonder how the Admiral would react when I told him. If I told him.

“It was inevitable, like everything we do. Unfortunately for you, we thrive on adversity.”

“You are not the only warlike race in the galaxy you know. You may want to hold off meeting them for as long as you can, but they know where you are, so there’s more than one inevitability.”

“By uttering those words, does that make you look more like the aggressors than us? The thing is, we’re out her for better or for worse, and I think you know what has transpired here is an injustice, but the ramifications are unpalatable. We have an expression; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Blue suit looked as though he was going to explode. “It is no use talking to these primitives.”

Grey suit glared at him. “It is your house that is not in order, and we have tolerated it for long enough.” She looked at her fellow members and received nods. Blue suit disappeared, most likely transported back to the planet.

Grey suit: “You are, using another of your sayings on earth, “treading on very thin ice.”

Green suit took up the narrative. “We believe you would not adhere to a request to turn around and go back home, so, before you alert the galaxy that you are now participants in intergalactic exploration, take heed of this warning. Not all species are friendly. Most are bound by customs and rules which are nothing like yours, and it is possible you will commit the most heinous of crimes by just acting normally.

In this instance, you may have uncovered a problem that we were not aware of, and lucky for you, is a minor transgression in accordance with our customs. We are no longer those people and will rectify the issue. The prisoner in question will be allowed to remain on your vessel to do with as you wish. If you are to continue your travels, I suggest you do so with caution.”

Grey suit again, “We acknowledge you are not going to go away. So, as the first gesture of friendship between our worlds, we would like you to return the Princess to her home world, and before you do, we will provide you with an advisor to help you navigate the protocols of her world. We will also grant two members of your crew an audience with our scribes who will give you knowledge of our worlds and people, and that of others in this galaxy. The other ship does not get this privilege and must leave immediately. If they do not, they will be destroyed. There will be no negotiation on this matter. Do you agree?”

It was probably the best we could hope for under the circumstances.

“Yes.”

Grey suit to their captain. “I’ll leave you to work on the details.”

With that, the remaining three were gone.

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 4

It’s an unusual topic, but I was looking for a distraction from the rigours of NaNoWriMo, and this fitted the bill perfectly.

For someone who doesn’t really care about sport in general and is rarely able to find the time in between all the writing to actually sit down for several hours, and, in some cases, all day, today seems to have been an exception.

I got through my NaNoWriMo exercise earlier this morning, and since the Maple Leafs were playing today, I thought I’d fire up the computer and take a look at how they’re going.

By the time I’d found the streaming site, the game had started, but it was nil-all, so it was much the same as not missing the start.

I thought it odd that an Australian would be interested in ice hockey, but it seems I’m not alone. Nor that others barracked for Toronto, Ottawa, and Edmonton, and all seem to dislike the New York Islanders with varying degrees of intensity.

Maybe because they’ve won ten straight games.

So, it takes a long time, almost halfway through the third period, for the first goal, and it’s the opposition, the Vegas Golden Knights.

Damn them.

And now I have this sinking feeling the game might slip away. Their form can hardly be labelled stellar, and I thought I heard the home crowd booing them, but that must have been my imagination.

No, my dismay is misplaced, there it is, Mathews comes to life and evens up the scoreline.

And for the rest of the period, the goalie keeps the Golden Knights out. As only the new, is he, goalie can when he’s on his game. Goalies all seem to look the same.

Once again, we’re in overtime, with more heart-in-mouth stuff, and, of course, the man we’ve been missing, Tavares, finally pulls the rabbit out of the hat.

It’s a pity we couldn’t be there in person to see it.

Maybe I could incorporate a hockey game into the spy story…

A to Z – April – 2026 – D

D is for – Delores

…

She spent the first weekend of the month dreaming about the things she was too afraid of doing every other weekend of every other month of her life until one day, something happened…

It was just another one of those dreams, of dressing up, going out to a bar, sitting at the counter sipping on a long, cool cocktail when a tall, dark, mysterious, handsome man slipped into the seat beside her…

“Doris!”

The grating sound that resembled her name came from another room, a voice that was the product of a lifetime of smoking 50 cigarettes a day, a voice belonging to her mother, the woman who was stealing the very days of her life away from her.

Doris was never going to see 30, well 35, alright then 41, again.

“What?”

She should not have yelled back, but it was the umpteenth time that day, and she was tired. Her mother’s hacking cough had kept her awake all night, and it wasn’t getting better. She refused to go into palliative care where they could look after her, preferring to burden her youngest daughter with her care. Payback, she said, for all the years she had to look after Doris.

Not the two older sisters who were married with children, who also got the same care as Doris, which basically amounted to zero. The other two couldn’t wait to get away from home, knowing what was going to happen.

