The Hand

You stand surveying the water
You gingerly tip your toe in
It’s cold, at the moment
The warmer it is, the colder the water seems
You want to jump in
But some unseen hand holds you back
Once again you try
The hand won’t let go
Finally you manage to break free
For a split second
You are neither on earth nor are you in the water
Then you crash onto the surface
And for a few seconds
You disappear under water
God, it’s cold
You break surface again gasping, laughing and shouting in one
And within seconds you are one with the water
You extol the beauty and enjoyment to all that will listen
Some respond and others smile and turn away
It is not enough to stay in
You have to go through this same challenge
Over and over again
The hand plays with you everytime

The Watcher / The Watched

The scene unfolded as so many others often had over the years. The Watcher, who thought he was in complete control and on top of the situation, was in fact himself being observed.

The Watched person had been scanning the Watcher even before he took his seat at the bistro. They say, a little knowledge, is dangerous, and this was proof thereof. The Watcher, although he was oblivious to the fact, was in serious danger of being eliminated, purely by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What was really unfolding here was a web of intrigue, politics and espionage that stretched all the way back to the Emperor and his inner circle, with their greed, corruption and lust for power.

Our scene consisted of two pawns in a chess game which stretched across the galaxy, and had as many players as there were pieces, on the board. There was no doubt that this was a complex game, which truly only resembled chess by virtue of it being both strategic and tactical. The greater goal was the primary directive and everything and anything would be deemed to be acceptable in achieving this goal. The stakes were high, with the rewards endless, to the successful players.

It was always interesting to watch the opening gambits, in a new game, put into play by this chance meeting on Bega Centauri.

The Watcher:

His face was well tanned and his skin appeared to have a somewhat leathery texture to it. He was wearing a black poncho with a bright red satin hat, which was held on his head with grey ribbon tied beneath his chin. The hat had fur all the way round and it looked like real fur to me. He was wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses that just about covered his cheeks. He had a a grey moustache and the hint of a smile on his face all the time and his eyebrows remained raised. This caused his brow to be wrinkled and he looked as if he was constantly puzzled by something? He looked oriental although I could not see his eyes. He was not a young man and looked as though he was in his late sixties.

He caught my attention as much by his looks but I think more by virtue of the endless questioning by his raised eyebrows. I casually accessed my comm’s apparatus and scanned the local surveillance camera’s. I locked them onto him and immediately requested an identitly check. I knew that this might alert him to the fact that he was under surveillance or at the very least he would know someone was interested in him. I was surprised at the holographic projection as my comm’s link started giving me feedback. His name was Oblique Tarbesk, a class A – level 5 robot. In plain English this made him a top rate personal security guard. The type of robot assigned to a foreign diplomat stationed on a none too friendly planet. So, I wondered, whom he might be working for here on Bega Centauri. I ran another diagnostic check but it came up blank. I was not that well acquainted with this planet. It had its fair share of eccentrics and industrialists and this robot could be working for anyone of them. It did not particularly interest me, the fact that he was registered and his identity scanned, suggested to me that everything was in order. I am a sort of a roving security analyst, my work entails auditing security apparatuses and procedures on all planets across the Trifa quadrant. I report directly to ISA, Interplanetary Security Agency. The Emperor was due to make a state visit to Bega Centauri in three months time and I was part of an advance guard to audit existing security procedures.

I merely filed an incident report and thought very little of it. I somehow couldn’t help but feel he was mocking me in some way, that hint of a smile, seemed to stay on his lips and he seemed to doff his hat to me as he left.

The Watched:

I saw him the minute he entered the square, I had set my containment field well beyond the confines of the square. I was alerted to his presence whilst he was still half a block away. Combri Avechi was his name and he was a minor security officer in the ISA, Interplanetary Security Agency. He was a level 3 administrative robot and probably believed himself to be human, a quirk of modern robotics. He was not an operative and was therefore not a personal threat. His security clearance was or could potentially be a problem though. I immediately hacked into his comm’s link and intercepted everything coming to and from his apparatus. I done this in a way that would make it appear normal to him. He had to believe that he was accessing the ISA mainframe and this would mean that there was a prefunctionary delay in both dealing with his request as well as authenticating his log-in. We had set up a dummy link and tested this extensively early last week. This was the first time we were going live with this though. The feedback he was getting now would tell him I was a level 5 robot and for all intents and purposes he would think that I was the personal bodyguard for some or other rich industrialist. I watched his reaction and waited to see how he would react to the blank on whom I was actually working for. This was crucial and would turn this situation one way or the other. He filed a routine incident report, which would never reach ISA and seemed to be happy to leave it at that. I had entered a virus on his apparatus which would corrupt everything he had submitted for the last 48 hours and would continue to do so for another 24 hours before it stopped working completely. There would then be no record of most of his trip here to Bega Centauri but more importantly the fault would be traced back to a period well before his contact with me. I hoped this would be the end of my contact with Combri but then again it wasn’t up to me. If the order came through I would have to make sure that the records were dealt with on a more permanent basis.

The Waiting Game

The Waiting Game:
Andrew McKenzie
10/11/2004

Here I am at Prestwick airport, it is Friday afternoon, probably one of its busier days. I am never sure if the people I see are leaving Glasgow or whether they have just arrived.

The first thing one does see, on arrival are the long queues at the check-in counters. You usually have to first locate your queue and then join in. It somehow reminds me of a large fast food outlet. It almost looks like a Burger King or a MacDonald’s, except it’s not a happy meal you are ordering. Although, I think that is what some people are looking for.

I have barely finished checking-in and I am walking away from the counter, when I am confronted by someone trying to sign me up for yet another credit card. Yes, these ones have fancy pictures on them, however, the pretty pictures don’t seem to be worth the interest rates they want to charge me. I eventually manage to convince them that I am not interested. I make it into WH Smith, where, I intend to purchase some light reading, to entertain myself. I have a book but I tend to keep this for the airplane. I usually spend quite a bit of time going through the publications, even although I have no intention of buying another book. My resolve is sometimes weakened but not on this occasion. I eventually settle for the New Scientist magazine as an article catches my attention.

I make my way across to the Alloway’s pub. I order a pint and notice a large proportion of the people have blue and white scarves on. I have a Sparta Prague top on and notice their interest in me. I therefore conclude that they are football supporters. I listen and hear them speaking German. I then realise they must be Schalke 04 fans as the team played against Hearts the previous evening. As some of them leave the pub the say something to me, which I couldn’t catch, and probably wouldn’t have understood. I say Schalke and tell them they have a good victory under the belt. Its smiles all round.

There are the usual groups of guys all with the same t-shirt on, someone’s stag party. I see two separate groups at the pub. I am not sure what the t-shirts are about. I wonder if they have a t-shirt for every day they are away? A group of women arrive all wearing pink playboy type ears. They all seem to be going to Barcelona. I am glad that I am not.

Everywhere around the airport are individuals as well as groups of people sitting around waiting. Waiting to leave or for people to arrive. I sense that some people will still be waiting for something long after they have left. From the luxury of my vantage point I find myself watching people, picking up snippets of conversations. Immersing myself in their world, if only for a few seconds. Watching couples and either their familiarity and or strained relationships fast approaching breaking point. Mothers trying to keep bored children entertained. Newly joined couples trying to maintain acceptable levels of decency, in a public place. As an announcement is made whole groups of people leave only to be replaced by more that have just arrived.

