Tag: Charles Heath

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 38

It was the orange ribbon

…

“It’s the orange ribbon, isn’t it,” Cecilia said.  “I thought it looked good with the yellow floral summer dress and the fake fur coat.”

I had thought Juliet was just shocked to see Cecelia again with me, that we were possibly having a relationship.  It was something else.

Cecelia looked at me.  “Alfie said Vittoria called Juliet while you were texting me, a bit like ships passing in the night, to tell her she was on her way, and this idiot woman in a fur coat and orange ribbon had almost knocked her off the sidewalk.  I mean, really, people buried in their phones should be knocked off the sidewalk.”

We both looked at Juliet.  I could see she was thinking fast on her feet, then smile at Cecelia, and say, “Wow!  What can I say?  How’s your acting career going?”

“Good actually.  I got a part as a mercenary.  Just need to do the training and figure out how I’m going to survive the Moroccan sun, I mean, with this skin?”

There were two slices of pizza.  “Do you mind,” Cecilia said, “I shouldn’t but it’s been one of those days.”

Juliet nodded.

“Now, Juliet, do you want to revise any answers?”

“Who are you really?  The two of you?”

“We find people.  Or I used to until Larry came after me, and then my boss decided I couldn’t retire, or maybe it was his wife this time.  She’s a good chum of the countess.  It seems if I found her, I can finally go back to my well-earned retirement.  So, one question, did your mother, Vittoria Romano, kidnap her?”

“No.”

No hesitation.  Interesting.

“She is up in your apartment at the moment?”

Juliet looked at Cecilia, reaching for the second slice.

“Yes.”

“How long have you known about her?”

“About three months.  She found me.  I didn’t believe it at first, but apparently, she had to wait until my adoptive mother died before she could see me in person.  It was the agreement they made.  By the way, she shared the money the count paid her for my upkeep and to go to medical school.”

“So, you are his daughter?”

“She showed me the birth certificate.  It has his name on it.  No one was ever supposed to know.”

“Until the money stopped.  Who did she go to?”

“The countess.  My mother had nothing to do with her disappearance.  You should be looking at the family, that Alessandro is a criminal, the whole family are.”

“They’re bankers,” Cecilia said.  “Is there a difference?”

“OK.  If she is not guilty of anything, then she will have no trouble talking to us?”

“I can ask?”

“No.  Not until we’re on the doorstep.  You may think she’s not guilty because she told you so, but unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury.  And you know me well enough to know that I keep an open mind about everything.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You do.  But if we let you go and we find out you’ve lied to us, then we’ll hunt you down, no matter where you are, and we will not be as nice as we are now.”  The way Cecelia said it, it sounded like she relished hunting down criminals and liars.  The words were accompanied by a very mean look.

“Can we finish dinner first?”

“Of course.  I was looking forward to having some tiramisu.”

Cecelia was in a role.  She smiled.  I was glad she wouldn’t be hunting me.

Another small pizza, tiramisu, red wine, coffee and conversation, from the outside could be construed as three friends meeting up and having a leisurely dinner and reminiscing.

Cecelia was genuinely interested in car accident victims, to help her in her auditions, and Juliet was genuinely interested in the movie business.  I was fascinated watching the two women together, wondering if Juliet thought there was something between us.

Back in Venice, that was the impression she was giving Juliet.  Here, I got the occasional glance, and a touch on the hand, the sort of touchy-feely things a girlfriend might do.  I hadn’t thought of her a lot since Venice, but she hadn’t completely disappeared.

By the time we left, most of the other customers had gone, and the staff were cleaning up.  I paid the bill and said I would be back.  Those pizzas were to die for.  We had ordered another just before leaving, to take back for her mother.

If she was there.

Cecelia had gone ahead to make sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting for us, and when we reached the door of her apartment, she was waiting in the shadows.

Juliet got out her key and opened the door, and after opening it, yelled out “I’m home.”  Then she went in, and I followed.

