Business Writers Required

Don't forget - if you're a writer of business books (or you know such a person) get in touch with me as I'm the editor of Business Books, an imprint of the publisher, O-Books. Most of our writers and readers are in USA so it doesn't matter what country you come from, as long as you write in English on Business topics.

And now, back to Arthur's and Mary's stories ...

"Hey, I know!" said Mary, a little too loudly as the simplest of ideas struck. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. "I could call my brother to pick us up and we could stay in the hotel he's at with his two visitors!"

"Sshhh, Miss Collins, and yes, great idea. Phone him," said Ahmed. "But do try to be quiet. They don't want restaurant patrons to know others are out here. It arouses suspicions as to what else could be going on."
"Right. I'll call him from the toilet," said Mary.

Ahmed went through to the restaurant and explained what they wanted to do and that it would help get them out of there. Mary was allowed to go back through the restaurant and into the toilet to call Angus.

Half an hour later Angus sat in the back, between the two women while Ahmed drove and John Maranui sat in the passenger seat for insurance purposes - he had hired the car but Ahmed knew the London streets better. Two dark men in front and three white people in the back.

"Och aye, it's so good to see ye though I never thought it would be at midnight on a secret mission of yers!" said Angus with a huge grin.

"Angus, I've never seen you so excited," said Mary, seeing her brother behaving like a Mexican jumping bean.

"Oh aye, seems like we fit like ball bearings into whatever groove we find ourselves," said Angus. "Home's a quiet groove, work's a noisy, swearing groove and here … hey, I don't know. I don't have a groove; it's all new and strange." He chuckled and watched the lights excitedly as they drove by.

"Aye and it's good to see you too, little brother," said Mary, smiling.

"Aye, and ye know the technology's amazing here," said Angus. "John let me drive from home, some of the way - gave him a break - and this nat sav …"

"Sat nav, Angus," said John, smiling from the front seat.

"Oh aye, like I said, this nat sav thing here tells you where to go, what side to drive on, when you've stuffed up and what to do when you do … everything!" said Angus. "It's amazin', just amazin'."

"Aye, Angus, you're like a kid with a room full of toys," said Mary, grabbing his hand affectionately.

"So what's with this get-up, Sis?" asked Angus. "Ye've not turned butch on us have ye?"

"Butch? No of course I haven't!" said Mary, offended. The feelings of losing her femininity - her hair, her dresses, her playfulness - to the world of insurance resurfaced immediately. She had though they had been banished forever, in her busyness and her gruffness but, damn it, they were still there.

"Ouch, sorry Sis! I didn't mean to offend ye … just jokin'," said Angus, obviously sensing her discomfort.

"Ah, it's just this business world - a girl's got to act like a man to make it and, here I am, wearing a bloody suit … aah, sorry Ahmed, it's a nice suit but I'm not a man," said Mary as Angus held her hand uncharacteristically. "I suppose I just get sick of being in a man's world, in men's clothes, fighting for my life all the time … or so it seems." She forced a smile between the tears that had started. "I do miss being a girl, doing girly things, being treated like a girl. But then, what's others to do if I ponce around in men's suits?"
"So what's the suit for?" asked Angus, softly, uncertainly.

"Ah, well, it's a long story, oh brother of mine, but the short version is that we had to pick up this briefcase from a chap and he didn't want anyone to know who was taking it and so I'm … Halee and I are in disguise," said Mary, feeling a little calmer. "You see, she doesn't usually dress like a tramp!"

"A tramp? Miss Collins, more decorum, please!" said Halee, laughing.

The Mansion Attack
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 3.51 p.m.
"I think we need to stop here, Dominik," said Arthur, not sure why he felt this so strongly.

"But we not there now, Mr Arthur," said Dominik, not slowing down. "Long drive to go yet."

"Dominik, stop, please Dominik, stop, just here," said Arthur, his anxiety rising.

"But we not there …"

"Dominik, I insist! Stop! Now!" ordered Arthur, unsure how to get through to this large, determined man. "Oh yes, thanks!" he said as the van skidded to a halt on the gravel driveway. Arthur thanked his lucky stars for seatbelts as he was thrown forward.

"Are you alright back there, love?" asked Arthur as his consciousness expanded from his own little world of survival to that of others.

"Uh, yes, I think so," said Joan, shuffling and groaning a little in the back. Then he realised someone was rapping on Dominik's window. Dominik lowered the window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, stopping like that?" demanded Martin.

"Martin, sshhh, keep the noise down," whispered Arthur urgently.

"But you've dented my car. That's just bloody irresponsible …" said Martin as Dominik grabbed his collar and yanked his head in the car window.

"Mr Arthur said me to stop. Mr Arthur said you to shut up," said Dominik as if speaking to a child. "We in emergency so you shut up and we fix up car at later time. You understand?"

"Orghhh," said Martin, trying to speak with a restricted neck.

"Good! You be quiet and alert and listen to Mr Arthur, hey?" inquired Dominik.

"Uh, yeah, sorry but …" said Martin, as Dominik let him go
.
"But sshhh, Martin!" whispered Arthur. "Be quiet and listen … and look." There were two cars at the mansion as well as two men parading back and forwards. "Can we hide these vehicles here, Dominik?"