After a while, I join the group that has moved from one area to another. I can’t help but wonder, isn’t life itself, just a waiting game.

Manunu (Lesotho 3)

Manunu sat nursing his beer, he looked across at me and smiled. We had started drinking much, much earlier in the evening. I had no idea what the time was now and they way I felt at the moment, I couldn’t give a damn.

“Manunu, what ever happened to Precious, that women you were seeing?” Manunu smiled, he didn’t talk much at the best of times and he did not seem enthusiastic to clarify the issue. Aow!, She is no longer here in Lesotho, her father is not well. She was a powerful woman that one . . . he sighs and then chuckles and shakes his head, lost in thought for a moment. He takes another sip of his beer, still chuckling, looks at me and asks me and what happened to your lady, Trinity?” I catch my breath, I hadn’t thought about Trinity for some time and yet it is almost as if I have not stopped thinking about her at all. My memory of her is very vivid, no doubt helped by the alcohol that I have consumed. I realise that I have deep in thought for a few minutes, I look up and I see Manunu is watching me. He smiles and nods his head, “Ja, you still miss her, hey?” I find myself smiling as well, there was no fooling Manunu, he knew she had meant a lot to me. Then the opportunity in Spain had come up and she would have been a fool not to have taken it and that is what I had told her. So barely six months into our relationship she had up and left for Europe. We still exchange emails and we are still good friends. “She might be coming for Christmas,” I said looking at Manunu again. He looked at me, peering over his glasses, which were perched on the end of his nose. “Do you think that is advisable?” I’m not sure, part of me wanted it to happen, a hankering back to what we had shared before, but another part of me was very unsure of what might happen when she came. Was I being naïve, did she have similar feelings for me or was she just looking for a break from Europe’s winter weather. Was it realistic to think that we would be sleeping together again, that we might reach some of those heights of ecstasy again. He seemed to sense or know what I was thinking and told me that I was dreaming again. He held his hands together at the thumbs and flapped his hands, like two wings and then we burst out laughing. I reached into the cooler bag and pulled out another two bottles of Castle lager, his face lit up as if this was a special treat and not just another beer.

I tossed another few logs on the fire, it had snowed yesterday and as beautiful as it was outside on the mountain slopes it was bitterly cold. I have made up the spare room for you. He nodded his head and said that it would be dangerous to try and go down to the farm now anyway, he thanked me. We discussed the football from last week. I was an Orlando Pirates fan and Manunu supported Kaiser Chiefs. We had organised a barbecue the last time they faced each other, with Kaiser Chiefs the triumphant warriors of the day. Lesotho remained in South Africa’s shadow when it came to sports and economics. Both Manunu and myself were not native to this country. Having visited here since I was a young boy, I felt a definite sense of comfort and belonging. So much so that I already knew that I would retire here one day. I mentioned this to my guest and he expressed surprise that I would even consider or think of going anywhere else. This country is in your blood now you will not easily walk away from her, she will haunt you if you do. I thought about what he had said and realised that it was true. Many a day I sit with my head buried in books and don’t even spare a thought for my surroundings. But then again there are days when you just can’t help but drink it all in. The views really are intoxicating and can just take your breath away. What about yourself, what are your long term plans? Manunu took out his pipe and kept himself busy filling it with tobacco, eventually he lit up, filling the room with small clouds of airomatic rum and maple tobacco, his favourite. He looked at me intensely and told me that he hoped to build a cottage further along the trail, near the mountain pool area. The matter had been discussed with farmer Swanepoel, who now kept some money aside each month in a special savings account. The erf had been purchased from farmer Van der Merwe. More importantly Precious was very keen on the idea of living above the rest of the community. He hoped that those days were not too far off. His work as foreman for farmer Swanepoel would continue but he would stay in his own house. And yes, God willing, there would be more mouths to feed soon. A few goats for milk and meat as well as a few staple crops for cooking, would go a long way to making him self-sufficient. Those are my plans my friend and it looks like we will be neighbours.

Pule Walkers Clan (Lesotho 2)

It was early morning I was outside having a cup of coffee and thinking about what I was going to do that day. I heard a noise carried to me by the wind. I looked across at the path and I saw the village children on their way to school. They moved as if they were joined together. The group of children looked like some gigantic snake the way it wound itself along the path. I could hear them laughing and playfully taunting each other. Then suddenly the snake stopped . . . then I heard one voice carried to me and it was as if I was standing close by the group I could hear everything that he said.

I am Maphuphe
My clan is Pule (rain) walkers
I walk this path every day
I am here to see that my brothers and sisters
Arrive safely at school

I am a shepherd
Sometimes sheep,
sometimes children
I am happy with my children
In the morning.

We sing to our ancestors
And rejoice in their name
Everyday we take turns to lead the singing
This is our tribal tradition
Everyone must learn

Stories, poems and songs
Begin and end each journey
to and from school
In so doing the children know
They are leaving and once again
Entering our tribal ground
It is our tradition

I am Maphuphe
Let us start.

There seemed to be a brief silence as if people were collecting themselves and then I heard a lovely young girls voice begin to sing.

We ride the clouds
We stay with the stars
We are closer to the sun and the moon
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan

And then the whole group burst into song:

We rise above the earth
Not for us the lowlands
The mountains are our friends
We walk in the clouds
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan


And then it was that same solitary voice again –

The boulders and rocks
Watch us come and go
A generation to us
Is but a day to them
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan

Once again the whole group joined in:

We rise above the earth
Not for us the lowlands
The mountains are our friends
We walk in the clouds
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan

Back to the solitary voice:

We soar with the Bald Ibis
They are our Spirits
We their body
They watch over us
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan

And again the whole group

We rise above the earth
Not for us the lowlands
The mountains are our friends
We walk in the clouds
We are the ‘Pule’ walkers clan

I strained my ears but I could no longer hear the words. They were still singing but all I could hear was a distant chant of the group and then silence until the chant was taken up again. I could no longer make it out. I could still see them though. Each person had their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them. This only strengthened my impression of them moving as if they were one person. And in a way they were, as they gave up their individuality and immersed themselves in the clan.

Solitude (Lesotho 1)

Solitude – Andrew McKenzie 24th October, 2004:

Solitude, that is the name of my cabin in the Drakensberg Mountains and it’s truly the place I call home. Unfortunately in order to live I am not able to stay here as often as I would like to. I have not been able to bring myself to rent it out to all and sundry though, as it somehow seems like a violation of my privacy. I know it sounds selfish but to think that someone else might be able to spend more time and derive more pleasure, in using it, than me, does not exactly make me happy.

I live in Yeoville, Johannesburg and I lecture in Political Science at the University of the Witwatersrand. More often than not I only manage to visit my cabin when I am on vacation, which luckily as an academic is more often than your normal nine to five job would allow. I have been coming here ever since I can remember, the cabin was my fathers originally. Back in the seventies we would pack-up, leave our home in Pietermaritzburg, Natal and spend our Christmas’ and New Year here. This is the height of the summer although on a number of occasions we came down the end of June and had great fun in the snow. My father had an old Land Rover, which he needed to be able to visit all his patients in the countryside. My recollections were of an overcrowded, overloaded Land Rover struggling up the Sani pass over the Drankensberg into Lesotho. Then a quick stop in Mokhotlong (the name means ‘Place of the Bald Ibis’), you always knew you were almost at the cabin when you arrived here. Mokhotlong, the closest town to the cabin, was once called ‘the lonliest place in the British Empire’ or so my father told me and I always remembered that, it was a rather desolate place. The Drankensberg has its highest peak, Thabana-Ntlenyana at 3482m (11 424 feet), not that far from where our cabin is. This part of Lesotho is referred to as ‘The roof of Africa’.

