Tag: Fiction

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 13

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

I remained on the spot, not moving, for at least five minutes before I let out a sigh of relief.  It would be relatively safe because I had heard them walk off, following the river, and Jack, as my eyes and ears, had been out and had come back,. tail wagging slightly.

I was hoping he was not in league with Jackerby.

“So,” I said quietly to him, “you think it is safe out there?”  To be honest, I was not sure why I was asking the dog, or, for that matter, if he understood a word I was saying.

I  took tail wagging as a good sign.

Until, all of a sudden he went quiet and very still again, ears up and listening.

Then, I heard what he had heard.  The cracking sound of a foot on a twig or dry branch.

From behind me.

We both turned slowly.

An Italian man, about mid 30’s with a dated rifle in his hands, aimed at my head, not twenty feet away.  I was not going to take the chance he couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.

“Who are you?”  He started with schoolboy German, obviously not his first language.

The problem I had was deciding whether he was the traitor, or with the resistance that hadn’t been betrayed.

“Not a German for starters,” I said.

I noticed Jack was standing very still with teeth bared.  He didn’t like this man.  Perhaps he too didn’t like the odds of rushing the man with the gun.

“Englander?”

The way a German would call an Englishman.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Are you from the castle?”

That was a trick question if I say no, he wouldn’t believe me, and if I said yes, I’d be tarred with the German brush.

“I escaped from there, so in a manner of speaking, yes I am from the castle.”

“Name?”

It couldn’t hurt to tell him.  “Sam Atherton.”

He let the gun drop, but it was still in a position to shoot me if I tried anything.

“Are you from the resistance?  I mean the group that hasn’t been compromised by a traitor?”

“I don’t know anything about the resistance if there is one.  I’m a farmer, trying to go about his business in the middle of a war.  What are you doing here?”

It might seem to anyone rather odd to be standing around in the woods.  “Hiding from two men who have come from the castle to follow me.”

He looked around.  “Where are they now?”

“Supposedly following me into the village, in that direction,” I pointed to where I thought the village was, “where I’m supposed to be leading them to the resistance, which, you said, doesn’t exist.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t exist, only that I don’t know anything about it.  What makes you think there is a resistance unit in these parts?”

Good question.  And, depending on what side he was on, still to be determined, I was not going to give them away.  “I’m acting on some sketchy intelligence we got in London, along with the possibility that the men in the castle, who are supposed to be Englanders, as you call them, but who are actually working with the Germans.  Seems they were right on one count, because they caught me and put me in a cell, and possibly wrong, according to you, on the other.”

“How did you manage to get away, if you were in a cell.”

So, here comes the part that sounds totally improbable.  “One of the two men following me broke me out.”

Yes, the look on his face said it all.

I shrugged.  “Ask the dog.  He’ll tell you.  His name is Jack by the way, but I’m not sure if he understands English.”

The dog went still again and turned his head.

Another crack, another person in the undergrowth, coming from the other side of the bushes.  My first thought, my two pursuers, realizing they’d lost me, had circled back to find me.

The man in front didn’t raise his gun, so it was someone he knew.

“Who is he?”

A woman’s voice.  I turned my head slightly.  She was older, perhaps this man’s mother.  She had a pistol in her left hand.

“Claims he escaped from the castle.”

“They all do.”

I heard a soft bang, and then something in my back, like a needle.

Seconds later my heard started spinning, and few more seconds later my legs gave out, and darkness followed.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

A moment to slip back into the past

Television is a great recorder of the past, and most channels, and especially cable tv have great libraries of films that go back more than a hundred years.

And, whilst it’s possible that modern-day films and television series can try to recapture the past, the English as an exception being very good at it, often it is impossible to capture it correctly.

But, if you have a film shot in the moment, then you have a visual record of what life, and what was once part of our world before you in all its dated glory. The pity of it is that, then, we never appreciated it.

After all, in those particular times, who had the time to figuratively stop and smell the roses. Back then as life was going on, we were all tied up with just trying to get through each day.

Years later, often on reflection, we try to remember the old days, and, maybe, remember some of what it was like, but the chances are that change came far too rapidly, and often too radical, that it erases what we thought we knew existed before.

My grandmother’s house is a case in point. In its place is a multi-lane superhighway, and there’s nothing left to remind us, or anyone of it, just some old sepia photographs.