"Yes, behind hedge. Follow me, Martin," said Dominik.

Martin dashed back to his car and both vehicles were soon concealed from the mansion, behind a hedge just off the driveway. Arthur checked that everyone was ready and, just as they were to move off, another car appeared.

More from The Importance of Being Arthur

More from The Importance of Being Arthur, from previous blog ...

"Well, this is one way you could get to know her," said Joan, smiling impishly. "Look Martin, she wants to help with finding her father and this little excursion could unearth him for her."

"Look, Mum, I know you only want the best for me but don't push it. I'm not ready for anyone else yet," said Martin, his politeness obviously being stretched.

"So, what are you going to do - wander on home, wishing you'd come and helped us out in a sticky situation?" asked Joan.

"Oh, okay, I'll see if she can help," said Martin, knowing his mother would not be deterred by obvious obstacles. He called Emily and was surprised that she jumped at the chance to help him out.

"Perhaps you take Dottie when she returns, Martin, along with Toby, who knows the way," suggested Arthur.

"And I'll ring Amanda to see if she can help," said Joan.

"Gosh, yes, grand idea," said Arthur. "And you, Dominik and I will go in the van." Dominik visibly brightened at the mention of his name, perhaps fearing being left out. "No Dominik, we're not going without you!"

"Me good for punish new bad man!" said Dominik, smiling and patting Toby on his good shoulder. Arthur was relieved that Dominik had made friends with Toby and had no lingering hatred or 'bad man' thoughts about him.

The Turkish Connection
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 11.36 p.m.
 "Ah, yes, I see what you mean," said Ahmed, his conflicted look not disappearing to any perceptible extent. "Perhaps I could ask Safak …"

"Don't talk about it, man, do it!" said Mary in frustration.

"Uh, right, yes," said Ahmed peering out, left and right, along the street. "Follow me!"

"Oh God, not more running!" said Mary as she hitched the case up under her arms and forced her legs to move at an unnaturally rapid pace.

"Come on, our lives could be at stake, Miss Collins!" said Ahmed, looking back and smiling.

My God, thought Mary, the sod hasn't even broken out in a sweat, as she had, and he wasn't even panting. Such an infuriating man - so resistant when action is needed, so jovial when it's serious and like a blasted robot on steroids. How do these people do this exercise thing, she wondered, it can't be good for them, surely!

"Oh, Miss Collins, I thought you were with us," said Halee, popping out of a Turkish restaurant in front of her. "Come in here."

"How the hell did you get… ah ha ah ha ah ha … get here so quickly?" asked Mary, genuinely perplexed, between her heavy breathing.

"We did what they call running," said Halee, chuckling. Up at the counter Ahmed was talking rapidly to a young, dark man - obviously not in English. Another older, dark man was summoned and the foreign language discussion started all over again, accompanied by much hand-flapping and head-nodding. So that's how they keep fit, thought Mary, conversation aerobics.

After some haggling and uncertainty, they were hustled into a small, darkish room through the back of the restaurant and told to sit. It was obvious they weren't to move from there. Mary detected a strange smell wafting through from an adjacent room. There seemed to be low murmurings coming from the room, as if men were quietly talking amongst themselves. Mary looked at Ahmed quizzically as Safak returned to the restaurant. Ahmed seemed to be looking everywhere except at Mary.

"Ahmed, what's that smell? What's that room there?" asked Mary quietly, holding Sam's briefcase to her chest.

"Oh, it's … ah, a den, a smoking room," said Ahmed, smiling uncertainly.

"So, are they smoking drugs in there, Ahmed?" asked Mary, feeling quite queezy inside.

"Yes, I think they might be," said Ahmed. "But please keep the noise down, Miss Collins. We're only here because they know me and because I promised we'd be quiet."

"Oh, sorry," said Mary, looking around uncertainly.

"Perhaps we just relax a bit, open our minds and let the angels in with an answer," suggested Halee tentatively.

"The angels? The answer?" asked Mary, now totally confused by the turn of conversation.

"An answer about what to do next," said Halee.

"Yes, just as we do, ask Allah for help," said Ahmed. "You ask angels. Perhaps it's similar."

"You two are bonkers, blooming mad," said Mary sitting back on the wooden chair, hugging the briefcase. "We're being stalked by a bunch of foreigners …"

"Kiwis," said Halee.

"Whoever. We're being stalked and they could be after our lives or Sam's life or something," said Mary, bringing the conversation back to reality. "Look, Ahmed, I don't want to say anything against your religion but this is hardly the time to be talking to God."

"So, Miss Collins, when do we talk to God? When we don't need Him?" asked Ahmed gently. He looked at Halee and they smiled to each other.

"Look Miss Collins, we're stuck in this Turkish restaurant and we need to get out and we don't know how or where to go next, safely," said Halee, looking steadily into Mary's eyes. Safak brought a pitcher of water and three glasses and then disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. "Maybe if we just sit and pray, in our own different ways, something might happen. I don't know … it costs nothing and, well, what else can we do here?"

"Praying? You think Allah or God or angels will just lift us out of here or something?" asked Mary, her voice rising as she fought to keep the other two idiots on the ground.

"Praying does not change Allah, Miss Collins. It changes us," said Ahmed quietly.

