Two Short Dramas: Blazing Hills and the Poetic Life of Ralph Cannon

By Lee J Morrison

Against a background of blazing Lancashire Moorland Yaneck embarks on a hot relationship with charismatic performer Heather Firebrand, in his isolated Shooting Lodge. This secret ‘House in the Clouds’ has been the intimate locale for himself and his wife Yolanda only and his new relationship with Heather is exposed by the Paparazzi who covertly follow them. Yaneck desperately tries to keep the existence of his wife from Heather as he is willing to go down the path of Polygamy and combat Blackmail to satisfy his overriding infatuation for her. Yolanda finds unexpected comfort with their old friend, Glaswegian Comedian Mac the MacKinty. A startling discovery in Edinburgh, at first alarming, proves to be greatly beneficial to Yaneck as he struggles with his conscience.

For Ralph Cannon there is a surprise at the end of his Poetic reverie, as he drives out of New York and out of a relationship. Should he return to the reassuringly familiar, or continue in search of fresh experiences and excitement? Written entirely in verse, this Dramatic collection of Poems explores the mystery and simplicity of love and relationships, sometimes with humour.

I hope that these two contrasting short Dramas are absorbing and entertaining.
Lee J Morrison.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728396866

Lee J Morrison

Dr. Lee J Morrison was born in the UK, in Lancashire, with an Afro Caribbean father and ancestors from Kenya. His White English mother was from Derbyshire, with French ancestors and Viking ancestors from South Yorkshire. Lee qualified for a BA honours degree in London and graduated from the University of Reading, Berkshire (affiliated to Oxford), with a master of fine arts degree. Studying also in Paris, Lee taught at the University College London. He is now a PhD graduate. Lee was also a tutor with the University of Sussex, at Brighton, and at Hastings. Whilst married for twenty-five years and living in Brighton with a son and daughter, Lee extended his life experiences in other professions. These included construction and a very enjoyable time as a head chef at a popular restaurant next door to the Opera House. For several years he operated a successful landscape gardening business and sold and exhibited his own graphic art and paintings on a regular basis. Working also in London theatres and behind the scenes at the Royal Ballet, Lee counts actors and dancers amongst his friends. His musical tastes are diverse and he enjoys jazz, opera, Latin, and Caribbean genres. He was a semiprofessional singer and dancer himself with several musical theatre groups, a stand-up comedian, and a street performer in St Tropez and appeared on stage in Tunisia and Brazil. Writing has always been close to his heart, and he has penned poems, songs, and short comedy scripts throughout his life. Brandon developed along the lines of a detective story. Again it is based upon elements of reality, but it is definitely a fictional story. Although written in the first person, the book is not autobiographical to the author. Brandon is a young graphic artist and painter teaching at a university in New York. He finds himself endangered after he discovers one of his close friends, Hanwell Nnagobi, murdered in mysterious and gruesome circumstances in the South River. He becomes entangled with a subversive mob carrying out heinous crimes against humanity in his attempt to track down his friend’s killers, who are a threat to his own and his family’s safety. He is befriended by chief detective inspector McArthur, whose son Nigel is one of his students and who is also trying to crack the ring. Brandon’s relationship with his wife, Naomi, deteriorates, and there is much heartache to face with his children before he meets the mastermind of the ring face-to-face. As usual, Lee J Morrison presents his characters poetically with humour as well as with traumatic sadness, but here he moves away again from the passionate romance genre of his previous novels in the Chrystabell Trilogy and the happy ending of the romantic detective story The Many Faces of April Jade. He is acutely aware of social issues in the world and has travelled fairly extensively, but he nevertheless aims is to be entertaining and to present a gamut of emotions which encompass Brandon. The original hand-drawn black-and-white illustrations by Derek Vernon-Morris highlight the author’s vision of the drama, Brandon. Previous publications include the following: —Chrystabell’s Secrets (December 20, 2011) —Theo: A Nephew of Chrystabell (June 5, 2012) —Christina: A Sister to Chrystabell (June 28, 2013) —The Many Faces of April Jade (January 24, 2014) —Xerses Franklin: The Saga of Gabriel & Melona (January 30, 2015)