I was reminded of how volatile history really is when watching an old documentary, in black and white, and how the city I grew up in used to look.

Then, even though it seemed large to me then, it was a smaller city, with suburbs that stretched about ten or so miles in every direction, and the outer suburbs were where people moved to get a larger block, and countrified atmosphere.

Now, those outer suburbs are no longer spacious properties, the acreage subdivided and the old owners now much richer for a decision made with profit not being the motivator, and the current suburban sprawl is now out to forty or fifty miles.

The reason for the distance is no longer the thought of open spaces and cleaner air, the reason for moving now is that land further out is cheaper, and can make buying that first house more affordable.

This is where I tip my hat to the writers of historical fiction. I myself am writing a story based in the 1970s, and it’s difficult to find what is and isn’t time-specific.

If only I had a dollar for every time I went to write the character pulling out his or her mobile phone.

What I’ve found is the necessity to research, and this has amounted to finding old films, documentaries of the day, and a more fascinating source of information, the newspapers of the day.

The latter especially has provoked a lot of memories and a lot of stuff I thought I’d forgotten, some of it by choice, but others that were poignant.

Yes, and don’t get me started on the distractions.

If only I’d started this project earlier…

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 10

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

John is in Vienna, Austria.

It’s been quite some years since we were in Vienna, and I remember it was a very pleasant experience, and the copious notes and photographs I took have aided in the writing of this chapter.

There is no doubting the zeal Worthington will put into the capture or assassination of Zoe, if and when she is discovered, and John would be horrified if he knew he was being used in such a manner.

At times it is going to be a bit like reading an Eric Ambler thriller, going to the hotel, getting information from concierges, and then tracking her movements. Money, as always, speaks one language, pay enough and you will find out what you want to know.

We know Zoe is languishing in a basement somewhere in Bratislava.

John is about to find out that is where she went, but searching for someone in Bratislava is going to be completely different from searching for someone in Austria.

The same rules don’t apply in Hungary.

…

As for our visit, we stayed in the Hilton Vienna Park, though the park had a different name then. It wax also when we have our first authentic Vienna Schnitzel and sampled Austrian cherries.

From there we took the train to Schonbrunn Palace, with its extensive gardens and maze, and the impressive architecture, old rooms and paintings, and at the end, so many sets of crockery.

There was also a kitchen nearby that made Apple Strudel, where we watched it being made and then had a slice to taste afterward.

We also went to a Wiener Palace which served a large and varied number of sausages.

Unfortunately, there were no music recitals or orchestral events at the time of our visit.

…

Today’s writing, sampling the best Vienna had to offer, 2,731 words, for a total of 28,973.

The A to Z Challenge – H is for – “Have you any idea…?”

Most children, when they turn 18, or 21, get a car as a present for their birthday.  In fact, I had been hoping, in my case, they would buy me a Ferrari, or at the very least, an Alfa Romeo, blue to match my older sister’s red.

Hope is a horrible thing to hang on to.

Instead, I got a seat at the table.

Not an actual seat but joined the other 7 family members that comprised the management group for the family-run business.  One would retire to make way for new blood, as they called it.

“This is how it works and has done for a hundred years.  In your case, you will be replacing Grandma Gwen.  You will be given an area to manage, and you will be expected to work hard, and set an example to your employees.  There will be no partying, no staying home when you feel like it, and definitely no getting into trouble.  And for the first three years, you will sit, be quiet, listen and learn.  One day, down the track, you will become the CEO.”

“If we’re still in business.”  It didn’t take much to see that the company was struggling, as indeed many others were in the same industry, cheap imports and changing tastes taking a huge toll.

But we had been making exclusive and distinctive furniture for a long, long time, and discerning people who wanted a reminder of an elegant past still bought it.  Part of my training, before I got that seat, was to learn the trade, and like all members of my family, could build a chair from start to finish.

It was part of the mantra, lead by example.

…

On the second day in my new role as manager, I arrived at the office, grandma Gwen was throwing the last of 50 years’ worth of stuff into three large boxes.

It was no surprise that she was resentful at being ousted to make way for me, not that she needed the money, but because even approaching 90, the last thing she wanted to do was retire.

I got the cold stare when she saw me, and, on her way out, a parting shot, “Don’t get comfortable, sonny, they’ll be closing the doors in three months, even sooner.  Your father hasn’t a clue how to run the place.”

