Trying to find my groove again

  I am going to try to write again

Free short stories

I am going to attempt to enlarge on some of the short stories I have started.

I have many stories to extend, in many genres, hopefully these will pass the hours, and limit the time I can think of my late wife which I fear could lead to depression if I don't attempt a release.

I am hoping my Facebook ban has expired, if for no reason other than FB raised the blog readers.

The Hard Sell

 Freebie Time

                                           Free short stories

Freebie Time from now on will be when I decide to put a free short story online; I won't be sending out files as I did in the past, hoping for sales. That was another Alan, he was naïve; I am now a hardcase. When I started, I had only bee writing a few months when I was a scam victim by a man in Canada. He had read read Nerja on my blog, and asked for a copy, being new to selling, I sent him a copy.

Nerja went on to be my second bestselling eBook on Amazon until I took it down, it is for sale on other channels, but in over a decade on Amazon it only sold a dozen copies.

What will I do?,

 The Story Teller

                                                           Free short stories

What to do with my talent for writing a short story is the question I ask myself each time I write?

I could put them for sale on Apple, as the site is my main source of sales. Not that making one or two sales a year is going to make a big change in my life.

I could write for the few readers this blog gets. I have many ideas for a story, but with few readers I have difficulty finding the urge to write.

The Los Palmas Mystery

 Spanish Romance

The growing WIP

The knock on the door woke the man from his sleep; with sleepy eyes and a mind not attuned to being awake he opened the door of the hotel room to the smiling face of the waiter. The waiter greeted him with a smile and said, "Your breakfast, Mr. Geisner."

The man stretched his right arm and found his jacket, after a short search he picked out a note to tip the waiter. 

"Thank you, sir, have a pleasant day."

The man turned and pushed the food cart to his desk, then poured a cup of coffee; as he sat down to drink, his mind went blank and he began to panic as he rushed to the windows to close the curtains. Turning around he opened the door to check the room number, at this point he began to shake with fear. 

After several minutes, and two cups of strong coffee; he stood up and walked to he phone to call the clerk on reception.

"Hello, this is Mr. Geisner in room 1511, if you see my Secretary Miss Lopez can you send her up please, thank you."

With a calm and reassuring tone the clerk replied, "Certainly Mr. Geisner."

No sooner had she put the phone down than Miss Conchita Lopez walked into her view; "Miss Lopez," she called out, "Can you go and see Mr. Geisner in 1511 please."

Conchita smiled, then replied, "I'm on my way." 

A few minutes later the elevator door opened onto the 15th floor, and Conchita walked across the her bosses room. She knocked twice and waited to hear the door click.

Before she could get more than a few feet in, she saw him sitting on the bed, in the dark; even though it was daylight outside, and the sun was rising.

She asked, "How can I help you, sir?"

He had so many questions to ask, but he had no idea how to begin, so he said "I think you'd better sit down, and I'll pour us a cup of coffee; I have a lot to ask you."

Conchita sat on the chair near the window, and waited to hear the first question.

"Miss Lopez."

"Please, call me Concha."

"Okay. Concha; I have several problems arising from memory loss and I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me."

Concha took a sip of coffee, then replied, "I'll try. I suppose as your secretary I know you as well as anyone does."

Geisner smiled and thanked her, then he began, "Is there anything strange about our booking this year?"

Conchita didn't take long to answer, "Sir, the only thing that isn't odd is that we have come to the same hotel for the last ten years; other than that the break is anything but normal."

"Can you be more descriptive, please?"

"From the time you asked me to book these weeks, I have been trying to think of a reason for the change. Usually, you choose the last weeks of May to avoid the rush and the heat, but this year you changed to mid-July. Up to now, I have no idea why you changed the time; I have a couple of ideas, but only you know the reasons."

"As I said, I am at a loss myself to find a reason for the change. What else is peculiar?"

"Well, you booked a room on the 15th floor next to the elevator, when you usually book a room on the 1st or 2nd floor away from the elevator. This room has floor to ceiling windows, and you are scared of heights, which explains the closed curtains. Another thing, usually you book B&B as you prefer to walk around the town and sample the local taste, this year you asked me to book full-board. I thought you might have been working harder than normal on your next book, and didn't wish to lose the flow, or perhaps your leg injury was going to make walking too painful for a walk; only you can answer that question, sir."

Free short stories

 Joe's Resignation

Joe West was sitting in his garden admiring the bees at work when his wife called him, "Joe, it's Roger from the club. He wants to have a word with you."

Joe eased his tired body out of the deckchair and ambled across the garden to the door to his kitchen, as he passed his wife, Mabel, he gave her a hug and a kiss and said, "I have an idea what this is about love."

