It continued in London – Episode 27

A conversation with a Countess

…

Opera was one of those events most people could take or leave. Violetta loved it and we went often. I went because it was more interesting to observe the people who went.

This time was no different.

Rodby was bored, his long-suffering wife, as I came to believe she was, loved it, and used it as a form of torture, and the countess, well, it was difficult to say. She had other matters on her mind.

I spent the first half wondering what the connection was between Mrs Rodby and the countess, the half-time interval listening to their friendly banter about the old days, discovering they had got up to all sorts of high jinks in a boarding school for elegant ladies of which they were decidedly most not, and then the second half thinking that life was so much easier for the wealthy and powerful fifty years ago than it was today.

In the end, where an opinion had to be professed, I said that had I not been an expert in languages, all of it would have been lost on me. Even so, as a love story with tragedy, wouldn’t it be better to be more upbeat?

Obviously, I didn’t get it. Other than that, it was an opportunity to dress up and meet people you’d never normally get to see.

There was a brief debate in the lobby about where we would finish the night and it ended up being at the hotel where the countess was staying. She made a call, and a room was set aside, with catering.

The countess and I took the chauffeur-driven car, the Rodby’s by their own transport. I was expecting, after the car moved out into the traffic, our exit from the Opera House far more anonymous than our arrival, she would give me an indication of what I was there for.

And then remembered that she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her, and then to be referred to as a potential suitor, not a troubleshooter. That label had been attached later by Mrs Rodby.

But I had to ask, in a roundabout way.

“Have you known Mrs Rodby a long time? I gather it started at school?”

“Boarding school. We were both daughters of diplomats, though my father was a Lord, hers what the English quaintly referred to as a Gentleman. My mother was Italian, very feisty but with no maternal instincts. We used to spend holidays in the South of France at a chateau in Antibes. We lost touch for a while, living in different worlds.”

“She mentioned to me you might need some help. Perhaps a relief for you to know that she was not matchmaking but asked me along for a different reason.”

I watched her expression change several times. Whatever the problem was, it was one she was reluctant to share. Was it an embarrassment, or an errant child in trouble, or something worse? I could not imagine her asking me to ‘retire’ an adversary, an over ardent lover, or a business rival.

“She did say you used to take your wife to the opera.”

“Rather the other way around. She loved it. I tried.”

“I must confess, it was my husband’s thing, not so much for the spectacle, but the hobnobbing, if it could be called that. It was all about ‘being seen’. That, the races, balls, galas, and everything in between. Do you dance?”

“Before Violetta, I used to pretend I didn’t. I had a mother who made it mandatory because you never knew when it would be useful. I fancy she had high hopes I would marry a princess. She didn’t live to find out I did. Not a royal princess, by to me everything but having royal blood. And., yes, I would not have got that second glance if I could not do the tango.”

“Your favourite?”

“After I met her, it was all I needed to know she was the one.”

“It’s curious, is it not, that it takes just one. My moment was the quick step, and I hated it. For a long time, I could never quite get it right, but then the Count turns up, spies me trying to hide on the other side of the ballroom, and picks me out of a gaggle of girls vying for his attention.”

“You were not?”

“I was barely out of school, and totally out of my depth. My mother decided he was going to be the one, and unbeknownst to me had talked up my attributes to the point where I could never fulfil her lofty expectations, or his. I thought, then, one dance and I could go. Damn and blast it was the quick step, and his reputation as a demanding, fussy, easily annoyed with those who fumbled, stumbled, and grumbled, of much renown, I just wanted the floor to open up and suck me it.”

“Up till that moment was it like a fairytale?”

“Odd you should say that, but yes. Up to that moment.”

“Obviously you pulled off the challenge.”

“Somehow, I managed, but in the process, I made a lifelong enemy. Perhaps it is this that your friend alludes to. I mentioned it in passing, but it is of no consequence. The Count’s family will deal with it, as they always have. You need not concern yourself, simply enjoy the evening, and tomorrow life will be as it should be.”

Perhaps she should have told Mrs Rodby that, because I had a feeling my life was not going to be ‘as it should be’.

…

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Searching for locations: Flinders Street Station, Melbourne, Australia

This is the famous clock tower of the Flinders Street Station (the main train station for suburban trains) in Melbourne.

We were staying in a hotel (The Doubletree) directly opposite to the station and our room overlooked the station and the clock tower. I took photos of it during the day:

and this one, at night. It came out better than I thought it would.

Searching for locations: Brisbane botanical gardens, Australia

The flowers were out in full bloom the day we took the grandchildren for ‘a walk in the park’.

Of particular interest was the Japanese garden with a trail with rocks,and mini waterfalls

And as a fitting end to the day, a chance to feed a family of ducks

It continued in London – Episode 28

A new mission

…

When we reached the hotel, the countess was met by a man whom I deduced was her brother-in-law. I stood back because I got the feeling that the meeting was not expected and that his arrival was a shock, rather than a surprise, and not a good one.