As a child I could not have asked for a more adventurous and exciting setting. I used to play for hours on end with Sipho (the son of our house help), Phule and Sibongile (brother and sister from the village), we were all more or less the same age. After breakfast, every morning, Sipho and I would be off and we normally would not walk far on the mountain path before Phule and Sibongile would turn up. With shouts of Lumelang (pronounced Dumelang, meaning, Hullo) we were off playing amongst the trees and streams, clambering over the boulders, shouting and laughing without a care in the world. Those were innocent and carefree days, something, I think, I remember most, when I think back to my youth.

It is sad, but I suppose inevitable that as I grew older, Solitude and my annual sojourn to Lesotho lost its appeal for me. Strangely enough, one of my reasons then, that there was nothing to do, is why it appeals to me now. It wasn’t until about twenty years later that I had a deep longing and felt myself once again drawn to Solitude. I was about thirty five years old by now, my father and mother had passed away by then, I was an only child. I had been married and things had gone really well in the beginning. Then somehow we had grown apart and things had deteriorated until we both realised that it was only a charade of a marriage and we had agreed to separate. If there had been children we might have been motivated to make more of an effort but as it was we had merely drifted away from each other. Helen now lectures at the University of Cape Town’s graduate business school in the Waterfront.

Solitude is very remotely situated in Lesotho with the closest neighbours being roughly eight miles away, although I can assure you, it seems much further, due to the steep gradient from there. The Swanepoels farm is approximately 10 miles from Mokhotlong. I leave my jeep down at the Swanepoel’s farm, my closest neighbour. There is no road beyond their farm and I usually have to negotiate with some of their farm workers to bring some goods up to the cabin, for me, with a pack horse. They are usually more than willing as I reward them generously and have made good friends with Manunu, one of the foremen. He usually brings the goods up the next day and is very fond of sharing all the local news, a willingness which is oiled with a glass of mampoer (local alcoholic beverage) and a cigar or two. This scene usually repeats itself once a week, when Manunu brings the mail.

Solitude is itself virtually invisible until one is almost upon it and then it is often obscured in a mist, which regularly swirls around the mountain slopes. Whilst climbing the steep path, one may catch a glimpse of it, only for it to disappear again. Solitude itself therefore takes on an almost ethereal, mystical quality, as it is only half visible through the haze, and one is never sure whether it is actually a man made structure or a rock formation resembling a cabin.

When I am at the cabin, it usually takes a day or two to rid myself of all the stresses of city life. It is as if I myself transform into a different me, a quieter more peaceful person one who is both happy and seeks nothing more than that which solitude has to offer.

I often sit for hours at the open window gazing at the swirling mist. As it changes, so to do the rock formations that jut out from it. At one point it is as if the whole valley is actually an ocean, with the rock formations taking on the shapes of a fleet of ships, afloat in this imaginary sea. Then it suddenly changes and in my mind it resembles a First World War battlefield, with the gas floating across the field. The various shapes are piles of bodies and or ancient abandoned tanks. At any minute I expect to see a group of soldiers bursting out of the gas / fog / mist.

It is strange how the mist itself seems to intensify the solitude of the cabin, it elevates it onto another level or plane as you can no longer see anything beneath the mist, one is left with the only option being to look up towards the last of the peaks and perhaps a more optimistic outlook on life. I find that, any time I spend in Solitude, seems to strengthen and equip me for the arduous journey that lies ahead. If I know that I have a significant challenge ahead, I always make time for Solitude.

I am almost seen as one of the tribe here locally, they have seen me grow up with their children and accept me as a local. Even although I disappeared for a good few years, this is accepted as a ‘rite of passage’, everyone knows who I am and I am warmly greeted when encountered out walking. For years my father used to run a local clinic whilst he was here on holiday, nothing formal mind you, but it was his small way of contributing to the well being of the community and this has been remembered and appreciated. Sibongile is a teacher now in Leribe Hlotse and often comes home to her village to visit, she has apparently never married. I have seen her and we had quite a pleasant conversation at the story tellers event, last year. I have taken it upon myself to sponsor this festival every year. They have a strong tradition of story-telling, often handed down from one generation to the next. The event that I sponsor, with Manunu’s help, has become a annual event. Shortly after the arrival of the New Year a Saturday is put aside. From about two in the afternoon the stories begin, a sheep and a calf are slaughtered and a variety of liquid refreshments are on hand. There is an accepted sequence, with the younger story tellers starting first, and the more experienced orators on last bringing the whole event to its climax. The meat is cooked slowly over the coals that will simmer for the rest of the weekend and the food is only served well into the night

As each speaker takes his place – he will call out to the crowd ‘U phela joang? (How are you?) to which the crowd will answer, as one ‘Ke phela hantle, Kea leboha’ (I am well, thank you). The story-teller will then launch into his story which often lasts for nearly one hour. I might add that this day is the culmination of events which have taken place over the year, with only the finalists being allowed to tell their stories on the evening. I do not speak Sesotho, other than a few greetings and pleasantries, so I am forced to closely watch the reaction of the assembled villagers, to each story and story teller. They are a very animated group and most stories are very interactive. There is an art to the whole process and from an early stage in their career the more successful orators learn to take their audience along with them, often acting out various parts of their story for emphasis. The crowd love to interject and there is much clucking of tongues and cheering when the heroes are victorious. Some of these stories have been told in their current format for a number of generations, the truly skilful orator blends the traditional with more current affairs and in so doing re-affirms the village’s identity within history and culture of their tribe.

Early Morning

Early Morning

It’s morning – rush hour
Everyone seems to have one thing in mind
Humanity is a river
Seething this way and that
There is no stemming it
Once it has started
Here and there
Dam walls exist
Other than that
Like water it flows
Now and again a container arrives
And takes some humanity away with it
But it all seems to be a fruitless exercise
More seems available now, than existed before
It’s like a flood out of control
There is no stemming it

People seem to be willing to lose their individuality
Almost as if it is for some greater cause
Become one with the tide
This is the route to survival
Go with the flow
Only now and again
Are choices necessary
Otherwise let the collective decide
I wonder how many are awake
They all seem to have the same glazed look
I think it must be something in the drinking water
How have I escaped
Then I think – perhaps I am the same outwardly
Aren’t we all
How then to be who we truly are
Within the collective
Is this conservation in its simplest form
Conformity helps the world function
Or so it appears
I immediately dislike the idea
I find that it is not easy to go against the flow
And yet, here and there
I catch the flicker of a smile
Or a sense of awareness in the eyes
I am not alone!

(inspired by In a station of the Metro)

Born to be Wild

Green was his colour
A man of the Earth
He rode his motor pony
Wherever his path led
He lived life in the moment
No time for regret
I’ll always remember him
I am really glad we met
His life was cut short
But it’s not how long
Rather how bright
As so often happens
I never could say goodbye
I believe we’ll meet again
So ‘till that time,
this must suffice

Machu-Picchu

Whilst travelling to Machu-Picchu it is best to base yourself in the city of Cusco. It is 3310 metres above sea level and this will help you acclimitise. Machu-Picchu is 113 km away. There are several ways to get there, helicopter, train, bus and numerous trails if you want to walk. The most popular walk is the classic Inca trail (this includes the Dead woman Pass 4200 m), but there is also the Hiram Bingham trail as well as the Secret road (which includes the Salcantay peak at 5050 m) ..