"Oh I give up!" said Mary, exasperated but without an immediate alternative to sitting and wishing on angels. She just wanted to cry. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was working out as it should. She thought of saying the Lord's Prayer to herself and immediately felt embarrassed for some reason. The other two were silent, holding hands with their eyes closed. She put her hands over each of theirs, across the table and remembered all the times she'd asked for God's help and He hadn't delivered.

54 - BU$IN£SS BOOKS

Looks Like I've become a writers (literary) agent with my own imprint - BU$IN£SS BOOKS. John Hunt popped in yesterday for a coffee and a chat and we've now signed an agreement. All done and so simply!

When I think back to all the job interviews I've ever had, most of them were just plain hard work … unnecessarily cumbersome:

1. Write CV and cover letter,
2. Search for jobs,
3. Send off CVs and cover letters to recruitment agents and prospective employers,
4. Have an interview with an agent,
5. Complete a personality profile test,
6. Have a first interview with the employer,
7. Have a second interview with an employer … and this whole process could take over three months.

I'm sure life does not have to be this slow, cumbersome and difficult … and it's not. Meet, shake hands, chat a while and the job's mine. We both know, at the instant of meeting, that we're perfect for each other so why not just get on with it. And we did. Thank God (and John) for simplicity and decisiveness!

So, if you have a book about business - marketing, leadership, recoveries, accounting, spirituality, set-up etc etc - let me know as I may be able to publish it to the world for you.

And now back to Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog …

"C'mon ya bugger, open!" demanded Halee but the door continued to open slowly, quite unmoved by her threats. Within seconds, which seemed like hours, the door had opened enough for Halee to slip through and Mary and Ahmed followed her down the steps.

"Go left Halee, go left!" ordered Ahmed, and they did until they got to the first intersection.

"Which way now?" asked Mary, panting heavily, bringing up the rear.
"I don't know. Just get out of here!" said Ahmed. "Any way."

"Hey, wait up … ah ha ah ha ah ha … please," pleaded Mary, panting and clutching the briefcase while struggling to keep up. "I don't do running."

"We can't let them get us now!" said Halee, slowing down with her hand out like a relay runner ready to take the baton. "Give me the case if you like …"

"Not on your Nellie … ah ha ah ha ah ha … Halee!" said Mary, determined to keep hold of her dignity and the case, both of which seemed to be slipping. "Can't we hide … ah ha ah ha ah ha … hide somewhere here, Ahmed … ah ha ah ha ah ha … you must know someone here … ah ha ah ha ah ha …"

"I … I don't really know, Miss Collins," said Ahmed, stopping round the corner in a shop alcove.

"Come on Ahmed, this … ah ha ah ha ah ha … this is your territory," said Mary, following them in. "You must have a friend or café owner who'll take us in for a mo'."

"Well, yes I do but I'm not sure it's quite the right thing …" said Ahmed, looking conflicted.

"Right thing? Right blooming thing, Ahmed?" whispered Mary hoarsely as her breathing started to return to normal. "Look, you genteel Englishman, our lives may be at risk, Sam may be at risk … what the heck's right about that?"
_____________________

The phone cut sharply through their riviere. Arthur leapt up to answer it, his nerves still a little raw from the morning's events. He lifted the receiver.

"Hello Arthur, old chap …" It went dead. He knew who it was, immediately, but his thoughts and actions failed him, momentarily. Joan came into the dining room to see him staring into space with the phone still held by his ear. James Bond, of course, would have leapt into the fray and done something dramatic and saved the world, or a part of it, in an instant. However, Arthur's batteries were flat.

"What is it dear?" asked Joan.

"It's Lord Atkinson, dear. He's in trouble," said Arthur.
"The one who …"

"Yes, the one I met this morning," said Arthur. "It was a call for help."

"Well we'd better go and help him then," said Joan, clapping her hands as a teacher would, to get her pupils into line. Arthur jumped and looked around as if seeing the room for the first time.

"Oh Arthur, you do seem to have run out of poof, don't you?" Joan said, embracing him. "It's been a hell of a day … it's been a hell of a few weeks, really. And you've mastered it all so well. You really are my hero, Arthur. My hero and my love."

"Oh Joan," was all Arthur could manage before the tears started rolling. He wanted to embrace her forever, for the world to go away and leave him in peace. Yes, he thought, he did love Joan, this lovely, admiring and supportive woman in his arms. He really must tell her some time.

"Thank you, Joan, thank you," he said. However, he thought, right now Lord Atkinson needs help of some sort and so one must rally one's forces. "That's lovely Joan. But now I must go."

"Oh no you don't, Arthur Bayly!" said Joan, standing back with her hands on his shoulders. "You don't think you're going to rush off on your charger and leave your poor damsel here, waiting and pining, do you?"

"Uh …"

"You silly man! I'm coming too!" said Joan cheerfully. "We're in this together, my lover!"

"Well, if you think …"

"Too right I think so! Let's muster our troops, shall we?" said Joan, leading him back into the lounge. "Lord Atkinson needs our help so who wants to join us?"

Everyone leapt up as one with fervent cries of assent.

"But, Dottie, are you sure you want to come along?" asked Arthur. "It could be dangerous."

