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First pages

Part One


At the age of nineteen years, beautiful, vivacious, Heather Brown came to London. Her parents had died in a vehicular accident. An only child, she sold their assets and obtain enough money to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse. She enrolled in a nursing school and got a job working at night at a pub in Soho. Heather became popular with the patrons, especially University students, who visited the pub on weekends. They often tried to date her, but she laughed off their attentions. One evening, three of them waited as she left the pub. They were intoxicated. They offered to escort her home, but she politely refused the offer.

“Come on Heather, be our friend.” They chanted, following her.

Worried, she quickened her pace and they also quickened their steps. The deserted road shone from a brief shower of rain. She pulled her grey coat tighter around her, for the night had a chill. The sound of the footsteps behind her, echoed in the quiet night, coming near her. She started to run, but they caught her by a dark ally, held her, and dragged her into it. The faint smell of garbage permeated the air as though complementing the dastardly act being carried out on the young woman. One put his hand over her mouth muffling her screams, and the third pulled off her clothes off. She feebly tried to push him away.

“Please don’t” she kept mouthing.

 His two friends called to him when he finished, “Come on, Roger, it’s time to go.”

He contemptuously threw a ten pound note on the ground.

Take that bitch, you’re worth much less.

Sobbing, she made her way home to her rented room. The next morning she returned to the ally, picked up the ten pound note, folded it and put it into her purse.

Heather no longer smiled and the students no longer visited. The pub owner couldn’t understand what had happened, but though, a worried man, for his sales were down, he kept his employees on.

In a deep state of depression, she stopped going to classes and blamed herself for what had happened, she had been too friendly. It took a tremendous effort on her part to go to work in the evenings. Six weeks later she discovered that she was pregnant.

She found out the name of the student who had assaulted her- Roger Heap. She called the University and asked to speak to Mr Heap.

He came on the line, “Heap here.”

“This is Heather from the ‘River Pub’


“I’m pregnant”

“Who are you? What are you talking about?”

“You raped me!”

The line went dead.

Heather struggled through her pregnancy. It was hard, extremely hard. She tried as best as she could to hide her condition, but eventually her pregnancy became evident. While he liked Heather, he couldn’t have a pregnant, unwed young woman, serving at his tables. He terminated her services. With no wages and little savings she was unable pay her rent. The landlady, unsympathetic to her plight, suggested she have an abortion, but Heather had enough courage to reject the idea.

She cried herself to sleep each night and every morning she went out looking for work. Into her eight month her landlady put her out. Struggling with her suitcase which contained her books and clothing, she walked to the bridge, stopped midway and looked down at the swirling dark waters. The river seemed to beckon to her, ‘Come Heather, come into my arms, I will relieve you and your child of your troubles. There will be no more worries for you’. She stood, mesmerised, uncertainty gripped her, and it would be so easy, just a step forward and a leap. Suddenly fear overcame her, ‘how could I do that to my unborn child?’ she asked herself, jumping back. She collapsed, and an ambulance took her to hospital.

Two days later she awoke to a smiling nurse, holding a little bundle in her hand.

“Well you’ve given birth to a beautiful baby boy. Here, hold him.”

“I’m a mother?’

“Yes, but you have to take better care of yourself, you are malnourished.”

“The baby, is the baby healthy?”

“Yes, my dear, he’s quite healthy.”

“Now, I want you to feed him. I’ll be back later to get some information from you.”

“Where are my things, nurse?”

“Your case is temporarily placed under the bed. Do you wish something?”

“No, it’s all right.”

Heather held the baby in her arms and tears welled up in her eyes, he was such a beautiful baby. Sadness overcame her, it would be impossible to keep him. She cuddled the baby closer to her, what should she do? No doubt the hospital would take care of her and the baby, in the immediate future, but she felt sure they would take her baby. No, she would not allow that to happen, the choice of the baby’s future must rest with her.

Observing the movements of the nurse as she checked on the other patients in the ward, Heather, her mind in turmoil, waited for her to withdraw and got slowly off the bed, bent down, pulled out the case, opened it, took out a dress, her coat and shoes and her purse. She quickly put the shoes on and the dress over the hospital gown and then the coat. Clutching the small purse, she held the baby, wrapped in his little blanket, close to her and under the coat, as she slipped out of the ward and out of the hospital. She walked slowly along the streets with no destination in mind. ‘What was she to do? Dear God, show me away.’