I didn’t see her again that night, her personal assistant coming over to advise an urgent matter had come up and the countess was needed elsewhere.

Nor did I see the Rodby’s who it seemed were diverted from coming to the hotel. Rodby called and apologised on the countess’s behalf and left it at that. I went home in the chauffeur-driven car; a small consolation afforded for my participation.

I also got the impression that a certain wife got a bollocking for interfering in matters that were not her concern. She may have thought so, given their close relationship, she could ‘help’, but European families preferred to sort their own problems out in very definitive styles, something we did quite understand.

I doubted I would have been able to help. That phrase, ‘lifelong enemy’ told me that another woman had eyes for the count, and her snafu was unexpected and unwanted. The question was, did it have anything to do with the count’s death. It was a stretch, but Rodby would not have made that small concession if she did not think either of us could be any assistance.

When I got home, I had a few drinks and put it all out of my mind.

…

Three days later I was sitting in the basement briefing room, after being taken down by Rodby and introduced to what he described as the two best researchers in the organisation.

Anthony Bird, and Alessia Lombardi.

And as a complete, but pleasant surprise, sitting at the other end of the table, looking as her cell phone, Cecilia. Was her starring role over? Or was working for Rodby her day job?

She heard me come in, looked up, nodded, and then went back to her phone. Rodby didn’t stay. Nor had he mentioned at any time, from the moment I arrived outside his office, what this was about.

I sat next to her at the end of the table.

When Rodby left, she said, “We meet again.”

“For a retiree, it seems odd, unless you’ve also retired.”

“I tried. A starring role wasn’t a good enough excuse. Good thing they finished filming my scenes.”

“Can I expect to see it soon?”

“It was a pilot. It’ll probably finish up on the cutting room floor.”

We looked at the two standing up at the front of the room, glaring at us.

Anothony said, “If you are finished?”

She threw her phone on the table and looked at him. I shrugged.

“I suppose it’s too much to want this to be a guide to setting up a retirement plan.”

I guess not.

A photograph of the countess suddenly came up on the screen on the wall. Anthony was starting the show, “You will know this woman as Countess Heidi von Burkhardt. She is nominally the head of the international Burkehardt bank, with headquarters in Geneva, and principal branches in Berlin, Rome, Paris, Vienna, and a few other places.”

“A banker. I must have missed that. She doesn’t look like a banker.”

“She isn’t, she inherited the bank from her husband.”

Another photo appeared on the screen; a man I thought looked like a terrorist in an expensive suit. He continued, “Alessandro Burkehardt, her late husband’s brother. Claims he should own and run the bank, that it’s a family company that’s the purview of the male line of the Burkehardt family. Actually, he wants everything she has, and then kick to the kerb for want of a better expression.”

Nice man. He must be the lifelong enemy she had referred to. Looking at him, he was not a man I would willingly challenge to a duel.

“I don’t think we’re here to discuss family squabbles. Money will do that, but it’s not in our purview to settle those scores, is it?”

No answer. Perhaps Rodby didn’t have anything else going on like a megalomanic trying to take over the world this week.

“Bear with us, it gets better.”

Another photo flashed up on the screen, that of a woman about the same age as the countess.

“Vittoria Romano. Alessandro Burkehardt’s current squeeze and a very nasty piece of work. She had already tried to kill the countess twice in twenty years.”

Beautiful but very deadly.

Another photograph came up on the screen, the same woman, but in a photo with three others, two women, the countess, and Mrs Rodby. And a teenager. A girl that looked very much like…”

“Wasn’t that your ex back in Venice, what’s her name yes, Juliet Ambrose?”

Long before she became the disgraced doctor. Long before any of them had become the old ladies there were now.

“This photograph was taken the week before the countess’s wedding. The girl, as you say, has the name Juliet, but she, we now believe, was the illegitimate daughter of Vittoria Romano, and the Count. It’s a very tangled web.

The words ‘lifelong enemy’ came back to me again.

Vittoria. She had his baby, expected him to marry her, didn’t and like any other normal jilted lover, tried to kill the replacement.

“So just the normal complicated Italian aristocratic family secrets fuelling an equally normal feud.”

“Which you two are going to uncomplicate. But first, you must find the countess. She has, as far as we’re aware, not left the country, and hasn’t been seen since she left the hotel shortly after coming home from the Opera. You were there, I believe.”

“I escorted her to the hotel, and when we arrived, she was intercepted by someone who looked a lot like Alessandro Burkhardt.”

“Most likely Fabio Burkehardt. He had an altercation with the check-in staff over a lost booking, and shortly after that, she checked out. A half hour later the surveillance team lost her. We have her last known location and direction she was heading.”