He went into the kitchen and picked the receiver off the table, where Mabel had left it, "Hello, Roger, what's on your mind today?"

Roger Shipman, the treasurer of Hambling Cricket Club, replied, "We'd like you to come to a specially organised meeting tonight, Joe. The members have come to a decision and want to put a motion forward."

Joe smiled, and replied, "You put the beers on, and tell "em" Joe'll be there."

"Thanks, Joe, it has been an awful day for me thinking how I'd ask you."

"I can imagine, but don't worry about a thing."

Joe put the receiver on the hook and walked out to the garden to sit with his wife.

"What was that about, Joe?"

"The members will be asking me to stand down tonight," Joe said with a grin.

"How can you be sure of that?"

"They think I haven't seen what's going on in the league. I disapprove of the way the league is being run, to them I am a dinosaur, an anachronism, a throwback to the good old days when honour meant something. These days, winning is all that matters."

"What is happening that upsets you?"

"For a starter, teams are bringing in "ringers," people from out of the village, to play during the season."

"I thought the rules stipulated to play you had to live in the village for three months?"

"They do, but most of the teams have found ways to bend the meaning. They bring in people for the planting and reaping, and when the season's gone, these "ringers" go back to the city until next year. To me, it is against the letter of the Law, but I'm not running the league anymore, so it won't matter what I say or think. On the bright side, it'll give us more time together, love."

"Won't you miss the club, you've been captain for the last ten years and a player for much longer?"

"Perhaps, for this year, but after that, I won't. To tell you the truth, I was going to hand my resignation in this year."

"That's new to me, does anyone else have an idea of your plans?"

"Not that I know of, I was going to wait until the right time to tell the members. Now, would be as good as any."

Joe gave a smile, as Mabel said, "You old fox, you want to take the wind out of their sails tonight!"

He gave her a hug and a kiss, then said, "It will be a grand farewell gesture." Then he winked.

Joe and Mabel pottered around the garden and took their tea on the patio. Looking at his watch, Joe commented, "The time is here, love." Then he kissed her goodbye and walked into the house.

Mabel watched smiling as her husband walked down to the clubhouse, in her mind she had the image of the men who ran the club fidgetting as they thought how to break the news to Joe.

Joe strode with dignity into the clubhouse, he ordered his pint of beer at the bar and walked over to the trestle table that was put out for the meeting. "I know what you are going to say, so you can stop fidgeting, Roger."

Roger put his pint mug on the table, and said, "It's with sadness, Joe, we'd like you to step down this year as captain."

Joe took a swig of beer after he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his old sweater, he replied, "Is that all, I was expecting more. Well, here's some news for you. I am not only standing down, but I am also resigning from playing for the team."

The table went silent, then Timmy Carver, club keeper, asked, "Why?"

"My grandfather was a founding member of this once noble club, back in the days when playing for your local team meant you lived here all year, not just for the harvest season. Don't think I hadn't noticed, and I am not the only one to see how the league is bending the rules. I am just the only person who is brave enough to voice the opinions of the members." Joe stopped to let the news sink in, and then he finished his drink, took the glass to the bar and walked to the door.

It was taking a while for the news to take effect, so he paused at the door and turned to say, "By the way, I was going to resign the captaincy this year anyway!"

With a grin, he stood at the door watching as the members looked back with stunned faces.

Then, he turned, walked out, and closing the door behind left a century of history in his dust

Ghosts of Jazz

   Free Short Stories

The town of Cheltenham is renowned worldwide for many things, from music festivals to the girl’s school and the horse racing, depending on your taste and what you want. Behind this rich Edwardian exterior lies a little story that I hope will tantalize your imagination.

During the International jazz festival which is usually held on the last weekend of April, thousands of fans will flock to the town to see today's names. This story is a taste of real jazz for you, I hope. During the festival, the main centres are the Budweiser stage; the Town Hall stage and the Everyman theatre, yet everybody misses the real home, a small venue and now all but forgotten. Walking past the town hall, and heading to the Montpelier district, you have to cross the road and look for a small walkway to find the club as it is not seen easily, it was here that I first took note of real jazz music. The club is called the Subtone, unless you know where to look and listen, it is so easily missed.

Under all the huge Edwardian buildings used as offices for anything from solicitors to hair dressers, lies a small path to a little club. No more than about fifty feet long by a hundred feet wide and nearly always smoky, this is the real jazz not the big stages for the modern imitation by 20 year olds who think hitting a few notes makes them a jazz icon.

I was standing at the gate, when I thought I heard someone playing a trumpet, thinking it might be from a fringe event, I ventured down and to my surprise came across a wondrous thing. As I stepped through the gate, the door opened to the club, and a doorman met me. "Good evening sir, I hope you enjoy the show." he said.