Out on the factory floor, the eight specialist workers didn’t exactly give her the goodbye I expected, showing that she didn’t have their respect.  The foreman, Gary, the man who had shown me the intricacies of the work, opened and closed the door for her, shrugged, and headed back to the office.

The others went back to work.

When he came into the office, his expression changed from disappointment to amusement.  He had said, years ago when I was very young, I’d be sitting in that office one.

Now I was there, though the chair, plush and comfortable when new about 50 years ago, was now as old and tired as the office’s previous owner, was hardly a selling point for the job.

“Told you you’d be sitting in that chair one day.  That day is here.”

“Maybe not for long, though.”

“Don’t pay no mind to Gwenny.  She and your father never got along.  She wanted to sell the business 20 years ago when it was worth something, but your Dad wanted to keep the worker’s jobs.  It’ll be a different story in a few years, once we’ve all gone.  No one wants to be an artisan anymore.  And wires, it’s all about furniture in boxes, all veneer and plastic, and a two tear life.”

“Shouldn’t we get a slice of the veneer and plastic market?”

“Can’t beat the overseas factories at their own game.  The trick is to diversify, but to do that we’d need to retool, and repurpose factory space and that costs money, big money.”

With all that stuff I learned at University, economics, management, and design, it might have been better to have taken the medical path, but I had been convinced to lay the groundwork to take over the company one day.

Back then, it wasn’t a possibility the company would not go on forever.  It seemed odd to me that my father hadn’t said anything about the situation Gary knew so well.  Did he not listen to those who knew most?

“So, what’s the solution?”

“That depends on you.”

This was not the job I signed up for.

What did I know about furniture?

It didn’t matter.

It was about manufacturing in a world economy, and the point was, that we could not compete.  Like the car industry, there was nothing but foreign imports and rebadged imported items made overseas.

So what was my role?

I was sure that every conclusion I had come to, everyone else around the table was painfully aware of too.  A short discussion with my elder sister confirmed it.

It was like being aboard the Titanic and watching it sink firsthand.

That seat at the table was in an ancient wood-paneled room with a huge table that seated 24, a table and matching chairs reputedly hand made by the first owner of the company, my so-many times great grandfather, Erich.

The room reeked of wood polish, the mustiness of age, and a deep vein of tradition.  Paintings on the walls were of every CEO the company had, and the first time I was in that room was the unveiling of my father’s portrait.

It was like stepping into a time warp.

Alison, my father’s PA was just finishing up setting the table for the meeting that morning.  She had Bern around for a long time, so long I could remember her when I was a child.

She looked over as I stepped into the room.

“You’re just a little early.”

“Just making sure I know where I’m going.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.  It won’t be much different from sitting down to a family dinner, only a few less than normal, and I suspect there won’t be too many anecdotes.”

“It can be quite serious, but your father prefers to keep it light, and short.  Your grandfather on the other hand loved to torture the numbers with long-winded speeches and religious tracts.”

Small mercy then.

“Where do I sit?”

“Down the end in the listen and don’t speak seat.  It’s where all new members sit for the first year.”

That was twice I’d been told.

There were eight family members, the seven others I knew well, some better than others.  I’d seen arguments, words said that were better unsaid, accusations, and compliments.  I’d seen them at their best and at their worst.

It would be interesting to see how they got along in this room.

It started with an introduction and mild applause at my anointment to the ‘board’.

Then the captain of the Titanic my father as the current CEO, read out the agenda.

No icebergs expected, just plain sailing.

I sat, and I listened.  It was easy to see why it was plain sailing.  The family had made its wealth generations ago when our products were in high demand, and we had been living off the wealth generated by astute investment managers.

But even so, the business could not keep going the way it was without being an ever-decreasing drain on resources.

We needed a plan for the future.

“Now, if there’s no more business…”  My father looked around the table, his expression telling everyone there was no more business, and stopped at me.

Was that my cue?

“I’m sorry, but I can’t sit here and pretend this place isn’t going to hell in a handbasket.”

“It may or it may not be, but that is none of your concern.”

The tone more than suggested that I should stop, right now.  Of course, if I had the sense expected of me I would have, but if I was going to make a contribution, I might as well start now.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?  We need a plan for the future, we need to be doing something.”

All eyes were on me.

I’d never seen my father so angry.  At that moment I thought I’d pushed it a little too hard.  To be honest I don’t know what came over me.