"Arthur dear, I've never had such fun with my clothes on!" said Dottie, laughing. "I may be an old woman but you don't get rid of me that easy!" Everyone laughed, except Dominik who seemed to be trying to make out what Dottie meant about having her clothes on.

"And you, Toby?" asked Joan.

"I'm only half-armed but most of me works and do you think I'm only here for half the action?" asked Toby. "Besides, I've done enough damage so I'd like to make amends if I can."

"Hang on, Dad," said Martin quickly. "This is a matter for the police isn't it? Shouldn't we call them first, surely?"

"No Martin and I'm sorry but I don't have time to explain, right now," said Arthur. "However, Lord Atkinson specifically asked me not to involve the police if at all possible. It seems there's a leak, an informer, there who is not after our best interests."

"Right, if you say so, Dad," said Martin, uncertainly.

"Now, first, Arthur, that file seems to be awfully valuable," said Dottie. "Shall I hide it in my house in case yours gets raided?"

"Mmm, I hadn't thought of that. Good idea, Dottie," said Arthur.

"I'd take my car, Dad, but I have to pick the kids up from the child minder in a few hours and we don't know how long we're going to be, do we?" said Martin.

"You're right, Martin, but why don't you ring Emily and see if she can pick them up," said Joan.

"Oh hardly, Mother, I don't really even know her," said Martin, looking a little flushed.

53- Not Knowing What's Round The Corner

Since I've been pursuing agents and researching the whole area of getting books published in UK and USA, I've connected with some really interesting people. In fact, one of them (John Hunt) popped in today and, out of that conversation, I've become a publisher, managing one if the imprints (subsidiaries) of O Books (http://www.o-books.com/) - a new imprint to publish business books.

So, if you know anyone who has written a great manuscript about some aspect of business - accounting, marketing, business recovery, leadership, sustainable business etc etc - tell them to contact me and I'll see what we can do. Like me, you never know where it will lead you to!

And now back to Mary's story, continued from the previous blog …

"I am not, I repeat, I am not clambering up any steps, young lady," said Mary interrupting and feeling terrified at the thought of the exertion required to attain those giddy heights. "If I was meant to climb things I would have had crampons for toes. I don't."

"Ah you party poopers!" said Halee skipping up to the bottom of the stairs. "I'll wait till you get in your stuffy lift and then I'll race you to the fifth floor. Quick, here it is!"

The crazy young girl fled up the stairs as Ahmed and Mary took the sensible route, not wasting the technological advances brought to this century. Mary wondered if her health would be better served by a few flights of stairs, from time to time, and she rather envied Halee's energy and unconcern for appearances. Oh well, she though, she'll ponder it from the comfort of a quiet lift and a nice glass of wine at the top. Mary was thankful for Ahmed's silence as she could ponder … well, everything, really - Sam, night-time chases, gentle and bossy Muslim manners, Sam, childish exuberance, Sam, Angus, New Zealand visitors, Sam … the doors started to open and Mary hadn't realised the lift had stopped - another technological marvel - and there stood a panting Halee on the threshold.

"So you beat us …" said Ahmed, smiling.

"Shh, they're here, they're ruddy well coming," whispered Halee quickly.

"Who's coming?" asked Mary, her mind still not unwinding from thoughts of Sam.

"Shhh!" whispered Halee urgently, leaping into the lift and looking around frantically. "How do we get back down in this thing?"

"But they can't be here …" said Ahmed, his usual calm disappearing into lopsidedness again.

"Shut up will ya! They'll hear you!" whispered Halee urgently. "They're following me up. Where's the ruddy down button in this fangled thing? Now!"

Ahmed, stunned by her language and panic, pressed the button for the first floor. As the doors closed they could hear the clattering of shoes coming up the marble stairway, towards them.

"Are we headed for the bottom? We need to get out there!" said Halee, leaning back against the elevator wall, catching her breath.

"I have a friend on the first floor," said Ahmed. "We'll sneak in there."

"They found us in this building, mate, so they'll find us anywhere in it," said Halee, grabbing Ahmed by the lapels. "This is real, Ahmed, don't you get that? They're in here, now, after us."

"And so is my plan very real," said Ahmed, gently taking Halee's hands off him as the doors opened onto the first floor.

"Okay, stop a sec. Keep the doors open and see where they go now," suggested Halee quietly.

"We need to get out and into Mohammed's apartment," said Ahmed quietly, about to step out, with his guiding hand on Mary's shoulder.

"See, they're coming down again! They're like bloody homing pigeons!" whispered Halee.

"Mary, what's this?" asked Ahmed, his poise gone. He leapt back into the elevator, pulled the women in with him and pushed the button for his floor. In his hand was a black, circular plastic thing. "This was stuck on your coat, Mary. Do you think it's a device … I don't know, for following us?"

"Oh hell!" said Mary, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and out of control.

"Well, if it is, leave it here, we get out at the fifth and we send it back to the bottom," said Halee. "They'll follow it back down."

"And pick it up and know we're still in the building," said Mary, feeling her neurons starting up again.