 “Thank you,” I replied. “Can you tell me who is playing tonight, please?"

 “That, I cannot say sir.”

 “Cannot or will not.” I enquired both intrigued and a bit annoyed.

             “Come on in, and you will see why I cannot answer the question sir."

            “I will be delighted to see why you cannot say.”  I said getting more than interested as to the meanings behind the statement.

As I stepped in, I could see the stage at the back, covered in the smoky atmosphere I was expecting, what followed was something truly amazing. I could vaguely see figures moving about. Nobody was solid, just a mist and the outlines of bodies, yet the music was so clear as if the people themselves were there. The forms seemed to change shapes, to suit the mood of the music.

Coming from the stage I could hear a trumpet playing, and recognised the style of West coast jazz, familiar to Chet Baker in his prime, alongside the sax of Gerry Mulligan and clarinet of Art Pepper, on the drums it appeared to be Buddy Rich.

“This is wrong!” I thought. Turning to the man next to me I said "Excuse me sir, but don’t you think Chet is on form tonight, and that clarinet of Art is so clear, after all these years."

The man turned and said “Sorry sir, we are watching different sessions, I cannot see who you do, for me it is Coltrane, Miles Davis, Gene Krupa up there.”

  “How can that be? We are in the same room, looking at the same stage at the same time.”

The weirdness of the reply aroused my interest immensely, I started to walk around the club asking various people who they saw and got all combinations possible. I found out that even though there were over a hundreds people in the room, there was little cross over for the session and no two sessions were identical. Musicians were there from Ike Quebec to Coleman Hawkins, Tony Williams to Lonnie Donegan, and the styles went from the early 20s to the skiffle of the late 60s, the more I found out, the less I found I knew, this was a total mystery.

In the midst of my confused state, I finally got to the door, and had a talk with my host. “I can see what you meant by not knowing who is playing, you could not tell me who is playing, as you had no idea.”

 “That is right, sir, the secret of the club is that you decide who appears. You can come every night and never see the same group of performers playing the same melodies as he choice is yours to make.”

“Can you answer a few questions for me please?”

“If I can I will be glad to do help you, sir.”

“Thank you very much,” I replied “I see there is no sign of either Jamie Cullum, Polar bear, Ingrid Laubruch here, or any other modern jazz group. Do you forbid it? As the jazz I heard here is so pure.”

 “Not at all, everyone is welcomed, but without realising it, you answered your question when you said modern jazz, the people you mentioned are still alive.” Seeing my puzzled look, my new friend explained “When you asked around, didn't you notice, everyone saw someone different. Yet they had one thing in common, they have all passed the veil of time to this endless stream of jazz.”

“I see now, the only qualification is being dead then.”

“That is correct sir.”

 “Can you tell please, with all the festival going on in town, why so few people have come here?  Yet standing at the gate, I can hear the music.” 

 “Again you have answered the question sir. You heard the music, because you wanted to and you have been here before, so knew where to look for us.”

  “I have one or two more questions. Is there a nationality bar, or is it any dead jazz musicians?”

“No sir, we have no bar at all, the other day someone left saying they were listening to Joe Zawinul, Karl Heinz Stockhausen and Django Reinhardt, among others.”

“As the festival is over soon, will you be closing down and finishing until next year?”

“No sir, as I said this is an endless stream of jazz, it never finishes and we play all evenings to ever increasing crowds.”

“Finally, as the musicians are ghosts and spirits, are the audience ghosts too?”

“We have a mix of living and deceased, some patrons wish to remain with us. Others wish to hear their favourite piece of jazz and then cross over happily.”

I thanked the doorman as I turned to leave and walked up the steps to the main road. All the time, I was thinking. How many variations of styles of jazz there had been from 20s through be-bop to modern jazz. And the non-answerable question. “Who is the best jazz band?”

                    There are as many answers as people asked, as we all like our jazz differently

A Fantasy WIP

 Shandra

The battle had raged for many days, and the fight had been hard, but at the end of the day, the warriors of the Geven tribe stood proudly as their new chief Shandra Connaught viewed them.

Shandra surveyed the men who stood before her with pride, "Warriors of the Geven, today we struck a blow for freedom. No longer will be the victims of the Ghoron. Last night, we stood firm and showed them we are not going to wait for them to attack again. They felt our wrath to avenge the brothers and sisters who fell in  battles, over the years, it is a rage filled with the desire to bathe in the blood of defeated."

The Geven and Ghoron tribes remained enemies for so long that nobody knew or cared what started the feuds. The lands of the Kaladrian Forest have been fought over for centuries. There are tales of men who can blend into the trees and remain unseen for months, but few believe such stories.