“I need my pills. Where are they?”

“In the yellow bottle next to the bed.”

The old woman knew exactly where they were.

“There isn’t any cold water!”

Doris shrugged. It would be the third time she had refilled the water bottle. What was she doing with it?

She waited another minute, and then went to the refrigerator, got the jug of water, and then went into the room.

It was hot and stuffy, and the window closed. When she had last been in the room, it had been open. There was also a slight hint of cigarette smoke in the room. She had been smoking again, very much against doctors’ orders.

It meant her mother could move around and quite easily have come out. Certainly, if she could go to the window and put her head out, she would attempt to disperse the smoke outside.

Doris filled the bottle. “Next time, come out yourself. You’re quite capable of walking, and the exercise will do you good.”

“You heard the doctor. No excessive movement.”

“Doesn’t stop you from breaking the rules and smoking. You have emphysema, and smoking won’t help it.”

“I’m dying anyway. What do you care what I do?”

“More than you can obviously comprehend. Do whatever you’re going to anyway.”

She turned and walked towards the door. This battle of wills was never going to end, and she knew neither of them was going to win.

“What’s for dinner?”

She stopped and turned around. At first, she was sympathetic, but that was before she realised her mother could be very manipulative. “What do you care. You won’t eat it anyway.”

“That’s because it tastes horrible.”

“That’s because of your treatment. I’m just giving you what the doctor and dietician recommended.”

“Then I’d rather starve to death.”

Doris gave her a glare and left. There was no point arguing with her. All that would do was upset them both.

Respite came once a month when Doris was able to escape for a weekend, which inevitably ended up just staying at a small hotel not far from home, dining in the restaurant, and rising late to have breakfast in bed.

Just not having to wake to the barked sound of her name, “Doris,” reverberating through the passageways of their tiny house was reward enough.

But away from home, she could give free rein to her imagination and wondered what adventures she could get up to in just the course of one day.

This Saturday, she had arrived at the hotel, and the proprietor, Jason Prederfield, greeted her in his usual cheery manner, asked her the same question she had no doubt he asked all the guests on arrival, then gave her the key to the room.

It was the same room each week, overlooking the park and playing fields, which in summer hosted cricket matches and in winter soccer matches. Sometimes she told herself she should go over and watch, but more often, she just sat in the very comfortable old leather lounger chair near the window and read.

She was an avid reader of Mills and Boon romance novels and had brought three with her.

More than once, she had wished that her life would be like a Mills and Boon, but there was no fairy godmother, as there wasn’t a three-wish-granting genie.

If only there was.

She woke with a start, the sound of the book plopping on the ground after it slipped out of her hands, waking her.

It was just beginning to get dark, and soon night would set in. Time to dress for dinner. This time, instead of going down to the hotel dining room, she was going to treat herself at an upmarket fish restaurant not far from the hotel.

She had seen it when out on a morning walk the last few months and decided it was time for something different.

She showered, went through the rigours of applying her ‘face’ more carefully, added style and a ribbon to her hair, then brought her special occasion dress, her version of a little black dress that was less revealing than it could be but just enough to make her feel at least five years younger.

An examination of the finishing product in the mirror told her that her life was not over yet, and maybe something might just happen.

And, even if it didn’t, she had at the very least felt a spark of excitement she hadn’t for a long time.

At the bottom of the stairs, she collected her coat from the rack, and Jason helped her put it on and said that he had not seen her look better, in a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

At the restaurant, she had made the booking in the name of Delores Sparks, using her surname but a change in the first. Doris sounded plain, the name of a woman who would never frequent this restaurant.

While being escorted to her table, she noticed there were about a dozen other diners, married or not, couples, and she could feel the eyes of the men on her.

She ordered a glass of French Champagne, Bollinger, one she had seen advertised, and perused the menu. For some odd reason, it was written in French, perhaps a mistake, but she smiled to herself.

She had taught herself French back in school and was now fluent. One of those dreams was to visit France, but she never quite found the courage to go alone.

Perhaps, after tonight…

The waitress came, stood beside her, and waited patiently. She gave her order in French and then had a quick conversation with the waitress, surprisingly able to speak the language.

It seemed to captivate some of the people around her.

A few minutes later, the maitre d’ came over. “Excuse me, madam.”

She looked up, wondering what the problem could be.

“We have a slight problem which you may be able to help us with. We are fully booked and just realised we have a regular guest whom we cannot accommodate…”

She glanced over to the front door and saw a middle-aged well-dressed man who looked on her opinion, either a banker, a lawyer, or an accountant. He was a rather good-looking man at that. Probably married, the good ones she discovered early on were always taken.

“Would it be possible to share a table? He says he is prepared to pay for your dinner. I will be happy to cover your drinks. He has been here many times, and I can vouch for his good character.”

