Category: Writer

In a word: Green

Of course, it is a colour, one used for traffic lights, grass, and a lot of different shades.

It’s made up of blue and yellow, adjusting the amounts of each to get the shade you want.

I once had a dark green suit.

I don’t have any green emeralds.

When you get a green light, it means to go ahead, or just go, in traffic, or for the starting of a project

And a green run on the ski fields denotes the easiest run – just about my level!

Green with envy, yes, though I’m not sure why they picked green for envy

In England especially, green is a patch of grassy land, usually in the middle of a village

A green worker is one that is new to the job, and usually gets all the rotten jobs

Then there is the biggest money-spinner of all time: going green, which means eco-friendly.

I have only one question, why is it to go ‘green’ is to charge far more than normal

Oh, and by the way, political parties that are eco-centric are usually called the greens

And, these are the same people who chain themselves to trees, deterring bulldozers

The blue sea is really green, believe it or not!

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’.

The cinema of my dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 45

Rodby comes clean

…

I was beginning to believe that it wasn’t half the story I knew, but about a quarter.  How did that little tidbit of information get left out of the official briefing, and accompanying documents.

I knew there was something he was not telling me.  And, worse, I realized now that this was a totally off-the-books operation, and the reason why it was both Cecelia and I, we were expendable if anything went wrong.

Surely Rodby hadn’t thought I wouldn’t find out.  It certainly explained why he was trying to keep it at arm’s length. And left it to Martha to ask me if I would talk to the countess about her problem.

Perhaps I should have told her back in London that the countess did not want me to intervene.  No, she probably wouldn’t listen.  She had to be the older sister, and that made sense the way the countess deferred to her in London.

And why hadn’t the countess told me of this connection?

Stepsisters.

Did Rodby know, or was he, like me, working under the assumption they were simply old friends.  Would she lie to her husband, knowing who he is?  It was another can of worms.

I heard a thump on the table and switched my attention back to Benito.  He was looking at me, with one hand on a rather large handgun. What looked like a relic from the last world war.

It looked like it could do some serious damage and he knew how to use it.

“Now, whoever you are, tell me where you’re from and who you work for.”

“Or you’ll shoot me?”

“It won’t be the first time this gun has gone off accidentally.”

I believed him.  I took a moment to assess my chances of making the distance from my chair to the gun and wrest it away from him.  They were not good.  There was a reason why I was sitting so far from his table.  This man had had to deal with unsavoury characters before.

“I am not your enemy.  As far as I am aware, I was asked to look for the countess, but a man named Rodby, a man I used to work for, and I last met him and his wife yesterday.  The day before that I met a woman who told me she was the countess, and who travelled here yesterday with my partner and two other women. Vittoria and her daughter Juliet.  Again, as far as I am aware, Juliet is the illegitimate daughter of the count and another possible heir to the Burkehardt estate.”

“You said, ‘a woman who told you she was the countess’.  What did you mean by that?”

“You, that gun, and a boss who doesn’t make sense.  I think you’re about to tell me the woman I met, and currently protecting, is not the countess?”

He had to make a decision whether to trust me or not.  And even if he did one wrong word and I would regret it.

“When we first met a month ago, the countess and I created a code that was to preface every communication.  It worked well for two weeks then the code disappeared.  I suspected she had been taken, and when a woman purporting to be the countess turned up in my office, I knew.  She has been kidnapped.  She had no idea of our previous conversations and took the documents I needed her to sign away with her.”

As good a sign that she knew where the real countess was.  Ui didn’t really know who the countess was, so anyone could have been presented to me and I’d believe them.

“If you are working for the kidnappers, I have nothing to tell you.  If you are not, I cannot tell you who has taken her or where she is, and quite frankly I don’t want to.  There is no ransom note, no communication at all.  If that girl out there is looking for the countess, then she must be working for the Burkehardt’s because it is in their best interests to meet with her before the due date to get her final decision.  Once again, are you a friend or foe?”

“Friend.  The first time I met the countess was in London a few days ago when I went to the opera with her.  After that, I was asked if I would help her with a problem, but before I could find out what it was, she disappeared.  Perhaps her pretence had been discovered.  Nothing is ever straightforward, not when it comes to Rodby.”

And if the Mrs Rodby I saw at the opera yesterday was not her, why did they get me to meet her?  I’d be the last person Rodby would want to put on her case because he’d know I wouldn’t accept what I’d been told.  The murky water just got more muddied.  Who would want to kidnap the countess and what did they want from her?  All I could think of was that someone knew she was inheriting, kidnapped her, and had inserted a fake countess to turn up to the ratifying of the will.  Would she become expendable, would they both become expendable after the transaction was complete?