He glared at me for a full minute.  Then as if a thought came to me that moment, there was a slight change in expression.

“Then, I have a proposition for you.  I want you to work on this plan you say we need to have, what you think will be best for the company, and the family, for everyone, for the future.  I believe everyone here will agree on something, as you say, that needs to be done.”

There were nods all around the table.

Then, looking directly at me, he said, “if there is nothing else.  Good.  Our business is done.”

© Charles Heath 2022

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 21

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 we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

“Why are we still here,” Boggs asked.

A small crowd had gathered to watch the police, some vocal about them finally doing what they should have some time ago.  Very few people liked Rico and rumours were rife about his alleged participation in trafficking drugs.

The fact the current Sherriff hadn’t arrested him before now was said to be because he was corrupt, but nobody would say so out loud.  I felt sorry for the Sherriff because my mother said he had made it quite clear he was not working for anyone but the city that employed him, and that no one was above the law.

But I’d only heard one person question why he was not here, using the event as part of his campaign for re-election.

“Curiosity,” I said.

“About what.  I thought the situation explained itself.  Rico’s finally been caught red-handed.”

“I’m not so sure/it was him.  Were you watching the boat the whole time when you were waiting for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were, you would have seen him on the boat, join the others and leave.  Did it look like they were killing a man below deck?”

How the hell should I know?  As you said, it was below deck.”

“But the boat would have been moving, well, the mast really.”

“With the wash coming towards it from the fools who drive their boats too fast.  Good luck with that.  Do you want Rico to get off, and then come terrorize us.  That’s what’s going to happen if they let him go.”

“I don’t think so.”

Despite his protestations, Boggs was as interested in what was unfolding as I was.  Only I suspect he wanted to see Rico locked up, if possible, forever.  Quite a few people would, and none more than the Benderby’s.

Boggs might not realise it, but his quest for the treasure was at the heart of this.  Had Rico tried to double-cross the Benderby’s?  He was trying to get Nadia to steal the map from Rico, and perhaps Rico had discovered Benderby was trying to cut him out of the deal.

Had Rico threatened them, and was this how they rep[aid disloyalty?

Or was it my original thought, that the Benderby’s were looking for an easy target?

“I’m going.  Coming?”  Boggs had lost interest.

“No.  Not yet.  I want to see what Alex is going to do.”

“Alex Benderby?  What’s he doing here?”

“He just conveniently arrived on his father’s boat, which means he wasn’t very far away.”

“Of course not.  They’ve been having engine troubles for the last month.  They were probably out testing the repairs.”

“How do you know that?”

“Rico.  He thinks it’s hilarious they spent so much money on that boat and haven’t got a full day of sailing out of it.  More money than sense, that lot.”

I looked in the direction of Alex’s boat and he was coming ashore.  So were the divers, now out of their suits and dressed casually, and for the sake of looking normal, with three women, one of whom looked like Nadia.

“Anyway, I’ve decided,” he said, “we’re doing this treasure hunt on our own.  I don’t trust anyone but you.  It was a mistake thinking Alex would help.  Call me tomorrow when you’re free.  We have to start planning.”

“OK.”

I didn’t see him leave.  I was too busy watching the group with Alex.  It was Nadia, and she was looking very cosy next to him.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Sayings: Irons in the fire

There is an expression you hear a lot, here, there, and everywhere when referring to someone who is very busy, ‘oh, he has a lot of irons in the fire’.

These days we use it as an analogy not to have too many things on the go at the same time, and, in the end, none of them will be finished properly, or finished at all.

There are two old-time literal meanings that can apply to this analogy, the first being that in laundries, they used to have their irons in the fire, warming so that clothes could be ironed. Having too many meant sometimes one would be left too long, and end up scorching the clothes being ironed.

Hopefully, that didn’t happen to a very expensive dress!

The second meaning came from a blacksmith’s foundry where he had iron bars in the fire, heating up so that they could be worked on. Having too many in the fire at once sometimes meant that one became overheated, and ruined.

Conversely, having too many pieces of iron in the fire might cause the fire to be too cool to heat any of the metal bars.

These days, a lot of people need to have a lot of projects on the go at once, in the hope that one or more might suddenly become a winner.

Sadly, that doesn’t happen very often.