Book preview

TWO SHORT

DRAMAS

Blazing Hills and The Poetic

Life of Ralph Cannon

LEE J MORRISON

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AuthorHouse™ UK

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone] (Domestic TFN)

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Copyright © 2020 LEE J MORRISON. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   12/19/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9687-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9686-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

BLAZING HILLS

Chapter 1   Misgivings

Chapter 2   Enter Heather Firebrand

Chapter 3   A Reciprocal Love

Chapter 4   A Dilemma For Yolanda

Chapter 5   The First Lady Of Rock And Roll

Chapter 6   Mack the Mackinty

Chapter 7   Betrayal - the Ultimate

Chapter 8   Sheepish

Chapter 9   The Old One Two

Chapter 10   Ring A Ding-Ding

Chapter 11   Women Are The Cause Of Strife?

Chapter 12   Amongst The Scottish Heather

Chapter 13   Fragments

Chapter 14   Stormy Weather

Chapter 15   Tea For Two Or Three

Chapter 16   Win, Win, Win Situation

Chapter 17   Separate Tables, Separate Beds

Chapter 18   The Garden Party

Chapter 19   A Mystery Explained

Chapter 20   Cocktails For Two

Chapter 21   Schloss Coburg

Chapter 22   After Egypt

Chapter 23   Stallion Or Jack Rabbit

Chapter 24   Food For Thought

Chapter 25   Taken For Granted

Chapter 26   Learning How To Fly

Chapter 27   Rescue

Chapter 28   Recompense?

Chapter 29   Million Dollar Baby

Chapter 30   Forest Surprise

THE POETIC LIFE OF RALPH CANNON

Introduction

Chapter 1   Questions

Chapter 2   Will It Always Be Like This?

Chapter 3   The Earth Is Breathing

Chapter 4   Remember?

Chapter 5   Dreams

Chapter 6   More Dreams

Chapter 7   I Will Not Sing

Chapter 8   Close To You?

Chapter 9   All The Sunlit Clouds

Chapter 10   Backroad Johnny

Chapter 11   Caprice

Chapter 12   With These Words

Chapter 13   My Crock Of Gold

Chapter 14   For Ever And Ever

Chapter 15   Familiarity

Chapter 16   So Sorry

About The Author

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my good friend Frida for her inspiration and encouragement.

Lee J Morrison

Introduction

A Flame-Haired Canadian Rock artist with Scottish Ancestry performing live with a Pipe Band on the parapets of Edinburgh Castle, brandishing her Fender Guitar. Is that an unforgettable iconic image?

To Yaneck Stravininsky it is. He is more than her promotional Director for a Media Centre in Greater Manchester. Their psyches have gelled on first meeting at the studio set. Heather Firebrand is disappointed that she can not perform on location on the nearby moorland because of fires during a protracted heatwave.

The Blazing Hills pose a danger to many homes and many people including the small former Shooting Lodge which Yaneck and his Graphic Designer wife Yolanda use as a secret and intimate retreat. That is until Yaneck breaks the code of exclusive secrecy, and entertains Heather there.

10 years of apparently blissful marriage are swept aside by the Blazing Hills, and Heather Firebrand. So complete is his infatuation, or love he prefers to call it, that Yaneck is prepared to risk being imprisoned for Bigamy and also faces Blackmail.

There is one big difference between Heather and Yolanda. That is the fact that Yolanda knows all about Heather, but Heather knows nothing of Yolanda. How long can this state of affairs last? Will Yaneck lose everything that he loves and holds dear when his ever increasing web of lies disintegrates. More and more people stand to be hurt or disappointed, and Yaneck often wishes that he had taken his best friend Mac the MacKinty’s advice. The Glaswegian Comedian thinks Yaneck has taken leave of his senses, and Yolanda turns to him for solace.

I am a great fan of Scotland, the Craigs and the Glens and the Lochs and I belong to the International Clan Morrison/Morris who share the same Tartan as MacArthur. Heather of course is a MacArthur. There are several sources claimed for Clan Morrison, some as early as 1701 in Lewis, and earlier from French Norman sources associated with Maurice, North of Sterling.