Holding the sword of Altanus high, she called out, "We, who are here, salute you. Altanus, Lord of the unknown and bringer of peace!" 

The warriors roared in reply, "Shandra, Shandra, Shandra," and the woods rang to the noise of joyous celebrations all night. There was much drinking, singing, and telling stories, but Shandra knew this was only the beginning of the war. She left the fires of her people, and walked slowly to her tent, Shandra enjoyed the thrill of the battle as much as any warrior and enjoyed celebrating even more, but on this night, she had something more to think about - the future of her people.

A war that was destined to change Kaladria, for she had seen the future on a vision quest. Shandra had no doubt the tribe would be victorious, what she doubted was the cost; would the loss of lives be worth the victory? This war needed to be fought on many levels while the Geven were more than a match in the woods, could their forces overcome a fortress? Shandra was worried, as her men and women cheered this victory she couldn't help but consider the future of her tribe, Let them have their moment, she thought, we might not see many such times in the future.

The men drank of the Mead as the women of the Geven danced around the fires. The stars lit the sky with everlasting beauty, and peace reigned in the forest - at least for now - despite the victory, the guards remained vigilant. Life on the run enforced the Geven folk to be ever watchful; even in times of joy, their weapons were close at hand.

Her tent stood on the top of the rise overlooking the plain of Cardocan, below her lay the vast barren lands populated by mystical beasts and their Lord Flamendor, the great dragon. Flamendor was once the greatest of all the firebrands, but now his realm had passed to the lesser beings. The brave dragon had grown old beyond his years and was unable to fight by the side of his friends, but spirit dwelled in their souls, and this made the warriors as fearsome as ever,

Two things were sure to the warrior queen; the first is that to cross the plain, she needed the trust of Flamendor, and the second was to attack the fortress at Elfenmere, she would need all the troops and dragons the brave dragon could spare. 

Elfenmere's strength as a fort is that an enemy can only take it with force with a frontal assault - high cliffs protected the rear of the fort - but this was also its weakness. A small force can hide on the cliffs and mask their attack.

Shandra strolled around their camp, looking at the men and women enjoying their well-earned victory celebration, she couldn't help thinking How many will celebrate our final triumph - if we have one? 

Her mind was brought back to the present when a voice called "Shandra, are you not celebrating with us?"

Shandra glanced in the direction of the caller, and then replied, "I will be with the people in a while, Samilia. I have a few things to gather before I come down." Shandra stood silently, thinking about the events of the recent battle and what was in their near future, as she closed her eyes to absorb the spirits of the forest and ask their guidance, she spotted a young bird land on a high ridge not far away. She took this as a sign from the spirits and went to seek out the hill. The rim was at the top of a small mountain, as Shandra began her ascent. On her arrival, she found herself on a ridge no more extensive than a person's body and covered in small rocks. She watched as the bird walked along the ledge, gently tapping the stones with its beak, then for a moment, the bird stopped by a pile of rocks and appeared to nod in her direction.

In the reflection of the bird's eye, Shandra thought she saw a cavern hidden far out over the lava plains, but she wasn't sure. The bird picked a small stone up in its talons and flew to Shandra; as she held her hand out to catch the pebble, she thought she heard a voice whisper, "Throw this rock, and I shall receive you in my kingdom."

Shandra didn't understand what was happening. She believed in the world of the spirits and thought they were talking to her now, so. She threw the small stone as far as her aching arm was able and watched as it appeared to fall from the sky, then to her surprise, the rock took on a life of its own and flew out of sight.

The rock dipped and swirled in the steaming eddies of the lava plains before coming to rest on a patch of land at the edge of Shandra's sight. "That isn't right; I couldn't have thrown the rock that far after such a grueling battle," she muttered, "And what about the way it traveled?" 

In the back of her mind, a thought emerged; "No, you didn't throw the stone. My powers drew the rock to me, Shandra. Only those of true faith can see me. 

The cave you see at the edge of the plain is my home. I rarely leave my dwellings these days; there are not many believers and too many out to kill my kind for a safe flight. Once in a while, I do try to stretch my wings and feel the wind on my face, I need to fly during the dark hours, and I miss the countryside colors. I hear your thoughts, Shandra, you need not worry about the heat, as my mind will be your safeguard as you come to me. All you need to do is to believe in me, and you'll be safe."

Shandra stood on the ledge looking at her destination; she had accepted the spirit into her life from childhood, but now it wasn't just about believing - she was putting her life and the future of her clan in the words she thought she'd heard from a cave she could barely see. With reluctance, she unbuckled her sheath and laid her sword on the ground at her feet, and then she cautiously edged forward to the brink of the flow - still not satisfied if this was the right choice.