And, no, buying a lot of lottery tickets hoping one will win, that is not very likely either.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 73

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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Charlene, and speaking to Boggs

…

She had been one of the few nice girls at school and we had got along better than most.  Boggs had once told me she liked me but was disappointed I hadn’t noticed her.  I suppose, back then, I didn’t recognize the signs, and even now, I was still all at sea with girls.

Was she Boggs’s girlfriend?  If she was, it was the best-kept secret.

“Hello Charlene,” I said when she also looked up to see who had entered the room.

“Sam.”

“Are you…”

Before I could finish she interrupted, “I’m working in the sheriff’s office, and dad asked me to keep a watch over Boggs.”

“You don’t have to be in the room,” Boggs growled.  “It’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”

It was hardly a conciliatory tone.  And a mental note, Boggs was uncharacteristically angry. With her, or with me?

“My father asked me to do a job, so here I stay.  It’s for your protection as much as anything else.”  Then, to me, “how are you, Sam?”

“Good.”

“I understand you found him on the beach belonging to the Cossatino’s.  Odd place to be, Sam, for you at least?”

“Nadia and I were searching the coastline for coins with metal detectors when we stumbled over a body.  Thought at first it was a beached shark.”

Boggs turned his head back.  “Whose idea was it?”

Curious response and I thought about telling him it was mine, but something told me to tell the truth. “Nadia.  And before you ask, no, I don’t think she had any other idea in mind because as you and I both know, there’s no access from the ocean to the shore through the reef.  That much I ascertained for myself, and that goes for the whole coastline of The Grove.”

If he had looked down from the top of the cliff face, at any point along the coastline he would have seen that for himself.  But, that might not always have been the case because there were almost two centuries and a lot of seismic activity in between.  I’d seen the big A, but no other evidence it might be the spot, but Boggs had been there, and it was likely he knew it a likely spot too.

He nodded, which meant he had checked himself, which gave him a reason for being at The Grove, but not finishing up where he’d landed.  There was something else in his expression and had I not had the knowledge I had, I would have ignored it.

“Why look for coins then?”

“Something to do, I guess, since you’ve stopped asking me to help you.  That and doing a little investigation on the side.  I’m amazed at just how much information there is out there, and it’s a battle to sort fact from fiction.  And I didn’t have the head start you have.”

“You do realize Nadia is a Cossatino.  You can’t be consorting with the enemy.”

“I thought she was just someone to hang out with since we hadn’t hit it off at school.  In case you didn’t notice, she hasn’t been around these parts for several years, going to Italy to get away from the family.  But, I get it, she’s still a Cossatino, or so everyone keeps telling me, and not someone I should be associating with.  You’re not the only one issuing dire warnings.”

“That’s your problem, Sam, you see the good in everyone, even if they’re bad.”

“Should I apply that theory to you.  You don’t finish up unconscious on a beach where you’re not supposed to be.  What happened?”

I could practically see the wheels turning while he formulated an excuse he thought I would buy, then said, “I slipped and fell, something that shouldn’t have happened?”

“Not unless you’d been seen and the Cossatino’s were either coming to get you or were chasing you?”

He didn’t answer perhaps knowing Charlene was there to get answers, but his expression told me it was close to the truth.

“No.  Slipped, a fundamental error setting up.  I was simply sloppy.”

“You were trespassing.”

“I was practicing my skills, and it’s the best rockface along the coast for exactly that.  It’s not the first time I’ve tried.”

OK, we weren’t going to get past the ‘I was practicing mantra’, so I moved on to the next question, “Where have you been lately?”

“The caves in the hills, and trying a bit of climbing there, too.”

“You shouldn’t be doing it alone.”

“I wouldn’t have to if my so-called friend wasn’t cavorting with a snake.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 71

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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

In a cave, Nadia is a surprise

…

Now the helicopter had gone, the sounds of the sea had returned, along with the muffled sound of the wind which had picked up, along with swirling clouds that looked like they would be bringing rain.  I’d heard how the weather could change suddenly, and dangerously along this coastline.

I saw the lightning, and a minute or so later, the cracking of thunder.  We were about to get very wet.

‘Look for the big A’.  It had been there, heavily underscored in Ormiston’s notebooks. It had also been on the cliff face, crudely, but there.

“We need to go,” I heard Nadia say, over the ambient noise all around us.

Her words were being swept away by the wind, and I could barely hear her.