There were two guns pointed at me as I stepped into the room, Vittoria was pointing one at me, and the countess was pointing the other at Cecelia.

© Charles Heath 2023

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 27

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

It’s interesting that no matter how much you outline and plan a chapter when it comes to actually putting words on paper it doesn’t quite run the way it should.

Last night I toiled over the chapter that has the first of the plot twists.

It’s been writing itself in my head, and I’ve been making notes to supplement the plan and take those notes into consideration.

But…

When I wrote it, the first time around, it didn’t seem right. You know what that’s like. It’s not the second-guessing thing, it’s not the being over-critical thing, you write it, walk away, get a coffee, or in my case, a large Scotch and soda water, and go back.

You either tell yourself it’s utterly brilliant, or at the other end of the scale, complete rubbish.

I was somewhere in between, and the cat, who was skulking nearby suddenly found himself a captive critic.

I read it out loud, he made weird faces, and, yes, I could see what was bothering me.

Three hours later, past two in the morning, it was in better shape than I was.

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 26

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Today went well, the book is now almost editing itself, such is the benefit of outlining.

I’m almost sold on the planning idea, but that will sort itself out next time.

The way the story is running, and the additions I have made so far, the story is going to be longer than anticipated.

I’ve just seen a glaring plot hole and will be working to fix that, and then, that opens a can of worms because the ending is now a choice of three.

This is the trouble with rereading and changing and not being satisfied and letting editors tell you what needs to be fixed when nothing really needs to be fixed in the first place.

Damn, it’s just the editing jitters kicking in.

It’s time to get back to the current project and finish it.

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 26

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Today went well, the book is now almost editing itself, such is the benefit of outlining.

I’m almost sold on the planning idea, but that will sort itself out next time.

The way the story is running, and the additions I have made so far, the story is going to be longer than anticipated.

I’ve just seen a glaring plot hole and will be working to fix that, and then, that opens a can of worms because the ending is now a choice of three.

This is the trouble with rereading and changing and not being satisfied and letting editors tell you what needs to be fixed when nothing really needs to be fixed in the first place.

Damn, it’s just the editing jitters kicking in.

It’s time to get back to the current project and finish it.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 18

On a clear day you can see forever.

Perhaps, it just depends on what you want to see.

What I first see, looking at this view, is a horizon that is so far away, I cannot reach it.

Is that the one goal in life that I have?

Or is it time to change that goal and try to reach one that is attainable?

What sacrifice does that entail?

Does it come to pass that you must make sacrifices in order to get what you want?

It’s one of those perennial questions that has an answer, mostly, that no one wants to hear, or wants to be told.

Everything has a price. It’s whether you want to pay for it.

This subject, this situation, is manna from heaven for a writer.

So, for instance…

…

I stood on the edge of the cliff and took in the view, which on any given day could be either magnificent or like being in hell.

Today, while being majestic, it was also like being in hell.

37 days.

I didn’t think I’d last 2.  Yet here I was, having survived the worst that could be thrown at me.

The question was,  did I want to go back, did I want the life that was being offered?

Or was it time to simply walk away?

…

That, of course, is another story, and you’ll have to wait just a little longer to find out.

…

© Charles Heath 2023

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 25

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Having reached the milestone of writing 50,000 words plus, it’s not the time to hang up the pen and think the job’s done.

It isn’t.

I still have a few more chapters to write, to bring the story to a satisfying conclusion.

That I’m still not quite sure about, but I have one conclusion I’ll write and then later if I think of something better I’ll substitute it.

That isn’t to say the end won’t change when it’s time to make a second pass at the manuscript.

Other than that things are going according to plan. This means, I guess, that writing to a plan can work even for someone who doesn’t usually use that method

I will be considering this to plan the sequels for the two series I’m writing at the moment.

But, not to get ahead of myself, I have this project to finish.

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 36

Juliet has a secret identity

…

It bothered me that Juliet was not quite as fazed about being shot at as she should be.  Ordinarily, being shot at would bring on a bout of hysterics at the very least, but she was unmoved.

