This is the first part of a fiction serial, in 768 words.
As usual, I was wading through some translation when the owner made an unexpected appearance at the opening of my tiny cubicle. “Er… Martin, isn’t it? I have a job for you, Martin. Get some money from petty cash, you’re going to Hastings. You will need to go home first and pack some things for a couple of days, come and see me when you have finished whatever you are doing now”.
Colin Magee rarely surfaced in the general office. The only times I could remember seeing him were when he interviewed me for the job, and when he gathered everyone together to tell us we were not going to get a pay rise for two years. Small publishers like ours were fast-becoming a thing of the past, and finance was almost impossible to come by, according to him at the time.
Still, I was pleased to get a break from translating what was possibly the world’s most boring Russian novel, something about an alcoholic rehab centre in Arkhangelsk. If anyone had ever bought an English language copy of that in hardback, I would have eaten all those unsold. In his office, Magee showed more of his tightwad nature.
“You will purchase a return train ticket with the petty cash money, and get a receipt. You have been booked into a pub in the old town. We will pay the bill directly, so just breakfast and evening meal for you. No extras on the bill please, and any drinks have to be paid for. You can walk to the address from the station, no need to get a taxi. I take it you have a phone that records speech and video, so make sure it is charged up and take your charger. I need this job recorded”.
I was still standing in front of his untidy desk when he picked up a piece of paper and scanned it quickly.
“We have received a letter from an elderly lady. She says she has something for us, a story that will make a good book. She doesn’t want to write it though, so there is no manuscript. Apparently she was a British spy, back in the Cold War days. Spent most of her life as a prisoner of the Soviets before being released long after Perestroika. She has papers that prove it, according to her, and many of them are in Russian, hence why you have to go and interview her. If you think it’s worthwhile, you get the job of writing the book, and your name will be on the cover. Luckily, she doesn’t want any money for her story, so it won’t cost us much to see if it’s worth working on. You had better get going, she’s expecting you late afternoon”.
After four years in my dusty office, the thought of a trip to the seaside to interview a spy was the equivalent of excitement for me. I forked out for a cab home, so I could get my stuff together and be on time for the 12:24 from London Bridge Station. On the way, I started to wonder what the hell I was going to ask her. I began to jot down some relevant questions, realising the importance of proving that what she claimed was actually true.
Reading her handwritten letter for the tenth time, I tried to imagine what Helen Renton was going to be like. Female spies were rare enough in our secret service, at least I couldn’t remember any. I wondered if she had ever known the famous spies of the Cambridge Five. It would be great if she had met them, adding another dimension to the story.
Magee had been right about not needing a taxi. It was a ten-minute walk to the pub, and I left my case in the dismal single room after asking directions to her address. It was literally on the next corner, the last in a row of clapboard cottages fronting the sea that were fast-becoming desirable residences in this previously run-down part of Sussex. But not her one, that was far from desirable. I could only guess at the last time any new pale blue paint had been applied to the wood, and the windows didn’t look as if they had been cleaned since it was built. Net curtains inside them were dingy and threadbare, and there were no decorative boxes or planters outside, as on the neighbouring houses.
Three loud knocks on the cast iron knocker eventually brought someone to the door. But the woman who opened it looked nothing like a spy.
Nothing at all.
Good story new one
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Thank you. I am up to part 11 already, I hope you enjoy it.
Best wishes, Pete.
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(1) An alcoholic rehab centre in Arkhangelsk? I’ll drink to that!
(2) Arkhangelsk’s coat of arms depicts the Archangel Michael in the act of defeating the Devil. Reportedly, the Devil was drunk, so it was an easy victory.
(3) I’ve heard that Norman is a common first name in Hastings.
(4) My wife and I forked out a cab once, and did some spooning in the backseat.
(5) Bad citation: “After four years in my dusty office, the thought of a trip to the local Dirt Devil retailer was the equivalent of excitement for me. I was hyped to bag me a vacuum cleaner!”
(6) Colin Magee had a brother named Patrick who tortured Malcolm McDowell with Beethoven’s music back in 1971.
(7) “Net Curtain” sounds like a firewall program for Windows.
(8) “Three loud knocks on the cast iron knocker eventually brought someone to the door.” The woman who answered the door was Frau Blücher. (A fact that upset the horses.)
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Good ‘Clockwork Orange’ reference, David.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oooo… I love this story!
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Glad to hear that, Jennie.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Best to you, Pete!
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Wow, you are very timely, Pete! I love Cold War spy stories, too. Indeed a great start! xx Michael
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Thanks, Michael. I had this in draft a long time before recent events in Ukraine.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Reblogged this on NEW BLOG HERE >> https:/BOOKS.ESLARN-NET.DE.
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Always enjoy the setup to your stories, and how you always have a nice last line to get us eager for part two!
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Thanks, John. Finding that last line is the hardest part of writing serials. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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“After four years in my dusty office, the thought of a trip to the seaside to interview a spy was the equivalent of excitement for me…” This was the hook for me, it set the adventure and now I want to see this pub (and her) and listen in 🙂
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Thanks, Dalo. I hope that you enjoy the rest of the story.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Looking forward to this 🙂
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Cheers, Eddy. I hope you enjoy it.
Best wishes, Pete.
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a great beginning…
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Thanks, Beth. I am happy you thought so.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Interesting start. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes.
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It is set in the old Soviet Union for the most part, Jeanne.
Best wishes, Pete.
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A great start, Pete :)x
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Thanks, Carol. I like writing history stories.
Best wishes, Pete.
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“Nothing at all.” Firmly sashes all expectations from Dame Rutherford to Raquel Welsh. But come to think of it, I have no expectation of what a former female spy looks like. Warmest regards, Theo
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Me neither, Theo. And I cannot ask Martin what his expectations were. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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You could, however, put ideas in his head, for he is in your head. 🙂 Warmest regards, Theo
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This is going to be good!
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I hope you enjoy it, Carolyn.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Right up my alley, Pete. You have me hooked and waiting for the next installment.
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Happy to hear that, Don. Part Two tomorrow.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Sounds like there will be lots of twists and turns in this very timely serial. I’m onboard.
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Not sure about ‘lots’ of twists and turns, Pam. But definitely some. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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I do like a good spy novel. And hopefully no underage sex and abuse in this one.
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Hmm, let me think. 🙂
No, you are safe. No underage sex, no sexual abuse, but some non-graphic references to sex a bit later. (In conversation, not action.)
Best wishes, Pete.
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😂
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Ah, this has the makings of an interesting tale….
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Thanks, Sue. I do hope you find it interesting.
Best wishes, Pete.
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This is a great start.
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Thanks, Molly. Glad you think so. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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This should prove interesting! I look forward to learning Helen’s story.
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Thanks, Liz. Part Two tomorrow.
Best wishes, Pete.
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You’re welcome, Pete.
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Happy to be reading a new serial and it’s off to a great start!
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I didn’t want to start it until all the birthday celebrtions had finished. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Sounds like the beginning of a good story, Pete. My in-laws used to live in Hastings – I think the unofficial name for it these days is Dole-on-Sea. It’s lost its former glory.
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I have a friend who lives there. The seafront cottages are loved by second-homers, but the town has a real crime and drugs problem, unfortunately. This will be mentioned later in the story.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Very true. My in-laws lived there for about 15 years and we went there about once a month. They used to live in one of the big houses overlooking Alexandra Park.
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