Alessia came down with two folders and gave one to me and one to Cecilia.

“Everything we have on the relatives, those in the country at the moment, possible locations she could be staying, or being held, and background on the family’s issues. There’s a list of properties overseas where she may have gone, but we have no active record of her leaving.”

“Planes or ferries are not the only means,” I said. “Does she or any one of the family own a yacht?”

“She does, but it’s moored at Antibes. It hasn’t moved for over a month.

“I’m assuming Alfie is out there and will be the go-between?”

“Yes. Oh, and one more thing. There’s a bit of an urgency to this because if the countess is not in Geneva in five days’ time to sign the transfer documents, passing complete ownership of everything the Count possessed, she forfeits it to the eldest brother.”

“Doesn’t point a finger at him at all does it,” Cecilia muttered.

Anthony switched off the projector and put all the papers into a folder. “The clock’s ticking. Daily reports to the Chief are mandatory.”

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

We have stayed in two different types of accommodation in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, as a timeshare owner who can trade their week for a week anywhere in the world.

Both are resorts, but different sorts of resorts. The first was a typical RCI resort, where everything is laid back and relaxing, with all the amenities one can expect from a resort.

The other, this one, the Wyndham in Coffs Harbour, is very different, and you notice it when you walk in the front door. You are virtually assaulted by hard-nosed timeshare sales staff who really don’t take no for an answer, and then when you finally escape, ring you every day to make an appointment.

I left the phone off the hook.

Aside from that, the place is excellent, the accommodation very good, and the situation one of the best with what could be called a private beach. There are also a number of bushwalks that cater to old people like me.

As you can see, lakes and greenery, and even a putting green.

And in places, they try very hard to hide the ugly multi-story buildings in amongst the trees

It is only a short walk to the ‘private beach’ and it is sufficiently long enough for a morning walk before breakfast. You could even try to catch some fish for breakfast, though I’m not sure if anyone actually caught anything

Or you can just stare out to sea

And, back in the room, this is the view we had from our verandah

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 9

…

I remeber once being told that if you shoot for the moon, you’ll land in the clouds, if you shoot for the tree tops, you’ll finish up back where you started from.

It was a silly analogy, but I always remembered it when I looked up at the sky and saw clouds.

That was back in those hazy carefree days just after you were finished with school and you had your whole life in front of you. Your parents were there as the safety net, and were still proud of your scholastic achievements, and were not in too much of a hurry to hustle you out of the house.

But what happened when there’s a recession that came upon everyone without any warning.

Stocks plummeted, people lost their life’s savings, those with mortgages and loans suddenly finding that along with unemployment came no income, no ability to pay the bills, and therefore lost everything.

Although I never said it, I was thinking what good was an education when the whole world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Two things I remember from back then, which in the context of disaster, wasn’t all that long ago. Firstly, my father making us children go camping from before we could walk, and with it, to survive with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and our wits.

It had happened to him, as a member of am expedition in Africa in his younger days, thinking that he might become the next great explorer, or archeologist, and finishing up getting lost, even though he asserted the other members had deliberately left him behind.

And secondly, that it was essential that we forge working relationships with any and all those who were like minded, such as those who wanted to be saved, not those who expected everyone else to so the work. It was obvious he had met a lot of those type of people too.

It served us well.

When nations began turning on each other, when essential resources like electricity and fuel stopped being distributed and rationed, when food suddenly became scarce, that’s when the real trouble started. My father said, at the outset, what would happen, and was glad our mother was not there to see it.

Then, when neighbours attacked neighbours once food became scarce, it was time to leave. The pity of it was, he died defending us, even after offering up some of the food we had stored away, but that had not appeased a hungry or angry mob.

His last words, “Go to where we said we would go, and remember everything I’ve taught you” were etched in my brain, and my brother and I did as he asked.

But, even knowing where we had to go, and how to get there, a plan of action made many years before, and trialled in recent years with success, nothing in the past could have prepared us for the journey.

It was, literally, time to shoot for the moon.

—

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

We have stayed in two different types of accommodation in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, as a timeshare owner who can trade their week for a week anywhere in the world.

Both are resorts, but different sorts of resorts. The first was a typical RCI resort, where everything is laid back and relaxing, with all the amenities one can expect from a resort.

I left the phone off the hook.

As you can see, lakes and greenery, and even a putting green.

And in places, they try very hard to hide the ugly multi-story buildings in amongst the trees

Or you can just stare out to sea

And, back in the room, this is the view we had from our verandah

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 26

I have a small job

…

The trek from the car, along the red carpet, the flashing cameras, and reporters with microphones shoved in faces, was the longest 50 yards I’d ever taken.