Shandra stood on the ledge overlooking the lava, in her mind, she had one thought, "What if my judgment is wrong? I believe in the legend of Flamendor - the greatest of dragons - but is that belief enough to risk my life?"

The rising heat was so hot that she felt her remaining strength sap away, and she almost fell into the lava. She was about to give in to her fear when a voice echoed in her mind, "I can't give you what you don't wish to have. If your belief is strong, you will survive the walk to the cave, and if it isn't, you won't get more than a few feet from where you stand. The answer to the question lies not with me, but within yourself, Shandra."

Reluctantly, she stepped forward; stones rose from the lava to guide her footsteps. Now she'd started Shandra had no alternative but to go on in the hope that she had the strength of faith to walk across what seemed an endless fire plain. She was a brave warrior and had the courage and skill to lead her men in battle, but this was not about combat skills, this fight was about an inner belief, and that is something Shandra had never challenged before, she had taken so many things for granted. One of those was that as a woman, Shandra would never get the opportunity to lead her men into battle. Still, a battlefield command is hard to dismiss, especially when the person wins a great victory against a numerically superior force. As she had been told, she never took her eyes of the cave at the end of her journey, Flamendor told her this would be a sign of her questioning his decision and would lead to instant death.

Shandra had been walking for so long her legs began to tire, and she wondered if she'd made the correct choice in coming, or would she die here on the lava, and her bones never be found. She was at the point of stumbling off the path chosen for her when the cave came into sight and sitting on a large boulder at its mouth. Flamendor snorted a stream of steam. "I'm glad you made the crossing, Shandra. I saw that you're a brave warrior, but I needed to know how strong the faith is in you."

She pulled herself up the small incline, the sweat dripping from her long hair down her back. As she looked up at the cave, she said, "It wasn't as if you gave me a choice. The decision was easy, either go on or die, never to be seen alive again. I've heard stories about other warriors who came and died on the lava. Their bones are thought to be in the lava flow, but nobody is sure."

Flamendor snorted steam, and then commented, "That is true, the lava fields move, and the shadows lie as the sun sets on the blocks. You think you're walking on a stable platform, only to find that there is nothing to walk on. The lava doesn't return what it takes, ever."

Wiping her back with some reeds, Shandra inquired, "If you saw the battle, you knew we were close to losing. Why didn't you come to our aid?"

The big dragon flapped his mighty wings and took off for a small flight, leaving her with her thoughts for a short time. On his return, he laid a sheep at her feet, and said, "I could not come to your aid, Shandra, for many reasons. The main reason is I am the last of my breed in this area. There is a legend of another of my kind living across the mountains to the North. But, that's only a legend - I've heard on my travels flying over the city."

She smiled, and then said, "What other reasons do you have for staying here when we needed you?"

Flamendor replied, "I needed you to prove yourself in battle, so I would know you are the person I need to go on a quest. You did not only in combat but when you accepted my invitation for this talk."

"Our people needed a leader, and I happened to be the person on hand, I lead the battle because if we hadn't rallied at the time, our land would have been overrun by the Geven; I was forced to take charge, by choice I prefer others to take command."

"I think not, Shandra, it is more the case that you wish the command of your troops but think yourself unworthy of their support despite the battles you have been in and won. The task ahead is going to test your mental strength as much as your physical ability as a warrior. I need you to find the other dragon; I can sense he's in pain and is concerned he won't be able to hold back the force of destruction building in him. If the force got  unleashed, no force in this world would be able to contain him."

"If that's the case, how do you expect me to best him, and bring him down?"

"The secret is to enter his castle unseen, and crossing the Great Divide, a forest where evils dwell."

"How can I do that?"

"I shall teach you how to use the Sword of Altanus to disguise your presence. You have only seen the side of the sword's abilities that any mortal can understand; you have proved yourself worthy of understanding the true depth of magic at your fingertips."

Flamendor gave a yawn and rolled over; he said, "I'm sorry for my impoliteness, it's been a long, hard winter and I am running out of food, this makes me tire quicker than I'd wish, Shandra."

Shandra replied, "I can imagine how tiring and worrying it could be for you; I get the same feeling when I'm with the men out hunting, I wonder if we'll catch food enough to last the next meal, even though the numbers of the group are small."

"I suggest we take a rest while I get my energy back, after that, I can teach you the rudimentary use of the sword; mastering its use will only come with time and experience."

"I think the rest will be good; I feel what you are going to teach me will drain my energy and my mind, and I see you as a hard taskmaster. Can you answer a question for me, please?"