Was that because, after being coerced into criminal activity by the likes of Larry, and possibly others, she had been expecting something to happen, just not when.  Or did she know that it was quite possibly her mother that was gunning for her?

To me, I would take a less active approach and try to come to some arrangement with the possible heir to a very large estate.  There was no possible way her mother could get it, other than to marry and then kill, Alessandro, after taking care of the countess.  Or gain favour with her daughter and split the proceeds, after killing the other parties.

It seemed a lot of work, to me, and with no guarantees she could remain anonymous.  After all, we knew about her, how many others did?  I was still thinking about how quickly she had recovered from the attack.  I know my heart was still beating quite fast.

“After what happened back at the conference centre, do you think it’s possible we might be gunned down in the street?”

I had been thinking that exact same thought, not moments before, and it would be so easy, without the possibility of being caught.  I had been looking around to make sure there was no one, or anything, suspicious.

We had almost reached the underground station to take us to Russell Square, near where her apartment was.  I was hoping there would be a nearby restaurant where we could get dinner.

“Do you want to be a victim of a possible drive-by shooting?”

“No, but it is possible.  It’s the sort of thing that happens to other people, isn’t it, like real criminals.”

“That only happens to people who double cross or snitch on their bosses or fellow gang members.  Unless you are part of a gang, or thinking of ratting someone out, I’d say that was a result of reading too many crime novels.  I doubt you could classify yourself as a real criminal.”

“Perhaps not anymore, but you know that I was caught up in something I had no control over, at least not the last time.  I can promise you I don’t do stuff like that anymore.  I have a legitimate job, and a lot of respect from my fellow coroners.”

“Then why are you sounding concerned?  What is more concerning is why this isn’t bothering you?”

“Perhaps it’s because as much as I don’t want it to be, it seems that stuff like this happens to me.”

OK, what did she mean by that?  “Has it happened before?”

“Three times in the last month, if I let my imagination run wild.  Two weeks ago, a car came up on the footpath and I thought it was because the driver was trying to avoid a dog.  Very nearly ran me over.  Last week, another car didn’t stop at a pedestrian crossing, an old man, I thought it might be a medical incident.  Today just put those incidents into another perspective.  I’m sure you’ll tell me why eventually.”

I chose not to speak any more about the subject and got her to tell me about the presentation at the conference if only to take her mind off working on a barrage of difficult questions.

That consumed the train trip and the walk to an Italian Restaurant a block from her apartment.  It was reasonably empty before the later dinner rush which suited me; we could sit where I could keep an eye on everything.  I didn’t expect trouble in the restaurant, but maybe later when we left.

If they, whoever they were, knew where she lived.  I still hadn’t seen anyone following us, but it was London, and there were a lot of people about.  And I was still a little rusty.

After we ordered I could see she had been patient enough.  “So, tell me, why are you here?”

I shrugged.  There was no simple way around asking.  “What can you tell me about your mother?”

“My birth mother or my adoptive mother?”

If she was trying to surprise me, it didn’t work.  That she decided to be truthful did.  Given that I had seen the photo of her with Vittoria when she was about thirteen at Sorrento, how did that fit into the two-mother thing?  I guess it was just another question among many.

“Birth mother to begin with.”

“Not as much as I would like.”

“As in you’ve never known, no one told you, or you didn’t want to know?”

“As in I was never told her name, just that she lived in a large house in Italy, and that my father had been someone very important.  It was a condition that I should not be told because she didn’t want me to know.”

“A condition imposed on your adoptive mother?”

“Yes.  She was an Englishwoman who had been a servant in that large house in Italy, a friend of my mother.  My adoptive mother had found me in her room one morning, with a letter, telling her that I would be better off in her care.”

“Did you see your real mother again?”

“Yes.  Once.  When I was a teenager, we were holidaying in Italy.  We went to the large castle or chateau near Sorrento, and I met her and no one else, though my adoptive mother didn’t tell me it was her until after we left.  I have a photograph, the only thing I have of her.”