Another glance, then back to the maitre’d.

“Of course. I accept your kind offer.”

“Very good. This will not be forgotten, Madam, when you return.”

She deliberately didn’t turn around to watch as he was escorted to the table, but as he appeared in front of her, she rose to greet him. In that moment, she felt a little weakness in her knees, a strange reaction indeed.

“I must thank you, Miss, Mrs…”

“Just call me Delores.”

“Delores, what an interesting name. My name is Jackson Courtney, Jack for short.”

They shook hands, a rather peculiar thing to do for her, perhaps not him, but the touch of hands was almost electric. She had to quell her imagination, or she might start blushing.

“Please, sit.”

They did, and the waitresses came over for his drink order.

“I’ll have what Delores is having.”

The waiter nodded and left.

Delores smiled inwardly, noticing how he pronounced her name had that edge to it that might give a little shiver.

“What brings you to this restaurant? I have to say I am somewhat surprised that you are dining alone.”

Oh, God. She hadn’t quite thought that far ahead that she would have a proper and sensible conversation, one that didn’t include her telling him she was a full-time carer for her sick mother.

Delores was far more sophisticated. She took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I try to find a small hotel and a different restaurant every so often after the hustle and bustle of London.”

“There’s no Mr Delores?”

“Is there no Mrs Courtney?” Better to answer a question with a question and work on that air of mystery.

He smiled, and it made all the difference to his expression. Tanned, signs of being an outdoor type, hair lightly receding, but no greying. There was more, but that would do for now.

“Touche. We should not dance on the boundaries. Do you prefer the weather or our health as suitable topics?”

A sense of humour. “Latest movies perhaps, a book, news that doesn’t involve politics, religion or that swamp on the other side of the Atlantic.”

“You don’t like America?”

“Oh, I love the country, I just don’t like half the people. But that’s a woman’s perspective. I suspect a man’s opinion would be different.”

And she swore to herself she was not going to talk politics. “Sorry. My personal opinions are mine and best left in my head. Sometimes I speak without thinking, or perhaps it sounded better in my head.”

“You and me both. I can and have put my foot in my mouth.”

His champagne came, and they decided to focus on the menu. He didn’t speak French.

…

The conversation was at first centred around interests. She did not think that she could tell him that she preferred to sit quietly and read, so she embellished the truth, that she liked taking long walks in the countryside, weekends in towns or cities by the sea, easily accessible by train, as she didn’t drive.

There was a stutter in the flow for just a moment when he learned she did not drive, and it led to a diversion about motor cars, and it seemed he had a passion for expensive vehicles.

She did not ask what type of car he drove.

He liked long walks and seaside towns, with piers.

He liked reading thrillers, adventure, and detective novels, and oddly, he thought, gardening magazines.

It led to the discovery that he lived only a few villages across, closer to London, and he took the train to work each day, and sometimes stayed in London overnight, if he worked late.

Oops, he said apologetically, he nearly stepped over one of the invisible boundaries.

Soup was followed by fish, followed by chicken, followed by bread and butter pudding. He selected the white wine, and she selected the after-dinner port they had with coffee.

Food, wine and coffee tastes were the same.

The restaurant had emptied, and the owner was hovering. It was time to leave.

He stood and helped her with the chair, then accompanied her to the door, where he helped her with her coat. They thanked the owner and left.

Outside, he said, “I must thank you for an excellent evening. I have not enjoyed myself for such a long time.”

“And I, too.” There was a question on her mind, one she wanted to ask but did not have the courage.

“I know this is perhaps impertinent of me, but perchance do you come here very often?”

She was going to say, as many times as you would ask me to, but instead had to temper he reply, taking into account the reality of her situation. “About once a month, though not necessarily here, but not far.”

“Do you stay at quaint hotels. I rather want to believe you have that sort of whimsical nature. I find staying in those modern concrete and glass building have no soul. Creaking stairs and floorboards, strange noises in the night, muffled conversations as they pass your door.”

She smiled. “I can see why you like mystery novels. But yes, I do. I’m staying at one tonight, the Railway Hotel has been there forever. My room is like it has been preserved from the 1800s.”

“What a remarkable coincidence. I’m staying there too. Please allow me to escort you there.”

If he had been anything other than the perfect gentleman, she might have refused, but he had. And why not? Ten minutes more with him would give her enough time to imagine what it might be like…

No… It could never be possible. Once he found out about her mother, the truth of her situation, that would be the end.

It was perhaps fortuitous that he was on the second floor and she was on the third. They bade each other good night in the lift, she stepped out, the door closed, and she was taken up to her room.

Once inside, she leaned against the door and smiled.

“Delores and the retired Captain” was practically writing itself, right there, in her head.

….