That is the small part of myself that is included in the story, but I expect some of my own likes and dislikes enter it unconsciously. A writer it seems may reveal more about themselves than they are aware of, but I guess that is inevitable. A writer can never be afraid to reveal themselves through their characters, and I expect that the more varied the life, the more interesting the work can be. Well that is my theory.

I enjoy developing characters as the story unfolds, and adding more inter-connecting ones as in this story, and I hope that you will enjoy being introduced to Rita Hesse von Coburg and Baldwin MacTavish, and several more, but bear in mind that all the characters are fictional, and are not intended to represent any living person. If they do, it is by coincidence.

Global warming is certainly a major concern at the present day, and I wonder how many people look on helplessly, as trees burn faster than they can be planted, and the glaciers melt. Is there something more maybe than unwise human activity? Maybe the Earth is performing a natural cycle which can not be reversed. To express this concern through the book, I have created One Yaneck’s brothers, Derreck, a conservationist working liaising with University departments, and monitoring the condition of the Moorland ‘Heather’. I can not offer solutions above those already in place and so like many I feel like a helpless spectator.

But hey, this is not a scientific or spiritual book, but one designed to provoke and entertain. I hope that you will be entertained.

Lee J Morrison.

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Chapter 1

MISGIVINGS

Y olanda averted her eyes for a moment from the muscular torso of Yaneck arching above her. Through the small window of the old Shooting Lodge she caught sight of flames racing across the Moorland on the other side of the Valley. A plume of white smoke topped them, billowing backwards like the smoke from an old express Steam Locomotive. She uttered a short cry as their passion culminated simultaneously and then inadvertently, and almost absent-mindedly she whispered: The Hills are on fire.

Yaneck sighed deeply as he began to sink contentedly into the soft bed keeping his left arm around her waist. That was good for me too. He replied softly.

Yolanda rose reluctantly, freeing herself gently from his embrace, and walked, almost drifted languorously to the window.

Come back here. She heard Yaneck exhort gently as he admired her naked body framed against the light of the window.

Suddenly she felt ill at ease and somehow a slight chill moved through her body despite the heat of the day. The Hills are really burning, She repeated, this time quite loudly, On the other side of the Valley. As she returned to the comfort of the bed, Yolanda could not lie down again, but sat on the edge with strange misgivings.

It will be the Farmers torching the heather like they used to do after the Grouse Shooting season. Yaneck stated reassuringly. The Farmers will have it all under control.

I am not sure, I have never seen such large flames before, and surely it is too early – they usually torch the ground in the Autumn. Yolanda replied as she walked to a chair and began to dress from the pile of their passionately discarded clothes. I think that I would like to go back to town now, I need a shower, and I do not want to dip in the Reservoir today.

Oh well, I need a coffee and I do not want to fiddle with the Calor Gas hob. I have left the Orange juice cooler in the car anyway. This old Shooting Lodge was given the right superstitious name – The House in The Clouds – as it was often obscured by mist. We knew that we could never fit it up with services, and sometimes a chemical toilet is not the most romantic of facilities. Yaneck replied somewhat diffidently.

If the wind changes it will soon be covered in smoke as well. Yolanda replied as she finished tying back her abundant black hair.

Yaneck seemed to cover the bed with the protective patchwork cover, and slip into his shorts, shirt and sandals all in one movement, and they were quickly scuffling down the rough path to the low perimeter fence and through the gate to where the Kia 4x4 was parked. They negotiated the rough Moorland track full of unexpected potholes and banks of tufty grass, in the ever obliging vehicle. Yolanda glanced at the firm set of his jaw somehow silhouetted against the white smoke and orange flames on the opposite hillside, and again she was gripped by the same strange sense of foreboding. Soon they reached the twisting B Road before entering the main carriageway and Yolanda looked back through the open window. Usually she felt sorry to leave their Moorland Retreat, and would gaze back longingly, but today she was relieved when they quickly reached their Quayside Apartment through the light afternoon traffic.

On the contrary, Yaneck appeared to be in high spirits. Race you to the shower. He laughed, and began to sing an old Sister Sledge song as he lathered himself: Well Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delila, Lord, when they met – oo – oo – Fire.