Another glance up at the cliff to confirm what I’d seen, and, yes, it was a big A, I went over to her.

“We can’t outrun it.  And it will be treacherous on those rocks in a downpour.”

“We also have the tide to contend with.”

I could see the high-water line, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination.  We needed higher ground.  It was one of those situations where we might get caught by the tide.  It was a pity there wasn’t room for two of us on the helicopter.

Back the way we’d come I remembered seeing an outcrop that looked like it might provide shelter from the rain.  “We should go, there’s a spot a way back that might save us from getting too wet.”

It was about a hundred yards, not far from where the shore rocks started and would require climbing back up.  At the very least, we could stay there until the tide dropped.  We collected the metal detectors and made it to the base of the rocky outcrop just as the first drops of rain fell.

The overhang I’d seen turned out to be a shallow cave, going back into the rockface about 10 yards or so, carved out by the sea over a very long period.

Then the rain came, so heavy, we could not see through it.  Every few minutes a gust of wind blew water into the cave, but standing back from the entrance basically kept us dry.

Nadia sat down and looked despondent.  I’d never seen her like this, she was normally more cheerful.

I took a few minutes to explore inside using the torchlight on my phone.  I could see the layers of sandstone compressed over the years, and if I had remembered more from the geology part of science at school I might have been able to make sense of it.  Was I hoping for fossils, like from long-extinct dinosaurs?

Or perhaps I could imagine this was the entrance to Aladdin’s cave, also reputed to have hidden treasures, and briefly wondered if I’d found a lantern with a genie, what my three wishes might be?

“They’re only walls, Sam.”  Nadia had come silently up behind me, and was just behind my left shoulder, the sound of her voice so near startling me.

Also noted, when my potential heart attack passed, she called me Sam, not Smidge.  I was not going to write anything into it, she didn’t seem herself.

“You never know.  If I say open sesame, or whatever the password is…”

It sounded lame.

I could hear rather than see her shake her head.

“What do you think Boggs was doing climbing up or down that particular rockface, and for that matter, poking around The Grove?”

I turned around to look at her.  If I didn’t know her better, I might have said there was at that moment an angelic quality about her.  It only reinforced the notion that she was very much out of my league, and whatever we seemed to have going, it was more in my head than hers.

“I think you can make as educated a guess as I can.”

“He thinks the treasure is here?”

“Somewhere in The Grove, yes.  His approach might have been different from ours, but the conclusion is the same.”

“We didn’t find anything.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t come ashore somewhere near here, or somewhere along the coast despite the reefs because they might have once been navigable in an abnormally high tide.  And those coins found near the old marina tells me that they landed somewhere there, but it was not the final resting place.”

I was going to say anything was possible.

“I can assure you my father and his cronies spent years turning over this whole property, one way or another, and found nothing.”

I believed her.  Had he not won the bidding war for the property, sold by the remaining Ormiston’s to settle the debts racked up by successive treasure hunts, Benderby, or anyone else for that matter, would have done the same.  Everyone was aware of the obsession, and the possibility of making a fortune.

But, my money was on the fact it was in The Grove, somewhere.  The question was, would I be completely honest with her?

When I didn’t say anything, she added, “you think it’s still here, don’t you?”

I shrugged.  “Why else would Boggs be here?  I’m sure his deductions from the resources he has, and I’m sure he hadn’t told me everything for obvious reasons, told him when all else has been eliminated, the last possibility however improbable must be true.”

“Occam’s razor?”

“Ish.  When we can get back to the cabin, I’ll go and see him, see what he has to say.  If he wants to see me, that is.”

I could see her processing what I just said, and thought perhaps I could have said it better.

“He doesn’t trust you because of me?”

Again I shrugged.  “I got that impression when I last spoke to him.  I don’t think he quite understands the nature of our friendship.  I’m assuming that’s what it is because I’m hardly the sort of boy your parents would consider suitable for you.”

“My parents have no idea what I want or care about.  It’s why I left.”

“Why did you come back then?”

“My mother said she had cancer and wasn’t expected to live.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It was a lie.  Their whole life is a lie.  I’ve always known about the family, I just chose to ignore it, even bask in some of the glory of it, until it got a friend of mine killed.  Vince did it, I know he did, but they all lied.  It’s just one of many reasons I wanted to getaway.  I was going to go back to Italy until you popped up.  I always liked you, you know.”

