This is countryside somewhere inside the Lamington National Park in Queensland. It was one of those days where the rain come and went…
We were spending a week there, in the middle of nowhere on a working macadamia farm in a cottage, one of four, recuperating from a long exhausting lockdown.
It was not cold, and we were able to sit out of the verandah for most of the day, watching the rain come and pass over on its way up the valley, listing to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and nearby leaves.
But as for inspiration:
This would be the ideal setting for a story about life, failed romance, or a couple looking to find what it was they lost.
It could be a story about recovering from a breakdown, or a tragic loss, to be anywhere else but in the middle of dealing with the constant reminders of what they had.
It could be a safe house, and as we all know, safe houses in stories are rarely safe houses, where it is given away by someone inside the program, or the person who it’s assigned to give it away because they can’t do as they’re supposed to; lay low.
Then there’s camping, the great outdoors, for someone who absolutely hates being outdoors, or those who go hunting, and sometimes become the hunted.
Whilst I found this tree house to be interesting, it seems to be far from practical because there was little to keep the wind and rain out, though I suppose, in the book, that might not be such a problem.
Be that as it may, and if it was relatively waterproof, then the furnishings would probably survive, and one had to also assume that much of the furnishings, such as the writing desk below, would have washed up as debris from the shipwreck.
The stove and oven would have to be built by hand, and it is ‘remarkable’ such well-fitting stones were available. It doesn’t look like it’s been used for a while judging by the amount of gree on it. Perhaps it is not in a waterproof area.
The dining table and the shelf in the background have that rough-hewn look about them
A bit of man-made equipment here for drawing water from the stream
And though not made in the era of electricity, there is an opportunity to use the water wheel to do more than it appears to be doing
And tucked away in a corner the all-important study where one can read, or play a little music on the organ. One could say, for the period, one had all the comforts of home.
It was a cold but far from a miserable day. We were taking our grandchildren on a tour of the most interesting sites in Paris, the first of which was the Eiffel Tower.
We took the overground train, which had double-decker carriages, a first for the girls, to get to the tower.
We took the underground, or Metro, back, and they were fascinated with the fact the train carriages ran on road tires.
Because it was so cold, and windy, the tower was only open to the second level. It was a disappointment to us, but the girls were content to stay on the second level.
There they had the French version of chips.
It was a dull day, but the views were magnificent.
It seemed to me that trouble gravitated towards Juliet, especially when I was around. Perhaps between the two of us we had that sort of chemistry going. The sort that attracted bullets.
She had got up to collect her computer from a desk on one side of the dais, and I had just turned after taking her hand to assist her off the dais when I caught sight of a movement out of the corner of my eye, and with barely enough time to consider what it was, I pushed her to one side and dived towards the floor, feeling the plucking effect of a bullet ripping at my sleeve.
“What the…”, was as much as she got to say before she too realised, we were being shot at from the top of the aisle, bullets thumping into the floorboards barely inches from us as we scrabbled to get behind the seats of the first aisle.
Nineteen shots from a silenced gun, then silence.
Was the shooter reloading.
“Is everything alright in here?” A deep male voice yelled out from above.
Was it the shooter of our saviour?
Juliet put her head above the seats and recognised the man and slowly dragged herself up from the floor.
“Mr Roberts.”
“Is everything alright?”
“No. We were just shot at by someone up there on the other side of the hall. Be careful.”
I slowly got up, shook out my clothes and saw the tear from the bullet. Any closer would have hit my arm and another injury.
“Are you alright?” I asked her.
She glared at me. “Who did you bring with you?”
“No one. I made sure no one was following me. Of that much, you can be assured. Whoever it was, they were here for you.”
“And you being here, you know who it is?”
The man from the top of the hall, invisible, yelled out, “There’s no one up here now.”
“You’d better call the police. We have a wrecked floor with bullet holes in it. It might give some indication of who was shooting at us.”
He came out from behind a wall near the top row of seats. “What do you mean, shooting at you? Bullet holes?”
He came down the steps and Juliet took him over to where we were standing when the shots started. “Why would anyone be shooting at you?” He looked at the damage to the floor and groaned.
“This is all I need. The place is booked solid.”
She looked at me. “Evan?”
“It seems you might be entitled to a share of an estate worth quite a lot of money, and there are people who might not want you to inherit what they think is theirs, not yours.”