Do you have to sing that? Yolanda chided gently as she reached around him for the soap. He turned and kissed her on the lips as she held up her face to the welcoming jets of water. Yaneck allowed the water to finish rinsing his well-toned body before stepping out and grabbing a large white towel. Yolanda lingered a little while with a kind of relief, but somehow that disconcerting sense of misgivings would not leave her.

The coffee machine yielded an excellent Cinnamon Mocha Chocolate Latte in the sparkling kitchen where stainless steel fittings vied for attention with the Black Stardust surfaces. Very soon they were enjoying a medium rare Steak with baby boiled Potatoes rolled in Olive Oil, with Broccoli, and a large mixed salad of Tomatoes, Cucumber, Cos Lettuce and yellow Peppers with a few cooked Broad Beans thrown in for good measure. They were both excellent cooks and Yaneck loved to prepare the Steak and Potatoes. He had mixed also a spicy Red wine juis with Turmeric, Black Pepper, Ginger and a little wholemeal flour. A glass of rich and refreshing Shiraz Grenache completed the course.

They had much to talk about as Yaneck held a lucrative position on a creative team at a TV Media Centre. He had formerly been a professional Photographer and met Yolanda when she was modelling before she concentrated on her position of a Graphic Designer with a Fashion Advertising Company.

We could have gone to The Farm House today if I did not have an early start tomorrow. Yaneck remarked as they tucked into fresh Summer Berries with Natural Yogurt.

Yes Nicky and Dekko are staying there this week, it would have been fun to have dinner together, but I really wanted to be back here. Yolanda replied. May I have some of that special Brandy that Estella sent you for your Birthday? I somehow feel a little chilly, maybe I have caught a Summer cold.

Of course. An excellent idea. Yaneck declared with jollity as he poured two doubles into the crystal glasses and warmed them in his hands. Oh dear, I hope that you have not picked up a virus somewhere. It is not very characteristic of you. He added, as he sniffed the aroma emanating from one glass, and handed the other to Yolanda. I know it often looks pretentious, but the heat from one’s hand really does release the bouquet of neat Brandy in the correct glass.

Thank you darling Yolanda looked up into Yaneck’s eyes with sincerity, and then down at her glass before taking a sip. Mmm, that is good – what did you say that you have to do in the morning?

Oh we are doing a location shoot with er – er – Heather Firebrand? I am familiar some of her music and she is doing several gigs and a TV short Documentary. It is not really to my taste, but apparently she is currently given rave reviews. Yaneck answered casually. She is bigger in America than in Europe at the moment, hence we have been given the task of showcasing her.

Yes, I remember now, and I must say that the little bit of her music I have heard does not really do it for me either. Yolanda added as the Brandy began to warm her a little. Maybe. Maybe we should have an early night and I mean an early night after our passion in The House in The Clouds today.

Probably that is a good idea – Mark, my Producer can be very demanding of everyone at the break of Dawn. Yaneck laughed good naturedly, and Yolanda always thought how handsome he was when he did. She could often sense a wild animal passion in him, which she loved to try and match.

Sleep overcame them easily after they had shared the washing up and the drying of the dishes. A shrill ringing awoke Yolanda from a nightmare she was wrestling with, but could not quite remember. The Summer morning was still only a glimmer, but she stared at the window somehow fully awake. She felt as though she had slept for a Century, but it was only 3 am.

Oh drat – hello. Yaneck answered the phone whilst struggling with the alarm clock before he realised it was the Studio calling.

Hello Yaneck. Mark Raymont seemed to shout down the system with the voice of one who thrives on as little sleep as possible. Have you heard that the hills are on fire? He did not wait for an answer before continuing. So the Moorland shoots are cancelled, and we are going to do a studio shoot and add the locations later. I still want you here at 4.30 though.

Yes, yes, we were there, well, not there, but across the valley. I did not think that it was so serious. I will be at the Studio, thanks for ringing Mark. Yaneck answered rather blearily.

Good yes, well not good at all. People are being evacuated. Apparently there is Peat which is ‘Tinder Box dry’. How the old saying is still alive. Who has heard of a tinder Box these days? See you soon. Mark rang off cheerily in spite of the disastrous news.