"I can, if I'm able, Shandra, what do you wish to know?"

"What is the difference between you and the other dragon, the one you want me to destroy?"

"We were once in the same flight; the difference is he chose to fight humans to the end of his days, while I came up to my cave to end my days in peace. And to make my peace for the harm I had done. Even dragons, if only a few of us, have a conscience; we are not the demons you make us out to be. Most of us fought to stop the humans from killing us; I admit some did fight for the thrill of the kill, but they are the rarity among us."

Shandra glanced at her surroundings and said, "I can see you don't deserve the horrific reputation you have got, and I vow to do all I can to change this view, I came to realize that you dragons were wonderful creatures many years ago."

Flamendor grinned, then commented, "Thank you, Shandra, I knew I had chosen you wisely when I saw how you managed your men in the forest, but I never appreciated how wise you are until now."

Shandra took a second or two to reply while she recalled an instant from her childhood, then she continued, "I remember a day when my father took me to the mating flights in the caverns above our village. The walk up the mountain path was treacherous, and we almost got knocked off the path, but as close as the dragons came, they never attacked us."

"You are blessed; not many humans are allowed to witness such a loving moment for our kind."

"Seeing your friends in flight, so close to the water's edge and then flying to the roof of the cavern as they span together was beautiful if that were all I would have felt honored. But to hear your voices in the wind was majestic. It is a shame, not all of you can find a way to live with us, especially as there are so few dragons remaining."

Anne's retreat

 One of two romances

The second romance

This is the beginning of the second romance I mentioned in a previous post.

The snow-covered hills drew Annie like a magnet drawing iron filings. Since her days as a teen, she spent the Fall, and Christmas in her family’s lodge. To her, there was no finer place to be as the snow gently floated down and covered the land.

Anne Oliver had become a best-selling historical fiction writer in the last five years. Her success led the world to think she had all money could buy, but she had a hole in her soul - she had no man in her life. Annie had driven herself so hard that it became hard for her to grow attached to anyone, and so she kept to herself. She had been invited to all the best parties and all the top conferences, but she always made an excuse to avoid contact with people.

An only child grows accustomed to being alone, and Anne’s life was no different. She had few friends, other than her agent, Paula Crill, and found herself awkward in the company of strangers.

Anne and Paula were friends, long before they became business partners. It was their friendship that made their partnership thrive. Paula knew how much to coax Anne to get her to work that bit harder, but she also knew when to back off and let Anne have her way. Anne, on the other hand, knew how much Paula wanted her to succeed and was willing to push herself to please her friend - sometimes too hard and too long.

With the sales of her latest book Sexual Explosions going well, Anne decided to take the break she’d been promising herself for months. She rang Paula up to tell her the news, “Hi, Paula, I’m taking this year’s vacation next week. I’ll be up at the lodge if you need me, as always you’re more than welcome to join me.”

Paula smiled as she twisted the phone cord around her long fingers, “Thanks for the offer, Annie, I hear the wildlife is lovely up there. I may drive up later in the week, for the next few days I’m busy trying to launch your new book.”

Anne put the receiver down and thought about her trip; It will be fun to get out of the city for a few weeks, she thought as she walked to the coffee machine to top her cup of coffee up. She’d worked long hours through the night so often that she forgot what day it was until Paula reminded her. Paula was wary of Anne’s habit of doing too much to please her readers, after all, it is less than a year since she had her breakdown, a time when Anne quit writing for months and became a recluse. Anne’s reluctance to acknowledge her success was the reason for her breakdown, she was never happy being considered a best-seller - even if the sales proved the fact.

After her breakdown it took Anne months to get back to writing, most days she’d sit at her laptop and wonder if it was worth the trouble to write? With gentle coaxing, Paula was able to convince Anne that her work was appreciated, once this was achieved the joy returned and the sales started to build up.

The sun’s last rays cast their golden shadows across Anne’s room. As she closed her suitcase and packed her laptop. Although this was “officially” a break, Anne couldn’t stop herself from writing; this was one of the reasons for her breakdown, Paula told her. Rarely a day passed without Anne thinking of a new story to add to her collection. She took a last look at the city outside, and then waved it goodbye, as she turned the key in the lock of her apartment.

The drive to the lodge was a beautiful experience with the leaves turning to a variety of colors ahead of the winter cold, and on some of the lakes along the way, the icy fingers of winter could be seen freezing the still water at the edges of the lakes.

Wild Child

 One of two romances 

                                                    A new title

Marta de Ridder sat at her desk in her house in Selange, Southern Belgium. Being a best-selling writer gave her some privileges in her career, but she knew you couldn't buy happiness. Marta had her share of detractors and critics in her early years, and those knocks still bore scars on her confidence.