Where did Vittoria and Juliet come in?  Did whoever had taken the countess even know about their interest in the estate?

“I suspect that Mrs Rodby isn’t Mrs Rodby either,” I said, “Which just adds another layer of mud.”  I shook my head.  “When I see Rodby again I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands.  Are you still going to Burkehardt’s solicitors to oversee the signing?  I think we =can assume the fake countess will be there.  I’m supposed to make sure she gets there.  That was one of my mission parameters.”

“I will be, with police officers, and will be exposing that woman as a fake.  Unless you find the real one, or the Burkehardt’s do, though I think it preferable if you or someone else did.  I have consistently advised her that it was not a good idea to marry into the family.  Either of the sisters.  When the Tolliver’s adopted Heidi, she was a troubled girl who had been flirting with the aristocracy and had settled on marrying one of them.  Of course, her parents had a title but not wealth and encouraged her to find such a man so they could all live off his family.  The count was a man who never wanted to be tied to one woman and had an infamous reputation with women, especially the servants, and when you mentioned Vittoria, there was a case in point.  But, the girl she says is her daughter, is not.  I know she has a birth certificate, but it is a very good forgery.  The count was going to marry Martha, there had been an arrangement between the Tolliver’s and the Burkehardt’s, which would have resolved the issues were having now, but Heidi professed that the count had made her pregnant, and the Tolliver’s were not people you just shrugged off, so Martha’s wedding was stopped, and Heidi took her place.  If you want another scenario, just as plausible as all the others, then look no further than Martha.  Everything would have been hers had her sister not interfered with a phantom pregnancy.  Knowing her as I do, and have done for many years, she is very capable of doing something like this.”

Why couldn’t this be just a simple kidnapping by some avaricious monster who wanted everything for him or herself, like a crazy business rival, or make just the mafia looking for a one hundred per cent share?  That would make sense.

“I should just go home and let them all kill each other and that would be an end to it.”

‘If only life was that simple.  I wish you all the luck in the world.  You’re going to need it.”

© Charles Heath 2023

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 1

There’s hanging around, and there’s hanging around

…

So, there I was, hanging half out of the helicopter, shooting a handgun at a truck speeding along a dirt track.

I know, what’s the effective range of a handgun?

The sound of the rotors was still deafening even with the earphones on and as I run out of bullets and was reaching for another clip, I heard a voice crackle in my ears.

“Some fool’s got a rocket launcher.”

That fool was trying to lean out the passenger side of the truck and aim the launcher at the helicopter.

The bucking and swaying of the vehicle nearly tipped him out onto the roadside, but something managed to anchor him, and he was taking aim.

“Now would be the time to peel away,” I said, not knowing if the pilot could hear me.

Our course didn’t deviate, so perhaps he hadn’t.

I calculated the distance between the helicopter and the ground, and the speed we were traveling.  Fast.  Short drop.  Quick landing.  Very painful.

In that moment I saw the rocket leave the launcher, I let go.

There was that instant where you feel disembodied and floating on air.  The same as that few seconds in free fall, just before pulling the rip cord of a parachute.

I hit the ground a rolled, not that I thought it would do much good, and the stopped, just before I lost consciousness.  Somewhere in front of me, there was a huge explosion, and then nothing.

Last thought, I hope the helicopter didn’t land on me.

…

© Charles Heath 2018 – 2023

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 33

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

 

Monica, from the last interrogation, had brought a file.  It looked the same as the last one she brought with her, the one with my name on it.

This time it was thicker.

Intelligence gathering at its finest.  There’d be stuff in there that even I didn’t know about me.

She didn’t open it, just looked at me.

“What have you been doing?”

“Working?”

“For whom?”

“Nobbin, of course.  I am now assigned to his section.  Did you do that?”

“He did.  He tells me you’re working on the O’Connell investigation.”

“Is that what it’s called.  He never told me that.  And I had to find out where I’d been assigned by logging onto a computer.  An email or letter would have made my life a little easier.”

“You’re just lucky you’re still working here.  Now, tell me more about this Severin character.”

“I told you everything I knew the last time you spoke to me.  Apparently, you seemed to know who it was.  Perhaps you might tell me, too.”

“It’s…”

“And,” I interrupted, “don’t tell me it’s above my pay grade.  I was potentially working for traitors and could have finished up in jail for treason.”