We thought we would base ourselves at Cusco, which is only 113 km from Machu-Picchu. Cusco is 3310 metres above sea level and if you are not used to it, it can be quite something to experience. It is therefore important that your body adjusts itself. More so, if you are going to go walking up and down the surrounding hills. We were going to split up, as a group, in 3 days time. Members had opted for whatever they felt comfortable with, some were travelling by train, some by bus and the majority were walking. There was the option to take a helicopter but let’s just say that the cost was a bit steep. Sam and I were taking the classic Inca trail, it would take us 4 days and see us climb to a height of 4200 m on day two when we went through the famous Dead woman Pass. Mark and Michelle were following the less strenuous, Hiram Bingham trail, this follows the archeologist’s 1911path. Kurt of course had to be more daring than everyone else and insisted on using the ‘secret road’ among hefty peaks, the highest of which is Salcantay at 5050m.

Whichever way you choose your first sight of Machu-Picchu at 2400 metres is awesome . . .

Blue Peter

I was standing on the beach, at Bloubergstrand, admiring the view. I was looking across the bay at Table Mountain, framed by Devil's Peak and Lion's Head. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and from where I was standing you could have believed that Table Mountain was on an island. It’s true that many years ago large areas of the Cape Peninsula were under water. Most notably the Cape Flats - notorious for its gangsterism and murders.

My name is Drew Summers, my partners were Gadija Samuels and Lundi Ntsimango. Together we ran the Uphendlo Private Investigation agency. I was on my way to the Blue Peter hotel, Gadija was gong join me there for dinner. It wasn't just a social event we were there on business. Piet Nel from Port Nolloth was booked into the hotel, with him a young lady. No doubt Mrs Nel according to the hotel registry, we knew better though. Petronella Nel was at home in Port Nolloth but we weren't really here for reasons of fidelity. There were bigger fish to fry here. Piet had a reputation for moving large quantities of uncut diamonds, not that he had ever been caught or should I say convicted of anything. Smuggling diamonds in Port Nolloth was rife, it was after all the major industry there. Divers had limited life spans, somewhat akin to a professional athlete. When they first start the money is over enough but then the old income effect kicks in, they want bigger houses and bigger cars and so it spirals. Piet is the man that helps you when you reach that stage however, after it’s all said and done they still get peanuts for what they smuggle out and the risks they take. De Beers are the major players there and in the world markets. But as they say in the classics where there is a will there is a way.

It was the first time our agency had undertaken any work for De Beers. Make no mistake they have their own, fairly elaborate security network, as I am sure you can imagine. They have certain mining towns which are completely sealed off from the outside world. You enter by invitation only with large swathes of land surrounding them, which is completely desolate. It is a rather an inhospitable part of the world and they make sure large parts of it stay that way. We had been contracted to do this because they weren't sure whether their operatives were known to Piet or whether some of them were on his payroll. Our job was to keep an eye on things, monitor the comings and goings as well as any contact that was made. Lundi was already working at the hotel, which made things a little easier. We had a microphone hidden at his table and it was on a tip-off from Lundi, who was monitoring his communications as well, that was why we were here. Something was going down. There had been a flurry of text messages between Piet and a mobile phone registered to a Carbon Trading company. We'd run a check on the company but it was a paper trail which ran dry with a chartered accountant in Gordon's Bay who was paid a retainer to do the books of another company which owned that company, you know the story. We had a name Serge but thus far it meant nothing to us, so we wanted a visual and we wanted to know what was being discussed.

So there we were half past seven and Gadija and I had just taken our seats in the upstairs restaurant. We looked out over the bay, the lawn downstairs, in front of the hotel bar, was full of people that had come to watch the sun disappear into the sea, or that was how it looked every evening. Hotel staff weaved in and out of the crowd serving drinks to those seated at the tables. There seemed to be quite a buzz this evening I suppose in retrospect I should have surveyed the crowd more closely but as far as I was concerned it was pure recon and we weren't really expecting anything else. We ordered drinks and took our time seemingly making small talk. Piet and the supposed Mrs Nel were sitting about five tables away and also had a table overlooking the lawn and the bay. I had an audio feed from the microphone as did Gadija if anything was going down we would both know simultaneously. We had been working together for eighteen months now and between the three of us we had built up a rapport and understanding of how we worked and we had an idea of how we would each react in different circumstances. I was comfortable with both of my partners and we had been in a few ugly situations where we had to depend on each other. South Africa has a gun culture which when you are in my line of work you do not take lightly. Some people do shoot first and ask questions later.

The terms of our agreement with De Beers was simple recon as long as Piet was here in Cape Town - hand over the dossier and that was the end of the story. Our being here was merely for the visual identification, to back up our electronic surveillance. We had briefed our De Beers contact this morning on the unfolding developments, that was in our contract as well. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. A tall distinguished looking man entered the restaurant exchanged words with the hostess and was then shown towards Piet's table. Piet showed no sign of recognition but when they person mentioned his name as being Serge he was on his feet. I was surprised at how fast Piet had moved and made a mental note that he was more dangerous than he looked. Mrs Nel left shortly afterwards. Something happened to our microphone not long after Serge had sat down. Was he wearing a scrambler of some sorts, we couldn't detect any interference it had just gone dead. We had a directional microphone and it took a while to zero it in - we had to guide Graeme, my nephew, in by giving him the location – the microphone was in a van in the car park. Reception was not good but we had audio again and they were discussing the economy. Talk then moved onto shares and if I wasn't mistaken this was all a front for the diamonds. We didn't expect any transactions in front of us and we did not recognise Serge. We would sorely like to get his fingerprints but he wasn't drinking so that made things difficult.

I thought of placing a call and having the phone taken to him but I thought that would be too suspicious. Then things became a bit heated between Piet and Serge, they seemed to be disagreeing about which way a specific share was going to react to the market. Serge stood up and said that that was his final word on the matter. Piet was quite red in the face and clearly agitated. I heard some tyres screeching outside and was just in time to see Mrs Nel being pushed, hustled, into a car which barely stopped long enough to pickup its passengers, the car was still rocking from the brakes being applied when its tyres were screeching again as it sped off. Piet froze in his tracks and Serge smiled and donned an imaginary cap and walked out. We had not known but Piet must have had his own goons and we heard a scream from the lawn downstairs followed by the sound of shots. This was followed by the sound of automatic fire which in turn drew more fire. Gadija and I were on the floor, safely behind the wall looking down on the lawn. All hell seemed to be breaking loose as I peered over the wall I picked up at least three armed groups or were they just well dispersed. Then it struck me De Beers were here as well but why were they intervening. Then there was an explosion out back, smoke everywhere followed by even more chaos, people screaming and running in every direction. When we had collected ourselves Serge and Piet were missing. Lundi came running in his hand hovering close to his gun but stooped short of drawing it. He was acting as a concerned hotel staff member ushering people outside and waiting for a chance to ask us what the hell had just happened. Which is what I wanted to know but I had no intention of sticking around to find out.