"Yes, good one," said Halee, smiling and scratching her head. "So we go back down, leave it in here, send it back up and we scarper …"

"What if one of them is waiting at the bottom?" asked Ahmed, adding his chilling thought as the doors started to open again on the fifth floor. He pushed the ground floor button, threw the thing out onto the fifth floor landing as the doors closed and they descended again.

"Ahmed, we need to work this out together …" said Mary, as she felt control slipping away again.

"I'm sorry Miss Collins, but I didn't think we had time," said Ahmed, looking embarrassed.

"Okay, no time to discuss. You're right, Ahmed," said Mary, smiling. "So we tear out of this lift, hope there's no one at the bottom, shoot him if he is and then get out of here?"

"Shoot someone?" asked Ahmed, looking aghast.

"Just joking, Ahmed," said Mary, laughing to cover her dread. "Point and pretend to shoot … I don't know … get out of here and then what?"

"What if there's others outside?" asked Ahmed, measuring possibilities as the lift doors opened at the second floor and a couple entered, obviously dressed for a party in a smarter part of London. They giggled at each other, oblivious to the conspiring and panicking threesome. Mary was inwardly cursing the giggling couple in front of her, barring a quick getaway, but was soon thankful. As the doors opened on the ground, a brown, tattooed arm reached in and grabbed the incredulous couple.

"Got ya now, ya bastards!" said the stocky, dark, curly-headed man attached to the arm. "Get out here and give us our stuff, will ya!"

Our Terrified Three were momentarily stunned, unsure what to do next. The problem was solved by the party-going man who reacted quickly and efficiently, ramming his attacker against the wall with quiet fury.

"C'mon!" whispered Halee, leaping from the lift and towards the huge entrance doors. Mary and Ahmed reacted on instinct, as if they were chained to Halee, and fled as they heard a clatter and curses coming down the marble stairs.

"Don't bloody move! Not one inch!" yelled the taller blond man, leaping down stairs, three at a time. Halee struggled with the mechanism of the door which was designed to open with dignity and grace.

As the brown man slid to the floor with blood on his face, the blonde one hesitated between helping his friend and pursuing his quarry, now so close.

52 - Giving Service

Some time ago I had told God (and anyone else who was listening) that I was here to serve and that I would do whatever was asked of me. Nice words, nice thoughts and suddenly nothing happened. Nothing happened but it did happen suddenly.

Then Anna went to a talk on Tuesday and the speaker and her husband have helped to set up a trust to help people in greed-torn Zimbabwe and they need a bookkeeper. It doesn't sound like a huge job and, with the university work only part-time, it all fits in very nicely. It also sounds so right and I cannot tell you why - it just does. So my giving back has started and it will be interesting to see where it leads.

Back to Arthur's scary story, continued from the previous blog …

"They can't, as I said," said Ahmed with finality.

"You might be right but my gut tells me queasy things, whatever they are," said Halee.

"Mine too …" said Mary. Her phone interrupted her and she snapped it out of her pocket. "Yes Sam, how are you?"

"No Mary, it's Angus," said her brother, laughing. "So yer boyfriend's Sam is it?"

"Angus, what do you want?" asked Mary, confused. "You've never rung my mobile before."

"And I've never been to London before either and here I am, in this stupid city," said Angus.

"What the hell are you doing in London, you daft bugger?" asked Mary, feeling strangely comforted by her brother's proximity.

"I want to know where this damned house of yers is," said Angus, sounding frustrated but jovial. "I said I would pop down some time and here I am. Where do I park a car in this crazy town, girl?"

"Ah, oh hell, Angus, this is so … so unexpected. Hell, it's awkward at the moment," said Mary quickly, trying to think clearly, logically.
"Well that's a fine welcome for a long lost brother, I must say, sis," said Angus, the joy going from his voice.

"Oh Angus, I'm sorry, it will be grand to see you. Really it will but I'm not at home right now and I'm waiting for an important call …" said Mary.

"From boyfriend Sam, I suppose," said Angus, interrupting with a chuckle.

"From Sam, yes, but he's not a boyfriend, like I told you," said Mary, feeling embarrassed in front of Halee and Ahmed while her brain failed to come up with an immediate solution to the problem, like it usually did. Losing it again! Damn!

"And, hey, it's not just me, sis, I've got some important visitors for ye," said Angus, his chuckle beginning to get right on her craw. "All the way from New Zealand to see ye and ye're out on the town, living it up!"

"Look, Angus, let me think for a moment, will you," said Mary. "I've got your number and I'll call you back in a jif."

"Okay sis, just give us an address of the closest hotel and we'll catch up tomorrow, yeah?" suggested Angus. With a huge relief, Mary gave him the address of a hotel around the corner from her apartment and told him she'd pay the bill.

"I can't let ye pay me bills, Mary. Doncha' know I'm Scottish!" said Angus with a laugh. She wondered what he'd been smoking - she'd never heard him so chipper before.

"Yeah and so am I so shut up, book in, enjoy the amenities and I'll be round in the morning to settle up and have breakfast with you," said Mary as the solution presented itself. She was curious about his visitors but needed to have the phone clear for Sam's call. "Okay?"
"Okay, we can argue about it tomorrow, you obstinate Scot!" said Angus and the phone went dead before she could reply.

As Ahmed announced their arrival at his apartment, he grabbed the briefcase to go.