Fortune favoured Marta, at the point of giving up writing, she entered one final writing contest out of desperation. The prize was a prestigious contract with a top publishing house. However, she'd never written historical fiction before - she gained her reputation writing Gothic Romances - she decided with nothing to lose to have a go. Much to her surprise, although she didn't win the contest, her entry so impressed the judges they offered her a contract.

Martas' best friend is her agent, Helena Gerhoven. Helena got offered the job of a publicist at a new firm in Liege and was on the lookout for new writers to impress her bosses. Being a fan of Martas' writing, Helena asked her if she would like to be her client for the firm.

Not sure what to make of the newcomer to the scene, the bosses at MedHis Press were a little dubious about Helenas' choice of her friend as a client, but they decided to give Marta the chance to prove herself, and they never looked back, as her stature grew so did the firm. Now MedHis is one of the most famous publishers in Liege.

Marta lives in the same house that she grew up in, but her heart was not always there. She had grown up in Selange, but she longed for the days when her family visited their lodge in the mountains. Her career meant Marta had little time for such luxuries as time off, and being a writer, even if Marta took the occasional day off work, she would still think of storylines. Often, she wondered what it would be like to be able to relax her mind and enjoy life.

From her house, Martha could see all the forest in the distance. "The high life isn't all it's cracked up to be," she thought I spend my days writing about the lives and loves of my reader's heroes and heroines and rarely get the opportunity to enjoy the gains of my work. Perhaps, after the next release, I'll take a week off to visit the lodge.

As if to remind her of her obligation to the reality of life, the phone on the desk rang, she picked the receiver up and replied, "Martha de Ridder how may I help you?"

The voice on the other end was the familiar voice of her friend, Helena, "Hi, how are you fixed for dinner next Tuesday?"

Martha thought for a while and checked her diary. Helena usually kept track of Marta's' meetings, but sometimes she booked one, or two, without telling her friend. It was her way of having a little freedom, and Helena accepted the way Martha did things. Marta took a glance at her calendar, and then said, "At the moment, I am free on Tuesday, Helena, what's on your mind?"

Helena flicked through the book of addresses in front of her, and then replied, "I thought we could have a drink and a meal to discuss a new proposal that was put to me, to put to you."

Marta glanced at the treetops in her view, lost in thought for a minute, and then replied, "Yeah, I'm okay with that idea. Shall we say 8:00?."

Helena gently smiled and replied, "Let me guess, La Charbonnade."

Marta sighed, "Am I that transparent? I thought, after the next book, I might be able to take some time off, I feel jaded, and I worry that my tiredness will affect my writing, and the sales will fall drastically. I don't want to disappoint my readers."

Helena replied, "Marta, the last thing you are is obvious, that is why I enjoy being your agent as you keep me on my toes. Secondly, when have you ever let the readers down?"

Marta thought for a moment, and then replied, "Not as far as I can recall, but there's always a first time."

Helena sensed a cramp in her legs, so she stood up from her desk and took a walk around her office while she smoothed her skirt, and replied, "I can tell you, your books are selling better than ever. We have mass pre-orders for your next book, and only you know when it will be out. I know you like to keep things close to your chest, but a little warning would be nice. That way, we can book some promotional tours to coincide with the launch before you say it - I know you don't like signings. So, we're okay for 8:00 at La Charbonnade next Tuesday, be there, or be square," Helena quipped as she put the phone in her office on the cradle.

No sooner had Marta put her phone down than it rang; she replied to the caller, "Hello, Marta de Ridder, can I help you?

A man's voice replied, Hello, Miss de Ridder. My name is Roger de Coster, and my firm is in need of your legal aid.

Marta was taken by surprise but quickly recovered to reply, " Mr. de Coster, you have contacted the wrong lady. You need to contact my sister, Corrie, she is the lawyer. I am a writer.

Mr. de Coster made his apologies and replaced his receiver. Marta was still none the wiser about the call, she'd been out of contact with her sister since they had a row several years ago, and often she had thought of making peace. But, each time, she had the idea she told herself that in her mind, she had done no wrong, so why should she break the ice.

Chapter 2 - The enigmatic Mr. de Coster.

Marta's curiosity had got piqued, who is Roger de Coster, and what is the nature of his business that he needed Corrie's help so urgently? Having lost contact with her sister, Marta had no idea of the world and people that her sister was mixing in. Even as a child, Corrie appeared to live in a world of her own, Corrie made no friends, unlike her two older sisters, Marta and Anjetta.