“You might still get there.”

Then why hadn’t she had me arrested and thrown in a dungeon the last time we met?  There was an easy answer to that question.  She needed me out in the field.  Nobbin needed me in the field.  They presumably needed me to remain available to Severin for whatever reason.

“What do you want?”

She opened the file, turned a few pages, and stopped at a yellow sheet of paper.  I wasn’t able to read it upside down, but it had very small spidery writing on it.

Then she looked at me again.

“Some secret documents appear to have gone missing.  We believe that is to say Director Dobbin thinks these may have been on a USB drive that was in the possession of O’Connell at the time of his death.  You were there at the time of his death.  You can see where this is going…”

No matter which answers I gave it was the wrong one, which led to do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars, or pounds as the case may be.

“I haven’t got it, and he didn’t tell me where it was, and I saw him die.”

“If you say so.”  She went back to the file and turned some more pagers.

“What do you mean?”

She looked up.  “So far, there’s no body been recovered, or any evidence there was a shooting where you said it was.”

“Are you trying to tell me he’s alive, because if you are, then I must be a very poor judge of people who have no pulse.  He was not about to get up and walk away.”

“Did you see the body removed?”

Now there’s an interesting point.  I had done as I was told and left when told to.  I assumed Severin would sort the problem out, in fact, hadn’t he called in the cleaners?  I saw a white van.

Actually, when I thought about it, I had no idea what happened after I left.  And, now that I remember, I didn’t see anyone get out of the white van.

Could bodies get up and walk?

I was beginning to think they could.

© Charles Heath 2020

“The Document” – the editor’s final draft – Day 29

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.

And so it begins…

…

The finish line is in sight

…

And everything is going to hell in a handbasket.

The end I had all formed in my mind and ready to put down, well, I don’t think I should have gone to bed last night.

I had a dream.

Sounds a bit like a familiar speech, doesn’t it.

My dream wasn’t quite as prophetic, it was a new ending.

Damn.

Had I stayed up and wrote the damn thing as it was, I wouldn’t be here now, trying to pull down walls and re-cement them back together a different way, two hours before the official opening.

I could just scream!!!

Searching For Locations: Disneyland, Paris, France

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.

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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.

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The dining table and the shelf in the background have that rough-hewn look about them

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A bit of man-made equipment here for drawing water from the stream

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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

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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.

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Setting goals, bad idea

Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people who work well to plans, so setting goals is not a good idea.

But…

I did make several new year’s resolutions that I would try and do things differently each year.

Except…

This year, I set a goal to restart editing one of my novels on 1st Feb.  I thought, setting it so far into the year it would be easy.

It would give me the time to clear up all the outstanding writing tasks that have been getting in the way, what are more commonly known as distractions, and be free to finally finish it.

No such luck.

Going away, spending long, sleepless hours flying from one side of the world to the other had fuelled my imagination more than I expected and I now have three stories that need either a continuing plot outline or be written as ideas come to me.

If only I could focus on one story at a time.

So…

I’ve been working hard on getting those stories done, and now that November is approaching, I have come up with a brilliant idea.

I’ll work on the novel then as my NANOWRIMO project.  At least I have completed every one I’ve started over the last four years.

Let’s see if I can stick to it.

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

Searching for locations: The Opera House, Paris, France

This was one of the more interesting experiences for the grandchildren as they were, as all young girls are, interested in ballet.

We thoroughly enjoyed our visit which included some time watching ballet practice.

I could not convince anyone to take the elevator back down to the ground floor as it was suspected we might be ‘attacked’ by the ‘phantom’.  Certainly, the elevator was very old and I think at the time it was being repaired.

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Part of the Grand Staircase in Palais Garnier Opera de Paris

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The ceiling above the main staircase.  The ceiling above the staircase was painted by Isidore Pils to depict The Triumph of Apollo, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opéra.

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The ceiling of Chagall at the Palais Garnier

On 23 September 1964, the new ceiling of the Opéra Garnier was inaugurated with great pomp.  It was painted by Marc Chagall at the request of André Malraux

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Amphitheatre and Orchestra Pit entrance

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Interior, and doorways to boxes

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Box seats in the auditorium

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Ornate ceilings and columns

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Seating inside the auditorium

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The day we were leaving Paris, was the first night of the Bolshoi Ballet.  My two granddaughters were greatly disappointed at missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime, to see the Bolshoi Ballet at the Paris Opera House.

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But we did get to see the principals practicing.