"Hey Ahmed, do you mind!" snapped Mary, not letting it go. "This is my case, not yours. Okay?"

"But I am the man and I must protect you two women," said Ahmed, obviously surprised. "That is my duty."

"Oh Ahmed, that's so kind …" said Mary, uncertain what to say next, so long used to fending for herself.

"It's my duty," said Ahmed with finality.

"Ah, your Muslim duty," said Mary, suddenly realising the man she had worked with for the last two years had a life and beliefs beyond the insurance company. "You're not used to taking orders from women and I'm not used to men doing for me."

"Well, Miss Collins is the boss so she gets the case and you get the door, Ahmed," said Halee cheerily. "Would that work?"
"I don't feel right …" said Ahmed, uncertainly.

"Don't feel, just do," said Mary, handing the taxi his fare. Ahmed still hesitated. "Ahmed, now! They'll be here any time, I just know it!"

"But we've lost them," said Ahmed, hesitating between the modern world he worked in and the ancient world of his ancestry.

"We don't know that so get going and let us safely into your apartment, will you!" said Mary, feeling opportunities for safety slipping away. She could see him relax as he seemed to make a decision.

"Yes ma'am," he said suddenly, releasing the case and leaping from the taxi up the steps to unlock the imposing front door into the spacious foyer of the Kensington apartment block. Mary and Halee followed on his heels.

"Holy moly, you could have a choice party in here!" exclaimed Halee, her voice echoing round the cavernous space. "You didn't tell us you lived in a museum, Ahmed."

"It's not a museum, it's an apartment block, Halee," said Ahmed, explaining carefully, obviously unsure whether she was joking or not.
"Wow, you live here," said Halee turning round and round, taking in the intricately patterned marble floor, the oak-panelled walls, the marble and mahogany staircase that went up five floors, the plastered ceiling sixty feet above them and the massive chandelier in the centre of it. "You could keep your pet brontosauruses here, along with a herd of elephants, Ahmed!"

"Well, yes, it is nice to have the space - a nice contrast to the rest of London," said Ahmed smiling as he walked over to the lift.

"Space? SPACE? You could keep your pet concord in here too!" exclaimed Halee, her voice rising, obviously in a trance. "We're not using a lift when there's this Gone With The Wind staircase here, are we?"

"Oh, well, I've always used the lift," said Ahmed. "The stairs are for tradesmen to take furniture up and things like that. It's not seemly to use them."

"Not seemly? Not blooming seemly?" exclaimed Halee, probably finding the habits of Londoners unusual. "Come on Ahmed, I'll race you. What floor are you on?"

"Oh, the fifth floor, Halee, but you cannot run around in here. It's not done," said Ahmed, his usually calm features looking decidedly lopsided as he scratched his immaculately trimmed beard.

"Not done? 'Tis now …" said Halee.

Taking Criticism Better

I'd asked a friend (Michael Gould, author of Filfy O'Durr) to comment on the novel I'd just finished - The Importance of Being Arthur. He's a learned and great writer and very gentle (loving) with me, in his assessment of my words. I actually had to agree with nearly everything he said and he did put a huge amount of time and consideration into this project. However, despite that, I still had to brace myself before reading his constructive comments. Having been with this story for over a year, I'm constantly surprised at how attached I am to what I've written, despite Anna and I having given the story a good "going over" many, many times.

I'd asked a friend (Michael Gould, author of Filfy O'Durr) to comment on the novel I'd just finished - The Importance of Being Arthur. He's a learned and great writer and very gentle (loving) with me, in his assessment of my words. I actually had to agree with nearly everything he said and he did put a huge amount of time and consideration into this project. However, despite that, I still had to brace myself before reading his constructive comments. Having been with this story for over a year, I'm constantly surprised at how attached I am to what I've written, despite Anna and I having given the story a good "going over" many, many times.

They're only words but, with so much invested in them - my creative past and hopeful future - it is difficult to hear anything about them, good or bad, without my heart popping up into my mouth.

We mould our children and then let go to the rest of the world to buff up and add shine to. We must let them go and trust they know what's best for themselves. And so with this baby of mine that is bound to have many more buffings from agents and publishers, to make it shine even more.

So, thank you, Michael, for your loving commitment to helping improve the story and for helping me to learn to let my baby, The Importance of Being Arthur, go.

So, here's more of Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog ...

"It's like accounting where we only have the most primitive, paper ledgers, or the most advanced, computers," said Ahmed, looking excitedly at Halee. "Where are all the intermediate accounting technologies like the abacus, the slide rule, the accounting machine and so on, for developing nations to do their accounting with? They've all disappeared."

"Okay! Okay you two," snapped Mary. "We're in a taxi with a case load of papers that, apparently, contain some inherent danger to us. This is all very interesting about technologies and stuff but what value has any of it to us, right here now …. with Sam, AIL or anything else?"

"Oh yeah, right," said Halee, looking mollified.

"Well, let's brainstorm," suggested Ahmed, putting on his logical hat. "We haven't seen all the papers but what we've seen is Power Corporation accounts, Olympic contracts and intermediate technology. Let's keep these big headings in mind and keep looking."

