Iskander: Blog

Chapter 19 of Through different Eyes has been posted. The story is approaching the end - one more chapter and an epilogue to go.

Once again, thanks for reading and voting for this story.

I found a café and had a coffee to settle myself. Sitting there, I racked my brain trying to think of some other way to find Willi. An hour later, I walked up the stairs beside a greengrocer in Wood Green. Several office doors lead off the landing; one proclaimed itself to be “Wallis Investigations”.

I knocked – without reply, but the door opened when I tried it. I found a desk with a typewriter and another door, through which I could hear an indistinct voice.

Someone on the phone?

A minute later the door opened to reveal a fair-haired man with an open and innocent face. He was in his early thirties.

He blinked. “Ah – right.” He waved at the desk and typewriter. “Let’s see if you can do better than the last one.”

I gave him a blank look. “Sorry?”

“You’re here about the secretary job – although I asked for an older woman, not some wet-behind-the-ears dolly bird.” He sniffed. “Well, sit down and I’ll give you some dictation.”

I smiled at him. “Mr Wallis, I think we are at cross-purposes. I’m not looking for a job.”

He blinked. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m thinking of hiring you to do some work for me.”

He blinked again, his fair complexion showing a faint blush. “Er … sorry.” He gestured to his open office door. “Um … please come in.”

He directed me to one of a pair of chairs beside a low table. “How can I help you … er, Miss?”

“Miss Miller. I’m trying to find someone I’ve lost touch with.”

He reached round to his desk, grabbing a spiral notebook and biro off the blotter. “Go on.”

“He’s a young man, my age and probably studying physics at university somewhere in England, but we’ve been out of touch for several years.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been in Australia.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“Before we go further, I need to find out if you can do this sort of work.
He gave me a confused look.

“Please tell me about your organisation.” I looked towards the empty outer office.

He looked at me for a few seconds. “It’s only me at present – but as you know, I’m trying to hire a secretary.” An embarrassed smile flitted across his face.

“How much experience do you have?”

“Oh – I have lots of investigative experience … with the Met.”

“The Met?”

“The Metropolitan Police. I left them last month to set up my business.”

This sounded fishy.

“When you say left, were you sacked?”

In my last blog, I talked briefly about the three new projects I have before me. I'm trying to decide which of these to progress.

People on my mailing list have managed (so far) to tie two of these projects...

You can join my mailing list, get a glimpse of these and influence them.

Drop me an email here on Stories on Line. I'll be happy to add you.

Don't forget to vote!

And thanks for reading!

Iskander

(Robert Hart)

Chapter 18 of Through different Eyes has been posted. The story is approaching the end - two more chapters and an epilogue to go.

I'd like to thank you all for reading the story and voting it across the line to appear in the Recent top scores list.

Please keep the votes coming, though!

I walked up Exhibition Road past all the museums to what was, perhaps, Willi’s university. I received a firm rebuttal from the student records office when I asked about Willi: if he was a student, they could not share his information with me. But they told me he couldn’t be studying nuclear engineering as that was a post-graduate program.

It had to be Mrs Henderson falsifying Willi’s information.

But why would Mrs Henderson tamper with Willi’s information? She hadn’t passed on my message either.

Lying in bed that night, I wondered about Lili’s death.

Was that Mrs Henderson as well – tying up loose ends?

Shards of violent, angry dreams accompanied my waking in the morning, with Mrs Henderson’s presence looming over them.

She wouldn’t arrange for Lili’s death – would she?

I sat in bed, thinking over everything I knew about Mrs Henderson – which was not much.

Had she been involved in the shooting during the rescue? She’d been icy calm and matter of fact in the car on the way to Lancaster.

Recalling our few meetings, she had shown the slightest hint of emotion but once – when she’d slapped my face. I concluded she could contemplate Lili’s death – but I doubted MI6 would allow it, let alone the erasure of a complete family. That she could think about arranging Lili’s death didn’t mean she had done it. What was that aphorism my history teacher quoted?

Never assign to malice, that which is adequately explained by coincidence.

Accidents happen.

But I had no answer to the fundamental question. Why is she hiding Willi from me?

In my last blog, I talked briefly about the three new projects I have before me. I'm trying to decide which of these to progress.

People on my mailing list have managed (so far) to tie two of these projects...

You can join my mailing list, get a glimpse of these and influence them.

Drop me an email here on Stories on Line. I'll be happy to add you.

Don't forget to vote!

And thanks for reading!

Iskander

(Robert Hart)

Chapter 17 of Through different Eyes has been posted. Col arrives in England - but Willi and Lili are missing...

The story is creeping up to the 50 votes required to be listed in the top 50 on-going serials. It's current score would have it sitting at number 15 in the list.

Will this week push it across the line? I hope so - it only needs a couple of votes!

Please register your vote and help get it to the required 50 votes!