I gave Lundi a quick run down summary of what we had heard and then Gadija and I made for our cars. As we approached the car park I noticed that the van door was slightly ajar. My heart skipped a few beats as I raced to open the door. There was Graeme lying sprawled on the floor. I felt sick. All I could think of was what was I going to tell my brother. Whilst I was thinking this Gadija was checking to see how Graeme was - she felt for a pulse and told me he was OK probably just unconscious. We could see the equipment was wrecked plus any recordings were now missing. I was getting pretty upset, things were not going according to plan. Graeme came to, as we were bent over him, groaning and rubbing his head. I'm sorry Drew, he started to say. I cut him off and told him to keep quiet and told him that he had better not mention this to his dad if he everwanted to help us out again. Gadija just shook her head and said we'd better be off before things get any worse here. Graeme said he was OK and told us to get a move on. We split up, I headed out of town towards Melkbos and Gadija turned back towards Town. I hit a roadblock just being set up by the Scorpions (South Africa's version of the FBI) and who should be there but Max Diamond who recognised me immediately. He pulled me off and started asking me where I had just come from, whilst listening to feedback via his communications link. I said I was on my way to Malmesbury. He nodded his head and smiled and then asked me whether I had just come from the Blue Peter hotel and told me to think before answering as he was not in the mood to repeat the question. I wondered if I should deny it and then did anyway. He sighed and said that's strange because my colleague, Andile, is talking to Lundi at the moment and he seems to be working at the Blue Peter now? Didn't he used to work with you? Seems like too much of a co-incidence to me? What do you think Drew, your the Private Investigator?

In the beginning 5

There I was in a strange house – hoping to hear a dial tone and all I was able to access was BT’s recorded message – I felt as if I could scream or cry or both for that matter. I ran back into the kitchen and outside – I wasn’t sure whether I should ride along the track or head back down to the main road and see whether I could see Johan and flag down a passing motorist – worried sick and very nervously I started making my way down to the road again . . .I kept a look out for our blue ford – but I could not see it neither could I see any other vehicles – when I was still too far from the road a car did pass but remembering what had happened last time I thought there was no point unless I could actually get into the road and make it clear I wanted them to stop and that I was just some damn tourist or something who wanted to wave to everyone. When I reached the gate I noticed that Johan’s bicycle was no where to be seen . . . .I gingerly opened the gate – almost ready to run at the first sign of anyone or anything . . .nothing happened - I walked back to where I had seen Johan’s bike lying on the road – no sign of it or of Johan for that matter . . .had he ridden off – surely not – he knew where I was headed – maybe that was why he had ridden off to keep them away from me – you would be surprised of everything that goes through your mind in those few split seconds – there was no trace of him – then I saw something that turned my heart cold – there was blood against a small young tree not far from where the bike had been lying -Oh God – John has been hurt – what has happened – if I had started to calm down – I had now taken of like a concord again and I was soaring above the clouds again. I heard the noise of an approaching vehicle and it was red – so I felt quite reassured . . .

In the beginning 4

There was no mistaking that mocking look that we had seen on the ferry – to make matters worse he we were on an open road – the only road and there this group of youth’s were in a vehicle and us on bicycles. We both stopped and looked at each other and then looked back the way the vehicle had been driving in – well there was no sign of them. I was not convinced and told John as much and I had managed to get a look at the other youth’s and I was now convinced the youths from Oban were in that car. I realised I was saying all of this all at once and Johan was holding up his arms saying calm down . . calm down. I started crying as it was just all too much for me. Johan took me in his arms and said once again – lets carry on and if there is any sign of them we can quite easily run off into the field. I think we should phone the police and tell them we have sighted the vehicle that was involved in the hit and run this morning. But we can’t say that – we didn’t actually see the vehicle. What we can say is that it is the two youth’s from this morning’s assault and then tell them we were told about the hit and run and the car they are in matches the description of the vehicle how does that sound? Oh yes, lets do that Johan – I’d feel much better if we told someone – I don’t feel comfortable at all a t the moment. Johan took out his mobile and I saw a flicker of concern cross his face. What is it? Mmm no signal lets see whether if we cycle another mile or so whether we can get a signal. This more or less decided matters for us as we now had to move on anyway – it shook us out of our inertia. There was still no sign of the car again anyway. So we set off with a purpose in mind and were making good progress – we heard a car coming up behind us but it was not them – I waved at them to stop and the family in the car waved back and carried on driving. I was close to sobbing now and Johan said come on keep that energy for cycling. We set off again and as we rode Johan would check for signal but still nothing. The road was fairly straight and we could see for quite some distance as the time went on – we began to feel more at ease – we passed a slip road to VVVVV and for a split second considered turning off but then decided that the best place to be was on the main road – a number of other cars passed us and we started to relax more and thought we were over-reacting again, letting our imaginations run away with themselves.

We stopped for a few minutes to have a drink and reassure ourselves things were fine and the police would be out scouring the island anyway so it would only be a matter of time before they were picked up anyway. We were just setting off again when I glanced back to see where Johan was and I caught sight of a light blue vehicle in the distance coming towards us – I shouted to Johan and he looked back – the car must have been speeding because the distance was dwindling very fast – Johan shouted at me to cycle towards the farm gate coming up on the opposite side of the road – I crossed over and had nearly reached it when I heard the roar of the engine behind us – I looked back and saw that Johan was crossing the road and was in front of the vehicle – I screamed to him and cycled for all I was worth – I jumped off my bicyle and was opening the gate when I heard the sickening sound of impact behind me – I was through the gate with my bike – I was shaking – I didn’t want to look back and I could hear the sound of the engine again as it seemed to be approaching me – I jumped on my bicycle and started peddaling furiously to take me away from whatever danger lurked behind me – I stole a glance back and saw johan’s bike on the side of the road – wheel still turning but no sign of Johan or the light blue vehicle. I did not wait around and cycled hoping that there would be a farmhouse up ahead.

I had been cycling for a short while when I saw a building up ahead and increased my effort to get there so that I could get to a phone and contact the police – I was frantic not knowing what had happened – whether Johan was seriously hurt – where the blue car was – everything was going through my head I just didn’t know what was happening and why it was happening – how could things have changed so much in the space of a few hours???

I arrived at the farm house and jumped off my bicycle running straight to the door – shouting as I ran – Help! Help! – I knocked at the front door not wanting to just barge in but my anxiety was getting the better of me particularly as there was no answer – I tried the front door it was locked – I ran round to the back door and hammered on that (if there was someone inside – I might even be scaring them now) as well – no answer. I Panicked – I wasn’t sure what to do now – I had been convinced it would be a simple matter arrive here phone the police end of story. I wondered if I should break in – it only took a few seconds and I was looking for something to help me to get into the house. My eye was caught by a metal rod lying on the side of the road and I rushed towards it and picked it up – it was not something I had done before – I went round to the backdoor and smashed the small window above the handle in the corner – I slipped my hand through and the key was in the door – I turned it and was inside the house. I looked around – everything seemed fairly neat and orderly inside I walked through to the hallway and there about half way to the door was a phone on a sideboard . . . I rushed across and picked it up . . . imagine my horror when I heard a recorded message saying that the account was overdue and that only incoming calls would be allowed . . .

In the beginning 3

We decided to put the incident behind us and we both thought that the disturbing affair of earlier on might be upsetting both of us and actually making us paranoia now. We decided to forget about the whole thing and laughed about the way our imaginations had run away with themselves. We put it all firmly behind us and made for downstairs where we had stored our bicycles as the boat started docking in Craignure.