All day, Marta puzzled over who Roger de Coster was and how did Corrie fit in his plans. The more she thought about the situation, the more convinced she was that her sister was getting involved in something either illegal or beyond her capability to understand the ramifications of her actions. Marta's concerns grew the longer she pondered the question. Surely, Corrie wouldn't break the law, but then again. They'd been out of touch for so long, what did Marta know about her sister?

Late in the evening, when she could bear the strain no more, Marta phoned Helena at home.

Helena's phone showed a number she knew, so formality was not needed to start a conversation; "Hello, Marta, something must be on your mind as I can't recall you ringing me at home, or this late before, what is wrong?"

"That is the question, Helena; I am not sure there is a problem; I am just curious if you know something about a man called Roger de Coster?"

"The only de Coster that I can think of is the chairman of the firm de Coster, Robert, Goebbers, and van Velthoven, in Ghent, why do you ask?"

"This afternoon, I had a strange call from Mr. de Coster asking to speak to my sister, Corrie. So, what does the firm sell?"

Helena gave a short laugh, then replied, "Oh dear, you do need to get out, Marta. They've been in the news almost every day for the last month. They are involved in a takeover bid for one of the largest motor contracts in our country in over two decades."

Marta rose for her desk; she began to feel her back again, "Oh, so there is little possibility that Corrie is involved in something illegal; I am pleased to know that. As for the break, I am hoping to get a respite break after we've signed the deal next month, I am hoping to visit both Madrid and Lisbon before flying home."

Helen smiled, then replied, "I don't know your sisters, but from what you told me; I'd say you were the most likely to get involved in something dubious as you're the gambler among the children of the family."

"That is true, Helena. Anjetta is too logical to consider the possibility of risking winning against losing, and Corrie is so pedantic to be untrue. Even if you told her she was on to a good thing, she would need to see the finances for the last year, and then, she'd turn her nose up at any opportunity to make a profit."

"Now I have eased your mind over Corrie, what are your plans for the trip?"

"We'll fly from Bruges to Barcelona for the conference. After that, I believe you'll be returning, but I will travel to Madrid as I have something I wish to visit in the area; Spain's ghost airport. After a day or two in the city, I'll be crossing to Lisbon for a week before returning."

"Did you say we'll be flying? I thought you were afraid to fly!"

"You are right; I do hate the thought of flying, but not as much as I detest the idea of driving for a day each way. I realize the journey is only 12 hours long, but we'd need a rest during that time, and as I have not driven at night for years, I don't wish to risk an accident."

"I agree, there is no point in getting there and feeling upset, that will only cause us problems when it comes time for signing the contract, and I know how obstinate you can be if you are feeling wronged, Marta."

"It's not only that; I think I need an eye test soon, I can't focus to type for longer than a few minutes before I get a headache. What I think I'll do is take a few days off before we fly to Barcelona so that I can clear my mind. I need to go get out and breathe for a while if this deal comes off."

Before Marta could finish, Helena interrupted and said, "I'll have none of this IF business, the deal is a done thing, the signing is only a formality and to let you get seen outside Belgium."

Helena could tell Marta was feeling cornered. She began the next conversation after she laughed by saying, "Okay, Miss Gerhoven, when this deal is signed, and I have got back from my vacation, I have the feeling I will be rushed off my feet for orders."

"Will that be a problem?"

Marta paused as she thought of what she planned for the trip to her cottage in the Ardennes, then said, "In some ways, yes, as I wanted to take some time to get my cottage back in shape before the hiking season begins."

"I'm sure we can permit our rising star to have a few days off to deal with her other business affairs."

Marta laughed and replied, "Oh, Helena, you make it sound as though I have a big business plan. All it involves is a lodge with a bed and some blankets for the hikers to feel welcome. This year is my first year running the project, so I have no idea if there will be any business. Anyway, I expect to be back before you realize I have gone. I'll have to love you and leave you, Helena, until Tuesday, see you later.

Marta put the phone in her pocket and walked down the hall to the door leading to the garage. Her mind was thinking of the list of items she would need for the lodge when she bumped into the door, "Merde'," she muttered as she turned the key in the lock.

Marta opened her car door and sat in the driver's seat, she reached down to choose a CD for the short drive to the lodge but changed her mind when she felt her head throbbing.

Marta hadn't been on the road long when a storm broke, and the rain poured. Never one to walk from the rain, she opened her window to feel the midday coolness the storm brought, then she realized there was another aroma in the air, she took in a breath then sighed, "You can't beat the scent of pine in the air to invigorate your soul."

She decided to stop at Dohan on her way to pick up some food for her short stay, while she was walking back from a store, Marta thought she saw a young man look her way, and wink at her. "Mmm, you seem nice, what a shame you probably have a girlfriend.