In spite of the storm, I ran again in the morning, the rhythms tamping down but not stilling my swirling emotions. After breakfast, I caught a number seven bus to Canterbury – the same bus that the three of us had taken to school. This time, though, I left the bus at the stop Willi had used. I was hoping to find a clue to Willi’s whereabouts at his school.

Willi’s school was in the cathedral precincts. The uniform hadn’t changed from what I saw of the students – boys, in pinstriped trousers and boaters. I stopped one and asked for directions to the school office. He pointed across the open grass. “Go round the Green and it’s that house next to the Undercroft.”

I had no idea what an ‘undercroft’ was, but I could see a house. I walked onto the grass.

“Miss, you can’t walk across the Green. That’s for masters and prefects.”

I could hear the shock in his voice. Smiling, I set off round the path circling the grass to the school office.

Inside, I could hear a typewriter clacking away in a room to the left. I knocked on the open door.

“Enter.”

Sitting at a desk behind a typewriter was a thin lady, whose greying hair was pulled into a tight bun.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to find out some information about a student – well, a past student.”

The woman looked at me with disapproval in her eyes. “And you are a relative of this gentleman?”

“Er … no. I’m a close friend, but I’ve been out of the country for four years and we lost touch.”

The woman sniffed. “Clearly not such a close friend.”

I swallowed my annoyance at her attitude. “His name is William Johnstone – he was quite a special student.”

A brief flicker of recognition?

“We cannot give out any information about past student unless you are a relative. If this William Johnstone was a student.” Her voice was cold and hostile.

“Oh, he definitely was a student.” I curbed the irritation I heard in my voice. “He excelled in Maths and Physics but was studying languages as well.”

She did not recognise the name as her face remained blank – or she was an excellent actor.

“As I told you, if this person was a student, we could not give you any details. You are not a relative.”

I stood there, trying to think of a way round this uncooperative woman.

“Is there anything else?” Her eyes were telling me to leave. “I have much work to do.”

I turned on my heel and controlled the urge to slam the door. Looking over the Green, the cathedral towered above the buildings clustered around it. I’d seen a gift shop catering to tourists on the far side. I should let Mutti and Lizzie know how things were going: a postcard first and I’d write an airmail when I was in London.

Walking round the Green, I passed a building labelled ‘Staffroom’, stopping to look at it. Something tried to surface in my memories, but it eluded me. I walked round the cathedral and found the tourist shop, buying some postcards. I took them into the tea shop and sat writing them over a cup of coffee.

As I announced in my last blog post, I have several new projects competing for my attention.

You can join my mailing list, get a glimpse of these and influence them. Drop me an email here on Stories on Line. I'll be happy to add you.

Don't forget to vote!

Iskander

(Robert Hart)

The end of Through different Eyes is only a few weeks away, so I thought I'd update you on what's next.

I have several ideas in progress. The world of my story After has beckoned and I'm exploring the possibilities of the post-apocalyptic world that involves paranormal abilities powered by the energy of sex. When - or even if - that turns into a longer work is not yet clear to me.

More immediately, I have three new stories beyond the 'idea' stage. Two of these are SF - and I'm pretty set on one of these. The third revists World War 2 - but with no connection to Colette or Mrs Henderson's Limp.

In the next week or so, I'll post drafts of the opening of these two stories to my Patreon and I'd be interested in your feedback.

Stay tuned!

Chapter 16 of Through different Eyes has been uploaded. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

The story is within striking distance of the 50 votes required to be listed in the 'top 50 on-going serials'. It's current score would have it sitting at number 17.

Will this week push it across the line? I am hoping it will!

I could hear the warning in Mutti’s voice and my unwilling eyes turned to her.

“Liebling. We have survived these years by being careful and cautious, and you have done this well.” I could see the love in her eyes – it reached inside me and calmed my impatience as her hand stroked my arm. “We must continue like that. There is still no-one on our side … except us.”

“I have to keep living and telling the lies?” That familiar, greasy darkness was there, trying to smother the hope.

Mutti sighed. “Yes – both of us must, for now.” I could see the distaste on her face. “And we have to do that until we re-establish our real identities.” She paused for a moment and a dark look passed across her face. “If that’s possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who knows what bridges that woman burned in building these identities for us?” She shook her head. “We may never reclaim our real identities … I don’t know.”

I shivered again at that thought.

After a moment, I pulled Mutti’s left arm to me – she always wore long sleeves. I undid the cuff on her left sleeve and slid the sleeve up to her elbow, revealing the blue numbers tattooed on her forearm. “You have these to prove who you are.”

Mutti’s breath was stuttering as she hugged me with intensity. We stayed clasped in each other’s arms for a while. Sitting up, she released me, keeping my hands in hers.

“It’s time you knew the truth about your mother.” She looked at me, tension building throughout her body.

As always, I am interested to hear your comments on my story. Thanks again for reading my work.

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Iskander
(Robert Hart)