“Have you ever wanted to find out who she is?”

“Of course, I’ve been to Italy many times, even staked out the house, but I never saw her again.  You said it was possible I could inherit a lot of money.  It is from those people in that house?”

“Do you know who they are?”

“A family called Burkehardt I think.  Are you telling me I’m one of them?”

© Charles Heath 2023

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 25

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

Having reached the milestone of writing 50,000 words plus, it’s not the time to hang up the pen and think the job’s done.

It isn’t.

I still have a few more chapters to write, to bring the story to a satisfying conclusion.

That I’m still not quite sure about, but I have one conclusion I’ll write and then later if I think of something better I’ll substitute it.

That isn’t to say the end won’t change when it’s time to make a second pass at the manuscript.

Other than that things are going according to plan. This means, I guess, that writing to a plan can work even for someone who doesn’t usually use that method

I will be considering this to plan the sequels for the two series I’m writing at the moment.

But, not to get ahead of myself, I have this project to finish.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 11

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt.

…

“Do you remember Nadia?”

Boggs was out the back on the veranda, sitting in an old lounge chair that had seen better days, eating tacos, or at least I think they were tacos.  He offered me one but I didn’t like the look of it.  Aside from the fact I wasn’t a fan of Mexican food.

“One of the Cossatino’s, Vince’s sister, tall, shorts skirts and big, well you know what I mean.”

Statuesque, Amazonian, yes I did.  We all coveted what we couldn’t have.

“The same.  She’s back in town.”

“And this means what to us if anything.  As I recall, the one time we tried talking to her, Vince had his friends rough us up.”

“I saw her with Alex today, in the warehouse.”

I had his attention.  I knew what he was thinking.

“Doing what, as if I couldn’t guess?”

“Alex wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“And we also said that when he fucked Annie in front of the class in the sports hall, not that we knew then what he was doing.”

Good point.  “No.  He told her to get the map from Rico.  Has Rico and her…”

“Dated?  Like Rico would be in her league.  He’d be little more than trash in her eyes.  But, no, not that I’m aware of.  But, if she was to throw herself at him, I’m sure he would react like any other dumb bastard who thinks with his dick and not his head.  But he hasn’t got the map.”

“Yet.”

“I still think I should try to sell it to Alex.”

“And I think if you are looking for a reason for a long hospital stay, that would be it.  You need to be careful where Rico is concerned.  Maybe we should check him out tomorrow.”

“I thought you had a job, and couldn’t get away.”

“My shift has changed to the afternoon, so I’ll be available in the mornings.  Do you know where Rico lives?”

“On his boat.  He has a small cruiser at the docks.  Uses if for, he says, fishing trips for businessmen, but I think he does the drug run from the shipping lanes to a quiet cove.”

“For the Benderby’s?”

“No idea, and don’t care.  But you’re right.  We should check him out.  Tomorrow morning.  I’ll meet you at Al’s fishing shop at about 9:00.”

He’d finished the tacos, and clearly had something else to do, something that didn’t involve me.  I felt a little disappointed.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 24

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

…

I was writing Chapter 29 and suddenly I had a bad feeling. You know the sort of feeling you get, you’ve forgotten something, or there wasn’t a lead into an event which will feel like it came from nowhere…

I’m having one of those moments.

Damn.

I’ve forgotten something.

So, I stopped editing, brought up the last eight chapters and started reading.

No, nothing I’ve forgotten. But there is something.

No point going on. This has to run around in my mind for a bit while doing something completely different, like painting a ceiling.

True, I’m in the middle of painting the dining room ceiling and putting it off to get on with the project. The project has hit a speed hump, so it’s back to the painting.

Halfway through the roof, it comes to me.

A basic error, of not making sure all of the points are covered in the story otherwise the reader will say, ok, you said that back in Chapter 18 and now, why haven’t you realised that something’s going to happen because of your negligence.

I know what it is.

And it will require another chapter.

But first, I have to finish the painting.