"Oh, we're nearly there," said Mary, putting the last file back in the bottom of the briefcase, just as she had found it. "Halee, please come up with me, switch my phone over - it's not really my thing, this technology - and you, Ahmed, can you hold the fort here and keep a lookout for saboteurs, please?"

"Yes, absolutely, Miss Collins, and I'll keep the case here," said Ahmed. "Then you can fly on winged feet, as we say!"

The taxi driver was happy to continue the fare for an indefinite time, especially as some of it would be paid without actually having to move. He got out for a smoke while the two women dashed inside.

Ahmed was sorely tempted to delve into the case again but disciplined himself to stay alert and keep watching, which was just as well. A car soon parked behind him and two men leapt out and ran into the building. Ahmed recognised one as the tall one who had handed Mary the envelope and then ran into the crowd. The other man was shorter, solid and dark skinned. Without thinking, Ahmed leapt out and told the cabbie not to go but to be ready to take off.

"Just like in the movies, yeah!" said the taxi driver, laughing, as Ahmed dashed up the steps to find the two men in the shadows, pushing buttons, one after another, in an attempt to gain admittance to Mary's apartment.
"Oh hell, where'd you come from?" asked the taller man, obviously not British, looking confused as Ahmed drew out the pistol he told Mary he wouldn't carry.

"Get away from the door, down the steps and be gone!" ordered Ahmed.
"Okay, okay bro', no need to get heavy," said the shorter, dark skinned man. "We're just goin', we're just goin' …"

Ahmed stepped back to keep space between himself and the men as they backed awkwardly down the steps. He kept his pistol trained on them as they turned and fled to their car. His pistol followed their car as it leapt from the parking spot, with a screech of tyres, and disappeared into the night. His eyes went to the taxi and he realised, with alarm, the driver had disappeared. He looked around and back again, to see a head tentatively appearing from below the driver's window.

"I'm sorry Sir, I won't shoot you!" said Ahmed, realising his pistol was still aimed over the taxi, in the direction the other car went. He quickly pocketed his pistol. "Please wait. We won't be a minute!"

He turned and pressed the intercom number he knew was Mary's. He waited. He pushed again. He waited. He pushed again and heard Mary's voice.

"We need to go now!" he yelled impatiently. "We've been followed so you need to get out here now!"

"Oh, right," said Mary.

"I just wanted to get some girly things," said Mary, puffing as she was bundled into the taxi. "So I could get this men's stuff off."

"Sorry ladies, no time. We must away!" said Ahmed gallantly, calmly. "I'm really sorry to have scared you, Sir. This is not something we normally do," said Ahmed, explaining inadequately to a frightened looking taxi driver, to whom he gave the address of his apartment.

"Well, at least you'll hear from Mr Lord now," said Halee, as ever, looking for the bright side as they were driven to Ahmed's apartment in Kensington. "But why do I get the nagging feeling we're still being followed, somehow?"

"I don't think we'll see them again," said Ahmed, confidently.
"How did you do that? And two of them? Did you recognise either?" asked Mary, wanting to know everything immediately.

"Yes, one of them was the one who gave you the envelope, back at Trafalgar," said Ahmed, suddenly remembering the envelope. He pulled it out of his pocket and tore it open. On it were typed the words: 'We do not give up searching the taonga for anyone or anything. Give it up now and you will not be hurt. Arohanui'.

"Taonga? Arohanui?" said Ahmed, saying the strange words slowly. "What do they mean?"

"They're Maori words," said Halee. "Taonga is a gift and arohanui is love, big love, universal love. It means they will honour their promise - we won't be hurt if we give it up now."

"Well, that's too bad. I'm not giving this case this up for anyone!" said Mary grimly. "And how exactly did you scare these two men off, Ahmed?" She had distinctly uneasy feelings about Ahmed's methods.

"Oh, I just shouted 'boo' and they ran!" said Ahmed, probably hoping humour would disperse her concerns.

"Why do I get the feeling you used the gun you said you wouldn't?" asked Mary.

"Oh dear, you've caught me out," said Ahmed, smiling sheepishly.
"You have been remiss, Ahmed, but I forgive you," said Mary, smiling at him. "I dread to think where we'd be if you hadn't done what you did, whatever it was. And you might be right about our safety, Ahmed, but something tells me they' re still tailing us, somehow."

"Me too," said Halee, quietly.

One Book to Agents, Another Started

 Well, The Importance of Being Arthur – though a publisher may change the title to The Day The Grumpy Angel Smiled or something – is finished and has been sent off to several writers agents around England. My prayers go with it.

In the meantime, I decided to start writing a spin-off, about one of the characters in Arthur – Sam Lord. Sam’s story started but another kept interrupting and so I’ve stopped Sam at about 4,000 words and have started a murder mystery in middle America – something I never imagined doing. It’s a lot of fun writing so that tells me a lot. At the moment it’s called Wrong Place, Wrong Time.

I’ve also started going to the West Oxfordshire Writers (WOW) group and, WOW, what a competent, inspiring and supportive group. As a writer, I’ve realised, it is so important to mix with other writers and word people to get ideas and feedback – not only on the words I’m writing but on ways to market myself and my books. Nothing tangible has happened but it feels like something is moving. Yee hah!

So Arthur's story continues from the previous blog, 1,000 words at a time ...