We joined the rest of the cyclists pushing our bikes out of the hold onto tot the car ramp and watched as the rest of them rode off. We decided to have a coffee before leaving the town on our journey. The town had quietened down again after all the hustle and bustle from the ferry before we set off again. We were not far out off town when a police car lights flashing and siren blaring came speeding past – hurtling down the road – in the direction we were headed. This was followed shortly thereafter by an ambulance – we thought we had had our fair share of them already. Well about two miles down the road the traffic had been completely stopped – but we managed to crawl past - we presumed that there had been a accident – as sometimes happens. Due to the nature of the roads there is not much option other to close the road until such time as things have been sorted out. We cycled slowly on passing cars – which had long ago been switched off – it can be a lengthy business. When we arrived at the front of the queue we were horrified to a wrecked bicycle lying on the side of the road. It always hits home more when it is another cyclist as you realise it could have been you. We struck up a conversation with the driver of the first car who said he actually seen it happen. It was the damndest thing it was almost as if the car driver had done it on purpose and then he had just driven off – being an island they will get him – looked like a bunch of youth’s, in a light blue escort. I walked around the side and there was the cyclist lying in the road – I couldn’t see how serious it was but they had not yet moved him and then I saw another body on the road but this had a blanket over it – so there had been a fatality. I walked back to John in a daze – somehow things were not going exactly as planned. Our plan was to catch the last ferry from Fionnphort and spend the evening camping near the abbey – south of the village actually. That would allow us to get up early and start the day at the abbey.

We were quite shocked by the accident – you take things for granted and most of the time motorists are very careful and tolerant of cyclists. And in part I think just scared of the trouble they would be in if they knocked one of us down. But here was someone killed and another person obviously seriously injured and the motorist still at large having driven off – John said that we didn’t know that they may well have handed themselves in at a local police station – I asked him how many police stations did he think Mull had – I’d be surprised if it had more than 1 – but of course I didn’t know. We mad ourselves comfortable in a grass field under the shade of a large tree – I had my book out and started reading although I must have dozed off as the next thing I realised John was gently shaking my shoulder. Come on sleepy head – the road is clear again – I glanced across and true enough the traffic had started flowing again.

We allowed the traffic to clear and we climbed on our bikes and were on our way again. We had allowed plenty of time for the cycle as it included some mountainous terrain and we did not want to have to push things – we were more than ready to take it at our leisure and had packed a picnic for consumption along the way. But we had obviously not factored in any major stoppages other than for our lunch – having said that John was a keen amateur photographer – I think if he devoted enough time to it he could actually be very good at it. He seemed to have a knack for seeing a photograph before actually taking it – in other words what it would come out like. He was quite meticulous about where he wanted me to stand sometimes – moving me right & left forwards backwards etc., until he was quite happy and I must say I had seen a few gems already.

We soldiered on and had discussed stopping but decided to push through to Fionnphort were if need be would could relax before catching the next ferry and could always have our food onboard – what we did not want to happen was for us to miss the ferry and have to stay on Mull instead of Iona as planned. The roads were not too busy and we were lucky with the weather, as I had said. It was still quite warm and very pleasant cycling conditions within no time at all we were approaching Bunessan – cycling along a long level section of road. We road through the village and were about 10 minutes outside of it when we saw a car approaching from the other direction. It was a light blue ford escort – there was no mistaking who was driving it either it was the same youth who had been sitting on the ferry the one that had been laughing all the time. As the car approached we could see both the occupants as well as the fact that the vehicle had sustained some damage on the front left hand side. They turned to look at us and there was no mistaking the malevolence we could feel from their stares.

In the beginning 2

We stood around waiting for the ambulance to arrive and within a short space of time we had a whole crowd of people standing around looking and asking what had happened. In this time a police patrol vehicle had appeared as well as a traffic unit which was now blocking access to this part of the promenade. The whole thing was now creating a small scene and the woman who had been assaulted was now sitting on the pavement – with a blanket around her whilst we were still waiting for an ambulance to arrive.

The woman was in her late forties and we heard that her name was Mairi – she had been walking along the waterfront when two youths had attacked her for seemingly no reason at all. She said they had been acting strangely and had followed her for a short while before trying to snatch her handbag – when she had held onto it one of the youth’s had started battering her. And that was when we had arrived on the scene and John had jumped off his bicycle to assist her and ward off the two youths. A police constable came across to us to take our statements and whilst he was doing so the ambulance arrived. As the first aid staff helped Mairi to the ambulance she insisted in coming across to us and shaking John’s hand – she asked us what our names were and then allowed herself to be guided into the back of the ambulance. In not time the ambulance left, we gave our statements and the crowd dispersed. The police had taken our names and addresses and informed us that they might be contacting us in the future to assist with the enquiry.

We realised that we did not have much time left as we hurried back to the ferry terminal and in fact were only just in time to board the Caledonian Macbrae ferry ‘Isle of Mull’ before is set sail for Craignure. We sat on deck basking in the sunshine looking back towards the shore as we sailed out of harbour. We hadn’t had much time to discuss what had just happened and I turned to John and said that he could have been hurt he shrugged and said that he wasn’t prepared to stand by as the woman was assaulted. The police had also thanked him for his intervention and had shared with us that this was becoming an all too regular occurrence especially on the waterfront with tourists and visitors to Oban being targeted. The officer had said that they were becoming more and more brazen and were now not afraid to attack tourists in front of other people in the middle of the day.

It was strange how fast it had all happened as they had ridden along the waterfront – one minute admiring the view and the next finding themselves caught up in the whole event. John had never previously expressed much of an opinion about crime and I had not really thought that I would become involved in anything preferring to probably just mind my own business and avoid anything like that – sometimes though you are just thrown into something and this is what had happened with us here – no prior warning and then in the middle of something. I wasn’t sorry we had helped in fact I felt quite proud of john and how he had instinctively reacted and went to the woman’s assistance. I somehow felt reassured by the whole incident a sort of an unwritten confirmation in who I thought John was. A living testimony to some sort of higher ideal for which we all strive.

We sat around chatting and planning the rest of our day and discussing our timetable. We were about half way across when John asked if I would like a cup of coffee or hot chocolate – knowing full well that I would never willingly turn down an offer of a cup of my favourite hot chocolate. He walked off leaving me on deck basking in the sun. I was sitting there for a while when I had the distinct impression that I was being watched – I can’t really explain the sensation but it was just some sort of sixth sense – I turned around and in the far corner I caught sight of someone with a hood on turning away and then hurrying off towards the stairs – he proceeded to go down the stairs and disappeared from sight. I don’t know why but I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable and was a bit upset by the time John returned – he in turn seemed to sense something was wrong and when I told him – he insisted that we walk across to the stairs. We looked around but couldn’t see anyone that resembled the person I had seen. There were a group of youths on the benches at the foot of the stairs fooling around as kids do but no sign of the boy I had caught sight of. We turned around and were walking away when I was hit on the shoulder by a small orange or mandarin – I spun around but the kids all looked as if the were still fooling around and we couldn’t see anyone who had obviously thrown it. We decided to leave it and walked back to where we had been sitting – but this time keeping a wary eye on our backs as we were not going to allow it to happen a second time. One youth wh seemed to be slightly bigger and older than the other kids seemed to be just sitting there and smiling in a half mocking way – almost as if he was laughing specifically at us. Of course it could just have been my imagination but something about him bothered me. When we were safely back in our seats I mentioned this to Johan and said that he had noticed him as well but that he had also thought that after the events of earlier on his imagination was running away with itself. He said that he had found it quite strange and co-incidental that both of us noticed this same boy. So much so that he decided to go and take a photo of this boy – with his digital camera – he told nme to stay there and he walked around to the far end of the deck to approach from another angle. I kept a nervous watch over him as he circled around appearing to be taking random photos of the scenery of Mull as we sailed towards our destination. I saw him pause and even at this distance I could see him tense up as if he had seen something that had shocked him or that he really did not believe that he was going to see.