She had an expression that conveyed a degree of astonishment, not forced, which told me that it was a surprise.
I don’t know anyone who would have that sort of money.”
“Not immediately, but perhaps we should wait for the police, then have a talk about it. I was hoping we could have a few glasses of wine first, but that’s not going to be possible.”
The police came and looked at the crime scene, and then one of the constables called a detective who also looked at the crime scene, who then called in the forensic team.
The hall manager was told the hall would be out of action for a few days, the last news he needed to hear.
The detective asked Juliet a half dozen quests, the usual like, do you know anyone who would want to shoot at you, do you have any criminal connections, a interesting question she answered with a qualified yes, the man was now dead, and did you see anyone suspicious now or earlier in the day, where she was staying, a friend’s apartment in Bloomsbury, how long was she in the city, what she was doing here, and how long was she staying.
It answered nearly all of the questions I’d intended to ask her.
The detective looked at me, asked me why I was there, and was it possible I was the target. Of course, I had to ask him why he thought I was, so he asked me my profession, and I told him that I was a journalist specializing in Archaeology, which I was. She too learned where I lived, answers that seemed to amuse her.
Especially the one where he asked what the nature of our relationship was. I let her answer with exes catching up.
When he was done, an hour and a half later, along with the forensic team, we were allowed to go. Her lecture the next day was now not going to happen, calls going to the organisers, and the hall owners.
“Well,” she said, once everyone had left, “you now owe me dinner, and some of your time tomorrow since I now have a free day.”
“You don’t seem overly worried that people are trying to kill you.”
“Why should I. You’re here to protect me, are you not?”
This is a spot behind a group of restaurants at Victoria Point, Queensland.
But it could be anywhere, like a spot we saw on a boat trip on a river in the Daintree, in far north Queensland
So, this could be a spot, not far inland from the ocean where smugglers, or drug runners come ashore, in a place so remote they would never get caught.
Unless an enterprising federal agent comes up with a plan to track them from the ocean side using satellite images, or reported sightings of suspicious activity.
My money is on a random sighting, a vague report files in a small town police station, and a body washed up in shore, apparently the victim of a crocodile attack. Or not a crocodile.
It cold be a fishing trip gone wrong in a backwater stream, a weekend away by a dialled group of friends, who are not really friends, which all comes to a head when one of the friends go missing.
Or, I’d you like the idea of historical drama, a story about the first expedition from the bottom of Australia to the very top, for the first time, with all the hazards of rivers to cross, paths to create though the bush, the heat, the animals, the local inhabitants who have yet to see Europeans.
To be honest, I would not want to be one of those early explorers, especially those who went inland and struck desert, or died just short of their goal.
Just as an aside, we did learn about these people, Hume and Hovell, Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson, Burke and Wills, and others.
It was a cold but far from a miserable day. We were taking our grandchildren on a tour of the most interesting sites in Paris, the first of which was the Eiffel Tower.
We took the overground train, which had double-decker carriages, a first for the girls, to get to the tower.
We took the underground, or Metro, back, and they were fascinated with the fact the train carriages ran on road tires.
Because it was so cold, and windy, the tower was only open to the second level. It was a disappointment to us, but the girls were content to stay on the second level.
There they had the French version of chips.
It was a dull day, but the views were magnificent.
Whilst a rather important place for the French, for us visitors, it has a convenient hotel located just behind the square, and an underground, or Metro station, underneath.
Added to that was equally convenient cafes, one of which, The Cafe Republique, we had dinner every night. The service and food were excellent, and we had no problems with the language barriers.
At the top of the monument is a bronze statue of Marianne, said to be the personification of France.
Surrounding Marianne is three more statues, representing liberty, equality, and fraternity.
At the base is a lion guarding what is said to be a ballot box.
I reviewed the CCTV tapes and worked out who the countess’s bodyguards were in the hotel, and remarkably traced them leaving the hotel by the back entrance, passing only one camera, one I suspect they didn’t know was there. The reason, it did not belong to the hotel but the owner of the building behind the hotel.
They did not leave with the countess, so the question was, why?
I called the office and asked them to do facial recognition on the two, and then trace their movements, and if they left the country by conventional means.
There was no sign of anyone leaving before or after them. Not for two hours on either side of their departure time. It was another lead, which might lead nowhere.
I called Cecilia to ask her how her investigation into Vittoria was going. She didn’t answer, so I sent her a text message arranging to have coffee at a French Pastry café near where I believed I would find Juliet.