To say I’d prefer to negotiate a minefield was an understatement. She was polite, smiling, answering questions, and doing the red-carpet thing if that was what it was.

I remained in the background adopting the bodyguard stance, not that of a partner or escort, guiding her on at the appropriate moment, and they left me alone.

Bodyguards were not news just an accouterment to the rich and famous. I was glad that I fitted into the suit and didn’t look out of place.

On the other side, in that magical land of peace and quiet, an area that was reserved for the VIPs, I got a momentary look into a world that few were ever privy to.

Being a Royal Command Performance, I also got the unexpected surprise of being introduced to members of the Royal family, scary stuff indeed. I’d only ever seen them in the papers and on TV, and oddly never in a good light.

How different they were in person.

Rodby seemed ill at ease, Martha in her element, and the countess took it all in her stride, perhaps showing that she was born into that life rather than acquiring it.

I’d found a quiet corner and Rodby it seemed had too.

“Another of your white lies comes home to roost. You ask why I won’t come back, and this evening is all the proof you need.”

“It wasn’t anything to do with me. Orders from above.”

“You don’t answer to anyone.”

The wry grin said otherwise. “We all have our masters.”

“Who is she?”

At the moment she was across the room deep in conversation with one of the Royal party.

“A woman with a problem.”

And then it all became clear. “This is low, even for you.”

“Not me. This is Martha’s doing. She has this unaccountable belief in you, which is surprising since I’ve never told her what it was you used to do.”

“And yet here we are.”

I was going to make a point of talking to Martha if only to dispute his account. He could have chosen any one of a hundred more qualified people and yet here I was. I had to believe it was not Martha’s intention for me to be here other than as a prospect for her friend the Countess.

“Indeed.”

The accompanying sigh was due to Martha making her way over to us. His brief moment of solitude was over. I doubted Rodby had any time for what he called schmoozing, nor would he suffer the protection types that were in abundance in that room. It reeked of wealth and privilege.

“There you two are.”

“I don’t like crowds,” I said. At least I had a viable excuse.

She glared at Rodby. “Go and make yourself amenable. I want a moment with Evan.”

His dismay was complete. I could tell he would rather face down a horde of enemy soldiers than face those people currently in the room.

After a moment where he might have considered an entirely different scenario, he thought the better of it and meandered off in the direction of the bar.

This was a Rodby I’d never seen before.

“Now, what are you doing with yourself these days? Alan tells me you are adrift now Violetta is not there.”

How kind of him to say so. Had I completely misjudged him, and this was going to be his pitch, by someone he knew I couldn’t say no to.

“I would not call in exactly adrift.”

“You know what I mean. I’m sorry that I haven’t managed to catch up but I’ve been working on getting him to decide it’s time to retire.”

“I’m not sure what I could do to help you in that regard.”

“You don’t have to. I have something else I would like you to do for me. Heidi is one of those formidable forces that have the ability to take on the world, and beat it, but not when it comes to handling problems of her own. The count, God bless him, used to take care of all that nonsense, but he’s not here, so, given what Alan has told me about you, nothing but glowing references I have to say, could you help her out?”

What could Rodby possibly say about me when he was sworn to secrecy? In fact, why would he mention me to Martha above anyone else? I was just an errand boy in terms of acquaintances.

“What exactly did he say?”

“Nothing of any importance other than to say you were a good man in a crisis.” She smiled. “And we both know that could mean almost anything from catching a mug of coffee before it splashed over a tetchy diplomat to saving a pilotless plane about to crash into a mountain. What I’m asking will not involve either of these scenarios or at least I hope not.” Perhaps she just saw my expression, a mixture of curiosity and dismay. “I’m not selling this very well, am I?”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to sell.”

The bell rang to signify the audience to head for their seats, or in our case, a box. Opera was so much better from the boxes, particularly when those below looked up in awe, expecting to see a celebrity.

“We’re having drinks after the opera. We’ll talk more then.”

Rodby was walking over with the countess.

The look on his face was priceless

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

We have stayed in two different types of accommodation in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, as a timeshare owner who can trade their week for a week anywhere in the world.

Both are resorts, but different sorts of resorts. The first was a typical RCI resort, where everything is laid back and relaxing, with all the amenities one can expect from a resort.

I left the phone off the hook.

As you can see, lakes and greenery, and even a putting green.

And in places, they try very hard to hide the ugly multi-story buildings in amongst the trees

Or you can just stare out to sea

And, back in the room, this is the view we had from our verandah

Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance

One writer's experiences, and battles with words

Category: Travel

It continued in London – Episode 27

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

Searching for locations: Flinders Street Station, Melbourne, Australia

Searching for locations: Brisbane botanical gardens, Australia

It continued in London – Episode 28

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 9

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 26

Searching for locations: Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia, and resorts Wyndham style

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One writer's experiences, and battles with words

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