Yolanda had already made porridge with more of the summer Berries, and café Americano, when Yaneck entered the kitchen looking smart but casual. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him urgently and then returned to her coffee, pulling her dressing gown tighter.

Now that is what makes these early mornings great. Yaneck stated before devouring his porridge quickly and downing his coffee. I shall count the minutes until I return. He grabbed his small PC Notebook bag from the hallway stand. See you later if not sooner darling. He added, looking back quickly from the doorway.

At the Studio there was the usual activity around the Green Screen and props, as technical staff went about their business before his additional creative suggestions were required. All at once they seemed to disappear, and the hustle and bustle subsided as a charismatic figure walked commandingly onto the set. Yaneck was preoccupied with a light metre and looked up absently, but instantly he was absent no longer.

A tall thin young woman maybe about the same age as Yolanda stood with a hand on her left hip in a body-hugging green and black mottled one piece suit, and the highest silver heels ever. Her pose emphasised her voluptuous but well-honed figure. Thick waved red hair coiled about her ears and shoulders, set alight by the seemingly bright green eyes shining out of silver shadow, and her full ruby lips were on the edge of collagen, but Yaneck realised that they were natural. He knew then why she called herself Heather Firebrand. She was Hot.

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Chapter 2

ENTER HEATHER FIREBRAND

H i she said emphatically Are you going to leave a Lady standing here alone?

He opened his mouth and his eyes wide, but his lips made no sound. He stepped forward and almost became entangled in a floor cable. How bad mannered, let me introduce myself. He said extending his hand formally. Heather smiled demurely and changed position slightly extending her hand for him to kiss. He was momentarily awed again by the gorgeous rings on each finger of her right hand.

His eyes travelled along her arm and up to her shoulder, taking in the tightly concealed voluptuousness beneath wide lapels, up to the slightly parted full lips and along her exquisite nose to those hypnotic pale green eyes, as he kissed her hand. A hand that was offered imperiously rather than coquettishly. He gazed into their dazzling depths it seemed for like an eternity, until he felt her fingers close slightly.

I guess that you must be Miss Heather Firebrand Yaneck heard his own voice but it seemed to be far away, and he recalled an image of the blazing Hills the previous afternoon.

Good guess She intoned with the most attractive of Canadian accents. You make me sound like an institution, just call me Heather, and I think that we will get along fine.

Her voice filled him with a strange longing as though he wanted to hear it forever. The words did not matter, just the tonality and every inflection would make sense even if she was phrasing a language that he did not understand. Fine, er um, Miss, er Heather. Forgive my slight hesitancy, but I thought that you were from the Heartland of the USA, but you speak more like a Canadian, maybe from Toronto.

Spot on, Sir, but as yet you have not introduced yourself - Mr Director I presume.

"Oh of course, I am so preoccupied with the new arrangements for today. I am Yaneck Stravininsky. I had worked out a whole scenario for you on the moors as requested, but I was out yesterday when they began to blaze. The grass and heather are dried with the heatwave here, as everybody says, ‘Tinder dry’. A tinder box is something of a bygone era and who knows what one is these days?

Well I do for one. My Grandfather has one which belonged to one of the original Mounted Police before they became known as Royal about 1920. I think that its origin is English, though they were produced in America for the Hudson Bay Company and the Fur Traders in the 1700’s. Heather replied authoritatively and with a slight touch of humour. She was obviously enjoying the situation.

If I am not mistaken there was an accompanying small metal rod used to strike the outside of the box to make a spark and ignite the dry material, rather like the forerunner of a box of matches, the prototype even, before the discovery of Brimstone coating. Yaneck continued enthusiastically.

Spot on again Sir, Heather replied, and this time gave a full smile, which almost sent his senses reeling, as though momentarily dazzled by a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day. Her white, quite large, but even bright white teeth actually glinted in the dimmed spotlight.

Some were really quite sophisticated. Heather continued, The lid contained a magnifying lens which concentrated a small shaft of sunlight to ignite dry wood or straw. There was also a small piece of Flint from Norfolk for producing a spark with a small curved piece of steel, and a couple of pieces of highly inflammable fabric, and three or four sulphur impregnated stems or matches. The whole box of course fits easily in the palm of the hand and was made of brass or copper. She finished with a most exquisite gesture rolling the fingers and thumb of her left hand together, so that her pearlescent silver nails glinted hypnotically.