I was still working out how I was going to bump into her.
The auditorium was off the Strand near Charing Cross station not far from the Victoria Embankment Gardens, and of course, a French Pastry café in Charing Cross Road I found quite by accident when looking for Foyles Bookshop.
I was still working on that plan when I stopped to have a coffee and a Mille Feuille.
The best idea is just to go and see if she is there and talk to her. I doubt that she would believe that I just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and perhaps if I just told her the truth…
Whatever approach I made; it was going to be a surprise.
I stood outside the building for a few minutes, thinking if I waited, she might just turn up but she didn’t. If anything, she would be inside, setting up for the following day.
Enough prevaricating, I couldn’t wait any longer. I crossed the road and went in. I hoped that it catered for visitors. At the front desk, I asked whether the organiser of the session that was running in one of the lecture rooms was available, I was attending and had some questions, and she directed me to the hall.
When I entered the room I saw her standing on the dais, fiddling with a control that was in the process of displaying slides on the screen behind her. She looked different to when I last saw her, and I couldn’t help but notice she had a presence about her, even if she was flustered.
Then she must have sensed someone had entered the room and looked up. She recognised me immediately.
“Evan? Is that you?”
“It is.”
I walked down the steps and stopped just short of the dais.
“What are you doing here?”
Good question. I was still not prepared for this moment.
“I read in the paper you were leading a discussion on your pet subject of car accident victim’s trauma, where it was, and I didn’t feel we ended things back in Venice very well. I was surprised to learn you were in London, and I was at a loose end.”
She looked me up and down with a curious eye.
“Someone I don’t think that’s, exactly true Evan. I was told, in a roundabout way, that you were responsible for getting my brother out of the fix he was in, and coincidentally solved my problem too. He was a rather creepy little man who was acting strangely. Please, sit down.”
She crossed to the front row of seats, chose one and sat. I sat two seats away.
“Yes, he needs to work on his people skills.”
“Then you are not who you purport to be. Are you still living in Venice?”
“No. There is nothing to keep me there. I have a place here. For the time being.”
“Are you working?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Does it involve me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“I have been involved in several shall we say enterprises because of circumstances, all of which I have tried to put in the past. I am not that person anymore, and thankfully some of the ghosts are just that. You and I though, I’m not sure what we are? Would you like to buy me dinner and talk about it?”
Was it an invitation I couldn’t refuse?
“Can you drag yourself away from this?”
“I have a computer guru. I’ll call him and ask him to make it work. You can tell me what you’re up to, and why you need my help. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
Whilst a rather important place for the French, for us visitors, it has a convenient hotel located just behind the square, and an underground, or Metro station, underneath.
Added to that was equally convenient cafes, one of which, The Cafe Republique, we had dinner every night. The service and food were excellent, and we had no problems with the language barriers.
At the top of the monument is a bronze statue of Marianne, said to be the personification of France.
Surrounding Marianne is three more statues, representing liberty, equality, and fraternity.
At the base is a lion guarding what is said to be a ballot box.
We have been to Paris a number of times over the years.
The last time we visited Paris we brought the two eldest grandchildren. We took the Eurostar train from St Pancras station direct to Disneyland, then took the free bus from the station to the hotel. The train station was directly outside Disneyland.
We stayed at the Dream Castle Hotel, rather than Disneyland itself as it was a cheaper option and we had a family room that was quite large and breakfast was included every morning. Then it was a matter of getting the free bus to Disneyland.
We spent three days, time which seem to pass far too quickly, and we didn’t get to see everything. They did, however, find the time to buy two princess dresses, and then spent the rest of the time playing dress-ups whenever they could.
In Paris, we stayed at the Crown Plaza at Republique Square.
We took the children to the Eiffel Tower where the fries, and the carousel at the bottom of the tower, seemed to be more memorable than the tower itself. The day we visited, the third level was closed. The day was cold and windy so that probably accounted for the less than memorable visit. To give you some idea of conditions, it was the shortest queue to get in I’ve ever seen.
We traveled on the Metro where it was pointed out to me that the trains actually ran on rubber tires, something I had not noticed before. It was a first for both children to travel on a double-decker train.
The same day, we went to the Louvre.
Here, it was cold, wet and windy while we waited, Once inside we took the girls to the Mona Lisa, and after a walk up and down a considerable numkber of stairs, one said, “and we walked all this way to see this small painting”.