I didn’t.  I thought I was just another pawn in a game of terror and ridicule she played on all of us boys.

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

“I was stupid back then, but that was no excuse.  If it’s any consolation I’m sorry, but words never seem to be enough, and besides that, no one I’ve apologized to really believes me, and I get it.  My name is a curse.  That’s why when I go back I’m going to disappear, a whole change of identity.  That’s how much I trust you, Sam, you’re the only one I’ve told.”

“You shouldn’t tell me anything.  I’m sure if you disappear, I’ll be the first one your family will come after.”

I didn’t need to know, I certainly didn’t want to know.  If she did disappear, I’m sure my doorstep would be the Cossatino’s first stop, and I’d easily fold under pressure.

“Maybe you could come with me, then you wouldn’t have to worry about them.” 

Perhaps she could read my mind.  Even so, it was an interesting thought, not that I could just up and leave my mother, or worry the Cossatino’s would come after her if I went missing.

“I don’t speak Italian.”  Lame excuse.

“I could teach you.  We could work in the vineyard, and live a simple life.”

It was hard to tell if she was serious or not.  I had to think she wasn’t.  I don’t think I could handle someone like her, that anyone could.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 12

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

I had walked quite fast in my attempt to distance myself from our pursuers if they were, in fact, chasing me.  In doing so I had tried to make my escape as quiet as possible.

Now, between Jack and I, hiding in the undergrowth, the only noise I could hear was our laboured breathing, and mine in particular.  I hadn’t been expecting to be doing this sort of exercise when I signed on for the job.

Now, I think, exercise was going to become a priority.

If I made it back alive.

A crack and I saw Jack go very still, ears cocked, and looking in what was the direction of the sound.  He’d know, better than me, where the noise came from.

Another minute before I could hear muffled voices, then as if they had stepped into a room, I could hear them.

“So, you’re telling me you let him hit you?”

“I had to, for the sake of making it look good.  I was told he was no fool.” 

The voice of the man who had orchestrated my departure.  I shook my head, very disappointed in myself for not seeing through what could have been a very cunning plan.  It also explained why they hadn’t summarily shot me.  I could see Jackerby gloating over the cleverness of his plan.

So perhaps for a few moments there, I was a fool.  Not anymore.

“What do we do if we find him?”

“We’re not supposed to find him, remember.  You were at the same meeting, or was that your ghost I saw with me?”

“Observe and report back.”

“Exactly.”

The voices were very close, and I could hear their boots of the rocky path until they stopped.

“Which way?”

The voice sounded very close, in fact, I thought they were just on the other side of the undergrowth, but that couldn’t be right, I could see through it in places, and no one was standing on the other side.

Sound must travel very good in this part of the forest.

“Follow the main river.  He won’t be looking to deviate from his objective, which by now would be to find the other members of the resistance and organise his departure.”

“And leave alone what he saw?”

“There isn’t much he could do about it.  By the time he’s reported back to London, we will have found the underground members and eliminated any threat.”

“Aha, so he’s leading us to the resistance?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And it was your idea?”

“I do have my moments, thank you.  Now, let’s get on, or he’ll get too much of a start on us, and I don’t want to be the one to explain how we lost him to Jackerby in particular.”

A minute passed, then two before I heard the sound of boots receding.  Johansson, or maybe Jackerby, had correctly guessed I might know where the other resistance members were, and, after escaping, go straight to them.

Pity, I was going to disappoint them.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 9

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

That tangled web being woven by Sebastian’s boss, Worthington, is getting more sticky by the moment. After reading the John is not given any other option other than to get on a plane and head off to Zoe’s last known location, with Worthington peering over his shoulder waiting to pounce.

Sebastian knows something is up, because he has people watching John and knows he’s on the move, strategically calling the moment John leaves Worthington’s office.

John is getting into spy mode, and lies to Sebastian, not for the first time, and it was something he was going to have to get used to.

Meanwhile, Zoe comes face to face with Romanov, and it’s not the person she thought he was, and hardly the sort she would associate with Alistair’s mother or top KGB.

But he had got her profile and has taken all the necessary countermeasures so that she does not escape, or if she does, will not get very far.

There’s torture but no answers, she’s been here before, and in-between time to consider her options.

This might be a more interesting situation to get out of.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon once again black and blue, 3,989 words, for a total of 26,242.