Yes, it is rather like a mobile all-weather Cave-Man kit. Do you take an interest in Military memorabilia, or Antiques in general? Yaneck could hardly believe he was having this double-edged conversation with a woman whom many regarded as an iconic and over demanding Diva.

I sure do, and that is where you will often find me when I have the time – rummaging around Antique shops, and Auction rooms, and you were right on both accounts as I love to be in what is called the Heartland of the USA and some of my band originate from there with Country and Western roots. I expect that you can guess that I may have Scottish family connections as well as Canadian Native Indian.

Yes, I see, I see – I could not help but notice your rings. Are they Family heirlooms, or have you collected them, if you do not mind me asking. Yaneck replied with genuine contemplative interest.

Some have been handed down for generations, and one or two I have bought for their historical value. They are all the real McCoy as the saying goes. Some people might keep them in a box in a vault, but what the hell – I want to enjoy them everyday not once in a blue moon, and I do not want to pay for phoney copies to wear. I always match my costumes to my jewellery and not the other way around. Heather informed him conclusively accompanied by expressive hand and body language that was totally magical.

I see. Beautiful, and er – Would you have worn the same costume for outdoor Moorland shots? Yaneck asked rather suggestively.

Yes. I wanted to film in Scotland, but because of time and expense my management negotiated the Moorland. I was going to strut my stuff on the heather. Heather on the heather, but I know that the studio can create a good background shoot. Do you think that it is not suitable?

On the contrary it is most flattering, but the dark tonality combined with the sequins is playing havoc with the light meter – would you object to quite a bright spotlight. Yaneck felt his professionalism returning, but his blood was still high, and he wanted to keep those fabulous inflections issuing from her lips, those lips.

"That is no problem at all. This face and body are all the real McCoy too. She placed her hands behind her back and thrust her chest and chin forward, and Yaneck dropped his light meter on the floor with a clatter, and he realised how unusually silent it had become during their conversation.

I need to keep supple. Heather stated as she gyrated gently from one hip to the other. Which position would you like?

I like them all. Yaneck replied with equal innuendo. Will you be performing in front of the Band or at the side?

What do you suggest. Heather grinned cheekily and seductively at the same time as she caressed a microphone stand.

At the side, so that they do not interfere with the wide sweep of the shot, until the end of the first number. Yaneck replied seriously.

And what might that be honey? Heather said suddenly stepping forward with the microphone and placing an arm around his shoulder before stroking the back of his short ginger hair.

Yaneck stuck his left hand in his pocket to restrain it from publicly caressing and fondling all the voluptuousness resting lightly so close to him. He felt the Carved Caribbean Key fob which Yolanda had playfully presented him with on one of their trips and almost guiltily remembered her unease the previous day. The memory was like a painful jab in the ribs in the midst of an amorphous and almost ecstatic act of pleasure. It stopped him from maybe being guilty of inappropriate touching, and he needed his job and his career. He did not want to be another sad case side-lined with a bunch of lawyers just for having natural instincts.

What does a handsome guy like you do for recreation around here – or are you one of the married ones? Heather whispered in his ear.

All eyes were upon him and many knew Yolanda and socialised with them, and yet he lied. No, but there is plenty to do – if one knows the right places. Yaneck said amazed at his own incredulous behaviour.

Heather smiled and moved away a little flicking her hair. You must show me the right places she whispered.

She walked with cat walk grace back to the microphone stand and looked slightly wickedly disapproving at him. Now I bet that you have not really heard my latest hit have you, that will begin this short feature.

Well, I – Philip – have you got the schedule there? We will stick to the same order. So, let’s get this show on the road. Call the Band in. and have them on the left. I want clear shots of Miss-, of Heather. Start the footage now, there may be special feature material that we need. Yaneck called to one of his assistants and made a valiant effort to return to his usual slick professionalism, after all, that was why he had been chosen for this project.