It quickly became obvious their idea of paintings were the much larger ones hanging in other galleries.
We also took them to the Arc de Triomphe.
We passed, and for some reason had to go into, the Disney shop, which I’m still wondering why after spending a small fortune at Disneyland itself.
Next on the tour list was the Opera House.
where one of the children thought she saw the ghost and refused to travel in one of the elevators. At least it was quite amazing inside with the marble, staircases, and paintings on the roof.
Sadly, I don’t think they were all that interested in architecture, but at the Opera House, they did actually get to see some ballet stars from the Russian Bolshoi ballet company practicing. As we were leaving the next day we could not go and see a performance.
Last but not least was Notre Dame with its gargoyles and imp[osing architecture.
All in all, traveling with children and experiencing Paris through their eyes made it a more memorable experience.
The first we visited Paris was at the end of a whirlwind bus tour, seven countries in seven days or something like that. It was a relief to get to Paris and stay two nights if only to catch our breath.
I remember three events from that tour, the visit to the Eiffel Tower, the tour of the night lights, not that we were able to take much in from the inside of the bus, and the farewell dinner in one of the tour guides specially selected restaurants. The food and atmosphere were incredible. It was also notable for introducing us to a crepe restaurant in Montmartre, another of the tour guide’s favorite places.
On that trip to Paris, we also spent an afternoon exploring the Palace of Versailles.
The next time we visited Paris we flew in from London. OK, it was a short flight, but it took all day. From the hotel to the airport, the wait at the airport, departure, flying through time zones, arrival at Charles De Gaulle airport, now there’s an experience, and waiting for a transfer that never arrived, but that’s another story.
I can’t remember where we stayed the first time, it was somewhere out in the suburbs, but the second time we stayed at the Hilton near both the Eiffel Tower and the Australian Embassy, notable only because the concierge was dating an Australian girl working in the Embassy. That was our ticket for special treatment, which at times you need to get around in Paris.
It was the year before 2000 and the Eiffel Tower was covered in lights, and every hour or so it looked like a bubbling bottle of champagne. It was the first time we went to Level 3 of the Tower, and it was well worth it. The previous tour only included Level 2. This time we were acquainted with the fries available on the second level, and down below under the tower.
This time we acquainted ourselves with the Metro, the underground railway system, to navigate our way around to the various tourist spots, such as Notre Dame de Paris, The Louvre, Sacre-Coeur Basilica, and Les Invalides, and, of course, the trip to the crepe restaurant.
We also went to the Louvre for the express purpose of seeing the Mona Lisa, and I came away slightly disappointed. I had thought it to be a much larger painting. We then went to see the statue of Venus de Milo and spent some time trying to get a photo of it without stray visitors walking in front of us. Aside from that, we spent the rest of the day looking at the vast number of paintings, and Egyptian artifacts in the Museum.
We also visited the Opera House which was architecturally magnificent.
The third time we visited Paris we took our daughter, who was on her first international holiday. This time we stayed in a quaint Parisian hotel called Hotel Claude Bernard Saint Germain, (43 Rue Des Ecoles, Paris, 75005, France), recommended to us by a relation who’d stayed there the year before. It was small, and the elevator could only fit two people or one person and a suitcase. Our rooms were on the 4th floor, so climbing the stairs with luggage was out of the question.
It included breakfast and wifi, and it was quite reasonable for the four days we stayed there.
It was close to everything you could want, down the hill to the railway station, and a square where on some days there was a market, and for those days when we were hungry after a day’s exploring, a baguette shop where rolls and salad were very inexpensive and very delicious.
To our daughter we appeared to be experienced travelers, going on the Metro, visiting the Louvre, going, yes once again, to the crepe restaurant and the Basilica at Montmartre, Notre Dame, and this time by boat to the Eiffel Tower. We were going to do a boat rode on the Seine the last time but ran out of time.
We have some magnificent photos of the Tower from the boat.
Lunch on one of the days was at a restaurant not far from the Arc de Triomphe, where our daughter had a bucket of mussels. I was not as daring and had a hamburger and fries. Then we went to the center of the Arch and watched the traffic.
Our first time in Paris the bus driver got into the roundabout just to show us the dangers of driving in an unpredictable situation where drivers seem to take huge risks to get out at their exit. Needless to say, we survived that experience, though we did make a number of circuits.