When he came back to me – he said you’ll never believe who our smiling pawpaw was talking to. I said I had no idea and then he told me that he wasn’t completely certain but that he thinks that it is one of the boys that attacked that woman – one of the boys that he had chased off this morning and what’s more he was wearing a grey hooded tracksuit top which would be or could be the same person that I had noticed watching me earlier on.

In the beginning

They didn’t really know each other having just met a few weeks ago and yet there seemed to be a bond between them – they felt comfortable with each other. John wondered though whether this was normal or whether he was perhaps making more of it than actually existed – he didn’t really give it too much thought at all really – it sort of passed through his head with remaining there for very long – but it was a thought that he had. Mary on the other hand was very much more of a romanticist – not that she was now hearing wedding bells or anything like that – it was just that she felt as if she had known John for a long long time.

They had accidently bumped into each other at Starbucks – which was in Waterstones in Sauchiehall street – she went there at least once a month to have a leisurely look at any new books that were out and generally bought the Observer and read that over a cup of Latte or two. He had popped in to find a book that he had seen reviewed in the Guardian – the week before – ‘The incident with the dog . . .’ – having found it he had started browsing through there other books and had eventually felt the urge for a cup of coffee. Being a Sunday early afternoon – the store was quite busy and he had glanced up to see Mary, cup in hand, looking around for a spare seat. There were none and he was almost finished and had said as much to her – she had thanked him and sat down to share his table – there had been a nervous silence between them and they had both started to say something at the same time – they had both burst out laughing and from that moment there was a shared intimacy.

They had taken an immediate liking too each other – met for coffee the following Sunday – he had phoned her during the week – they had chatted – she had thought he was phoning to say he couldn’t make it but he had merely phoned to say he would be a little late as he had to drop something off at a friends before he would be able to come to Waterstone’s. They had progressed to the movies by the next week and dinner and theatre the week thereafter. They had taken the next step – he had stayed over at her place but slept on the couch – this happened 3 times before they finally ended up in bed together and that had been two weeks ago. So all n all the relationship was in its infancy.

There was still a thrill and excitement in seeing, touching and a playfulness with each other – there was a certain familiarity as well – not a taking each other for granted but almost a knowledge of the others desire for more than what they were giving at that time . . .

So here they were early Sunday morning – sitting on the train to Oban – each reading their own book – stopping now and again to share something or just look across and smile at each other. The train wound its way first along the Clyde and then through the hills winding through and alongside various Loch’s. They had decided to take the ferry across to Craignure in Mull and they were going to cycle to Iona. John had said that it was on his list and Mary had said it was time to start addressing his list. It was surprisingly clear and unseasonally warm for April – but they weren’t complaining. They had packed some lunch and had a fair idea of how much time they had for the cycle – looking around at the Abbey, lunch and an afternoon snooze be fore it was time for the last ferry & then train back to Glasgow. John stayed in Partick and Mary was not far from there in Anniesland.

They both had their own flats and thus far moving in together had neither been mentioned or discussed – a fair amount of sleeping over and living in each others flats was taking place but that was as far as it had gone. Mary was quite a studious person with regards to cleanliness but John had a far more relaxed approach and did not lose any sleep over the odd garment lying around or dishes in the sink and she was learning to relax a bit more in this regard. He always said it will take care of itself so no reason sweating it – and he didn’t. Don’t get me wrong – his place was neat and tidy – but occasionally you might arrive there and there were a few things lying around – within a few minutes the place would always be acceptable. She had chastised him once or twice but he had made it clear he didn’t enjoy that – found it quite maternal and had laughed about – but she had detected a slight hint of irritation and had made a mental note to avoid doing that again.

As the train pulled into Oban they let other passengers disembark before removing their bicycles from the racks and pushing them onto the platform – the ferry leaves just around the corner and they never even climbed on their bikes – deciding to push them around the corner. There were a group of cyclists who were obviously going camping as they had the saddle bags and gear – we nodded to them as we pushed our bikes past to get to the ticket office. There was a queue and we waited for about 10 minutes before purchasing our tickets. We then decided to take a slow cycle along the pier and around the corner whilst waiting for the ferry to arrive. We were just passing the restaurant when we heard shouting and saw someone being assaulted – John jumped off his bike and rushed to the woman’s assistance and the two youngsters who had been jostling her ran off – I had to stop John as he was all for chasing after the two youths whereas I had said that he should leave them be.

Carrington

It was a really special day for me – you see it was my wedding day. Marie and I had been married that afternoon and this was the start of our honeymoon. The wedding reception had gone well with everyone seemingly enjoying themselves. It was still going strong when we slipped away 2 hours ago. We had had the option of staying in the hotel where the reception was being held but we opted for a small rural hotel – not small enough for us to be the only guests – but small enough to be intimate and cosy.

The management had sent up a bottle of champagne and a small basket of assorted chocolates. We had sat down in front of the fire not saying much – eyes twinkling, comfortable with each other and generally just enjoying the moment. We were in no hurry we wanted this evening to be special.

About an hour later – Marie yawned and we decided that it was now time to go to bed before it became any later. I went into the bathroom and changed into my pyjamas. Marie smiled as I opened the sheets and she herself slipped into the bathroom. I adjusted the lighting and climbed into bed. I glanced at a magazine as I heard the bath water running. Then something caught my eye. I saw a movement out the corner of my eye. There in front of the fire in of the seats was a man sitting – he looked as if he had just come from a fancy dress party as he was dressed in a period costume. He was holding a goblet which he raised to his mouth. I was speechless and before I could say anything, the door opened, and a woman walked / glided into the room. She approached the man and kissed him on the cheek and seemed to look straight at me, in a mocking way, whilst doing so. The man stood up and they embraced in front of the fire. Then I saw the woman fumbling and suddenly she produced a knife, she held it in her hand, which was behind her back, hidden from the gentleman. All of this was unfolding before me – it was as if I was watching a film - I was still in a state of shock. As I watched she suddenly stabbed the man repeatedly in the neck. I let out a gasp of horror as the man sank to the floor and the woman dropped the knife as she fled from the room.

Marie rushed out from the bathroom and took one look at me and asked me what had happened – I explained what I had witnessed and ended my story by ordering 2 glasses of whisky from room service. We both inspected the area in front of the fire and found absolutely nothing. The waiter who brought the drinks asked us if everything was alright and I proceeded to tell him my story. He listened and then told us that other people had claimed to have seen this same gentleman, Lord Carrington, and woman over the years. He offered to move us to another room but we declined the offer.