Heather laughed genuinely and did not wait for the band to assemble. They picked up the music gradually in a very effective way. More like a Jazz based jamming session than Rock, with a range of voice and emotionality that made Yaneck almost hold his breath and drool from his open mouth. She held the microphone as though it was the only precious thing in the world.

"If you want me, you know where to find me,

Waiting in the shadow of love for whom ever he may be,

I will be waiting, I will be longing, I will be hoping,

For a true love to set me free.

Oh yes, I am coming, coming out of the shadows and into the light.

My love is shining inside of me, for anyone who can see.

If you want me, you know where to find me,

Waiting for your tender touch and your loving embrace,

I know that you will love me, by the look on your face.

And Yaneck listened to every word as though it was true, and in this short space of time, in spite of all the happy years with beautiful Yolanda, he thought that he had never felt this way before. It was lust, it was desire, and yet something more like coming home to a familiarity that was nevertheless still remote and strange.

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Chapter 3

A RECIPROCAL LOVE

A surprising thing happened as the last electric guitar vibration faded, all who were present in the studio gave a spontaneous standing ovation. Yaneck could not remember that happening before. Heather gave an also surprisingly acquiescent curtsey, and before anyone spoke walked to a guitar stand and deftly donned a magnificent Fender. It was customised in Emerald Green and Vermillion Red.

Thank you so much. she said sweetly brushing away a genuine tear of emotion. "That was just for you and me. Now may I invite you to Rock with me in ‘Rocksville’.

Beginning with a scintillating high C which vibrated the room, Heather played a lead guitar riff before it was taken up by the band and she launched into vocals.

"Let me welcome you to Rocksville with some emotion,

Because tonight we are going to cause a commotion.

Rock with me high, Rock with me low, or Rock me slow,

The town is going to remember this Rock ’n Roll show.

This is all about loving as long as we are living,

Living the dream, dreaming to live as long as we are giving,

Giving all, we got, giving it all that we have, and I got a lot,

To give, give and giving is what I do, giving it all that we got.

Come on lets Rock Rockville give me some emotion,

Because tonight we are going to cause a commotion!

Yaneck had been amazed by her dexterous use of the Hard Plectrum without even scraping a silver nail on the steel strings. He had been busy checking the camera angles and the close up and distance shots. As she was obviously a polished performer, he allowed her to continue without the need for any directing. She looked directly at him before beginning her next song.

Are you hungry? I think that I am working up an appetite. The outdoors is perfect for a barbecue, I think I can smell it. I would like to share some finger lickin’ with you, but first here is Joe with some finger pickin’.

A Band member played an Acoustic finger riff Country style, and Heather began the vocals with a laugh.

Chicken is good, and chicken is nice,

But what I like is chicken and rice.

Here is Joe with all those juicy ribs,

I just love Joe’s juicy barbecued ribs,

How about a double cheese burger?

For one of those I could commit murder.

Don’t forget the Salad, Peas and Beans

Or I won’t fit into any of my Jeans. (laughs again)

Oh, but Chicken is good, and chicken is nice,

But what I like is Chicken and rice.

There is also a welcome Chilli pot,

I like that hot, hot, hot.

Yes, Chicken is good, and chicken is nice,

But what I like is chicken and rice.

Heather looked around. Now I need a drink. She laughed again and walked to a table where a pale orange tumbler was placed with a slice of lemon on the rim. Ooh this is my favourite drink, it is not alcohol, it is much more intoxicating than that. She looked up taking a sip. What – you don’t believe me? This is pure Lemon juice and Orange juice poured over ice, it is my favourite cooler. This is beautiful, but now - will you take a walk with me?"

"If you take a walk with me, maybe,

We can find paradise right here on Earth,

Don’t you tell me that Heaven is not upon your doorstep,

Because I have found it there with you.

I am no stranger, I am the one who loves you,

But I will hold your hand and together we can be –

Like the Angels, like Angels, as free as birds on the wing -

You are the one who makes my heart sing.

Don’t tell me that Heaven is not upon your doorstep,

Because I have found it there with you.

If you take a walk with me maybe,

We can find Paradise right here on Earth,

I am no stranger, I am the one who loves you,

But