As Ahmed reached the curb he suddenly veered off and walked right past them. This did not make sense and Mary's apprehension grew. She looked up to see where Ahmed had disappeared to and a tall man loomed into view, in front of them.

"Excuse me, Sir, can I have a word?" asked the tall blonde man. Mary considered running and felt hot and cold all over.

"Yes, how can I help?" asked Halee quickly. "My partner is deaf and cannot speak. I can sign for him." Confusion cleared as Mary realised her voice was not a man's. She was glad of Halee's quick thinking and wanted to hug her on the spot. All she could do was smile crookedly.

"Ah, oh, can you?" asked the man, scratching blonde curls, uncertainly. "Oh, yes, well, can you tell your friend that this dropped out of his briefcase, just back there?" He handed Halee a sealed envelope.

"Oh, thank you, that's very kind," said Halee, obviously relieved.

"No problem, mate," said the man, who patted Mary on the shoulder and trotted off.

As Mary looked at the envelope in Halee's hand, it was snatched away and Mary realised it was Ahmed, with the envelope and in full pursuit of the man. The man was either lucky or practised and had soon disappeared into the crowd. Ahmed returned a few minutes later, puffing and scowling.

"It's not over yet, ladies, let's get you out of here, now!" said Ahmed, frantically waving and looking for a taxi. "Go into this café here, mill around and I'll call you when a taxi has arrived."
Nonplussed, they did as ordered and had only just got inside when Ahmed waved them back to the street.

Mary gave the taxi her address in South Kensington and Ahmed objected, saying they could be followed.

"Sam's ringing me there in an hour," said Mary, feeling her brain and all its functions returning to normal. "I want to be there when he rings."

"Right, let's do it, Mr Taxi!" said Halee.

"You know, it's impossible to tell if anyone is following us because we can only see headlights," said Ahmed, smiling, as they set out on the ten-minute ride. "The movies all tell lies!"

"Thanks Ahmed, but that's not really helping," said Mary, feeling very unsafe.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to introduce some humour," said Ahmed, looking abashed. "Perhaps we talk practicalities and I really do have to say this: I do not think your apartment is a safe place to be at all."

"But Sam's ringing me there," said Mary, determined not to let go of that ray of hope.

"And not on your mobile phone?" asked Halee.

"He didn't say, so I'm not taking any chances," said Mary.

"Leave it to the receptionist - she thinks of everything!" said Halee brightly. "Why don't we pop into your flat, divert the phone to your mobile, then scarper."

"It's not risk elimination but it's risk reduction," said Ahmed, looking slightly relieved.

"So, what's in this case, I really want to see!" said Halee, patting the briefcase.

"That's not very safe here," advised Ahmed.

"If we lock the doors, no one can jump in at the lights," said Halee, not to be put off.

"Okay, okay, we'll have a quick look, but keep a lookout for people approaching us when we slow down anywhere," said Mary, as eager as Halee and as cautious as Ahmed.

The briefcase was filled with about a dozen manila folders, each stuffed with papers. It looked very orderly. Mary pulled out the first folder and rifled quickly through the papers. Most of them concerned the accounts of one of Britain's largest companies, Power Corporation, colloquially called PoCo. There were letters from the auditors and from the director, Sir Magnus Davenport. It all looked a bit boring, really. Mary tried the second folder and there seemed to be correspondence and reports regarding the Olympic Games, due to start in two months' time in London. With details about contracts and power supply, with amendments to particular clauses, it was mainly letters between solicitors and Sir Magnus Davenport and no more interesting than the previous file.

"There's nothing about AIL, Lord Atkinson, Sam or anything else we know about," complained Mary. "What's Sam got to do with PoCo and the Olympics anyway?"

"No idea, no idea at all, Miss Collins," said Ahmed with a frown.
"Let's get creative," said Halee with undiminished enthusiasm. "The top's boring and irrelevant so let's try that yellow one at the bottom."

As they opened the yellow folder she saw drawings of machines that baffled her.

"Oh my god!" said Ahmed with surprise, his white teeth lighting up his dark face. "This … this is alternative technology … ah, intermediate technology."

"It's what?" asked Mary, totally confused.

"Look, when I studied accounting at university …" Ahmed began to say.
"You're an accountant?" asked Halee, obviously impressed.

"Yes, I qualified in both accounting and economics and did accounting for a while and then found a counsellor and some good pills and got over it!" said Ahmed, laughing and then, as if remembering where they were, became serious and looked outside, around the car. The two women followed suit. "Anyway, my favourite economist was the Austrian, E. F. Schumacher …"

"His book, Small Is Beautiful, is amazing!" said Halee, interrupting.

"And his thoughts on intermediate technology and the Law of the Disappearing Middle just had me hooked," said Ahmed. "I was going to take it all back to Pakistan and help my people … anyway, these are intermediate technology machines, machines that are not too expensive or too complex for developing nations to use and maintain; more complex than the shovel but simpler than the tractor, shall we say …"

"And these intermediate technologies keep disappearing, Miss Collins," said Halee, interrupting again. "So developing countries only have a choice of spades - which are not enough to expand their agriculture and feed their people - or tractors which they cannot afford and do not have the expertise or resources to repair."