The next morning on the way down to breakfast I froze on the stairs and could barely tell Marie what was going on. There, right in front of me, was the portrait of the person that I had seen stabbed last night in our hotel room. The date, under the caption, on the painting said 1898 and yet I would have recognised him anywhere – the man that barged into my room on my honeymoon was Lord Carrington. We left the hotel without eating our breakfast.

Comrie

. . . .

I had had too much to drink and too much to smoke. I could feel that I was becoming drunk, not quite there yet, that in between stage. I knew that I was acting slightly irrationally, but I was past caring.

I had been watching her all night and had caught her on one or two occasions looking my way. We were both actually aware of each other and yet neither one of us had made the slightest attempt to approach the other. It was now, however, time to act or walk away and regret it later. I saw her look across, she smiled, I smiled and raised my glass, she responded and I moved across to her table. She watched me as I approached, never once taking her eyes off me. I said hi and sat down opposite her. She responded by saying, I thought you were never going to come across. I smiled and said that that would have been a pity. We made small talk flirting with each other, all the while drinking each other in with our eyes. The conversation was polite enough, the eyes were not. We were undressing each other and more. We left around 2am and went back to her place. Now we no longer spoke, overcome by the hunger we had been feeding for the last hour or two. We were barely in the door when we started undressing each other. She giggled and told me to be quiet her flat mate was asleep. We remained entwined and shedding clothes on our way to her bedroom. Eventually when we had both sated our hunger sufficiently we fell asleep.

I woke up in the morning with a few aches and pains and looked across at – oops, I couldn’t remember her name. Had she told me, I couldn’t remember. How much had I had to drink? She was still asleep, my arm was under her and I didn’t want to wake her. On the other hand I wasn’t sure what time it was. I did know it was Sunday morning and I had no pressing engagements so I snuggled back in and fell asleep again. When I awoke again, I was alone in the bed. I heard some whispering outside in the passage and presumed Mary must be talking to her flat mate. Mary was her name, strange I couldn’t remember it before. She came in through the door and noticing I was awake asked me how I felt. I wasn’t sure what to make of the question? Had I not been alright last night or this morning, what had I done, to warrant this question? I said I felt fine and returned service by asking her how she felt this morning. I added, I hope we didn’t wake your flat mate? She smiled, no its ok she doesn’t mind. It’s not as if I do this every weekend, you know. I was relieved to hear this as I was now wondering whether I should be regretting last night. She asked if I would like a cup of tea. I said that would be great and she slipped out of the room again. I started to look around the room. I was still surveying the bookcase when Mary came back in with 2 cups of steaming hot tea. We sat on the bed drinking our tea there was an uncomfortable silence between us. We were both aware of it and started speaking at the same time. We started laughing. After that we were more comfortable with each other. And discussed all sort of things.

An hour passed in no time. We had so much information to share with each other and we were getting on rather well, I thought. Somewhere during our discussions I had heard the front door closing and I presumed her flat mate had left. She then told me that she had to visit her Mom that afternoon and had to get ready. She asked me whether I would like a shower and we slipped into the shower together. This time I was a bit more self conscious and was glad that her flat mate had left before we had our shower. Imagine my surprise when I came out of the bathroom naked, only to discover Mary’s flat mate sitting at the kitchen table, with raised eyebrows, surveying me. I mumbled an apology and made a dash for the bedroom. She responded to me by saying something about nothing she hasn’t seen before. I heard her and Mary talking, followed by some giggling again.

Mary came into the room and was smiling from ear to ear, something had really amused her. We got dressed and I asked her for her phone number and said I would phone her during the week and we could go out for a drink or something. She said that that would be great and I left.

So that was how Mary and I met. Not really a story book meeting just two people mutually attracted to each other and acting on those impulses. I phoned Mary later during the week and we went out for a drink. It was the start of a whirlwind romance that culminated with us moving in together five months later.

We had a lot in common but also had our own individual interests. I had been going to the opera by myself and now had someone who thought the human voice was the ultimate instrument. She had often struggled to find someone to accompany her to the Glasgow Film Theatre to see the latest European films. Well some of my all time greats were films like Cinema Paradiso, so I had no problem with that. I was in to Tai Chi and she liked Yoga. We both had an interest in the spiritual side of things but not in standard religion. I was busy with environmental studies and she was doing a course in holistic crystal healing. I was interested in shamanic work. So we wrapped ourselves around each other but not to the extent that we felt could not breathe.

We had been in a relationship for about roughly a year when David appeared on the scene. I had met him through my studies. We were working in a project team together and we were going to Comrie, the earthquake capital of the UK for the weekend. Mary couldn’t come for the weekend but said that she would come down on Saturday evening. We had hired a holiday chalet in St Fillans, a few miles from Comrie. We’d first spent the day at the British Geological hut in Comrie, going over the seismographic equipment and replacing the paper rolls on the machine. Professor Heart from Stirling University was there and he discussed the Dudley earthquake, which was 4.7 in magnitude, and took place in 2002. We then hiked about 2 km’s south of the hut so that we could see the great Highland fault which is visible, above ground, at this point and runs all the way beyond Inverness. We were fairly tired when we got back to the chalet and David had suggested we make use of the barbecue, I thought it was a good idea and he started the fire, whilst I had a shower.

Mary arrived at about 19h30, later than I expected. I had heard a car coming up the narrow road and saw that it was her and waved from the balcony. She was soon in my arms and complaining that she had met a tour bus on one of the blind corners just the other side of Aberfoyle, she was a bit shook up about it. I poured her a whisky and after a short while she had settled down again and was back to her usual self. I introduced her to the rest of the project team. There were five people in total in the project, David his girlfriend Cassandra, Michelle part of the team was by herself, Bob and his girlfriend Sharon, Laura and her boyfriend Michael and last but not least Phillip by himself. We were having a barbecue at my place with David in the next chalet and Laura in the chalet next to him. Michelle was staying with a friend in Crieff and Bob was in the Lochearnhead caravan park. Both had decided to come through for a drink so we were all huddled in and on the veranda of my chalet. Personally I thought Bob and Michelle had something going.

It was a clear crisp autumn evening and there were far more stars in the sky than you would usually see in the city. We were all fairly pleased with the amount of work we had managed to cover and it only left us with a few minor details to sort out the next day. So we were all relaxed and enjoying a few drinks. What really happened next has several versions but the sum total of it was that the barbecue was knocked over. The sliding door was open and the coal and fire-lighters were strewn all over both the veranda and the living room. Well everything happened so quickly in no time there was a real fire in the chalet and everyone was running around looking for a hose pipe or a container to scoop water from the mountain stream. There was just enough confusion and delay to allow the fire to really take hold. Well in no time we had to beat a hasty retreat. Someone phoned the emergency services who contacted the fire brigade in Killin who sent out an engine. By the time they arrived my chalet was just a shell of what it had been. Their concern was the surrounding chalets and ensuring that the fire did not spread. An ambulance from Callander arrived about 15 minutes later. I had not even realised that I had burned my hands in an attempt to pickup some of the coal. They bandaged them and suggested that I come with them for treatment. By this time there was quite a crowd and the police were now taking statements from our group as to what had happened. It seemed that I was being blamed for horsing around and that I had pushed David who had stumbled knocking over the fire. So ultimately I was to blame, by the sounds of it. Mary was off to one side and seemed to be crying, Cassandra had her arm around her.

I climbed into the ambulance and looking back at the group – I wondered if we would ever be quite so carefree again, as we had been, just over an hour and a half ago.