She found herself opposite a park and she decided to go in and find a bench to sit on. She entered the park and on the first bench a man sat, his eyes were closed. Heather looked at him, his clothes spoke of wealth. The kind, gentleness of his face, struck her. Drawn to him by an unexplainable force, she took the baby from beneath her coat, kissed his little forehead, and placed him gently next to the man, and ran out of the park.


Henry Reybolt would often walk to the park when the afternoon weather permitted. A man of forty five years, handsome and of average height, he loved these quite moments with nature. On this particular spring evening, he sat on a bench not very far from the entrance. The waning sunlight cast a glow on the manicured lawns. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees along the pathways.

A renowned author, he travelled to faraway places, seeking to learn of other cultures. The knowledge he gained he would put together in his novels, whose basic themes were meant to uplift and show the world that everyone can live under the banner of love, if the word’s true meaning was understood. His books were very well received and had made him a wealthy man.

This evening as he sat, he allowed his mind to wander. While he would write of love, he himself often struggled with its meaning. Having served in the war and seen its horrors, where Jesus’ pronouncement , ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends’, was often seen, he had a battle to ignore the cynicism of the harsh demonstration of the beauty of this great word.

Eyes closed, he sat in deep reflection, for he would begin work on his next book within the week. Suddenly, disturbed by a faint whimper, he opened his eyes as the sound came again, and this time it startled him, for it came from by his side. Looking down he saw a small bundle. The whimper turned into a muffled cry. He tentatively reached for it and pulled the cloth aside. It had become quite dark now and he could barely see a tiny baby. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He got up and looked around. He stood alone, ‘where in heaven’s name had the baby come from?’ He became aware of a group of people standing around at the entrance of the park. He picked up the little bundle and in measured steps approached them. The small crowd started to disperse. With the baby in his arms, he caught up to a woman and asked her what had happened.

“You didn’t see? You were in the park, weren’t you?”

He regretted speaking to her, for she appeared to be one of those gossipy, inquisitive types.

“Poor woman,” she recounted, “She came running out of the park and ran straight into the path of a car, knocked her down flat. Must have killed her, the ambulance came and took her to hospital, poor woman.”

Then she looked at him and asked, “What have you got there?”

Fortunately the baby, comfortable in the warm arms of the man, had become quiet.

He ignored her and turned away, heading for the corner. On reaching it, he paused, waiting for a car to pass, before crossing the street. The street lights had come on and he moved the blanket and looked at the baby again. The little face glowed in the faint light.

‘What a beautiful baby, the mother must have been very desperate to have left her child.’

He surmised that the woman, who ran out of the park, would have been the mother.

He knew it was his duty to take the baby to the authorities. He peeped at the baby again. ‘My God, it borders on cruelty to give this child to some welfare person’.

He crossed the street and hurried to the drugstore, along the way. A bell rang when he entered. The druggist paused in attending to a customer and smiled pleasantly, when he recognised who had come in.

“What a pleasure to see you back, Mr Reybolt.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Andrew.”

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, to tell you the truth Andrew,it’s a bit awkward, you see, I need something for a baby.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “You need something for a baby, sir?”

“What I mean is I need diapers, baby formula, bottles, that sort of thing.”

Andrew repeated himself, “For a baby, sir?”

“Yes, Andrew, I want things for a baby.” He wanted to shout at him to get on with it, but continued to smile politely.

“You see my daughter has left her child with me and hurried off and inadvertently took his clothes and bottles with her.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter, sir. It’s a boy then, what’s his name, if I may ask, sir?”

Reybolt was stomped and then he blurted, “Zachary.”

The baby started to scream.

“Hurry up man!”

Andrew brought the items to the register.

Reybolt paid his bill and hurried from the drugstore with the baby crying. Adjacent to his own flat lived Alice Murray. Her story reflected the sad script written into so many young lives. She and her fiancé graduated together. Very much in love, they had great plans to pursue their careers in music, when fate stepped in to put an end to their dreams. On a boating trip he slipped on the deck of the boat, hit his head, and died in hospital, a few hours later. Alice overcame the hurt and immersed herself in her career as a music teacher and a concert pianist. The idea of marriage never again entered her mind.

She had become Henry’s good friend and they often had tea in the afternoons, and long discussions about his books. She would stand her ground firmly, when she disagreed with him. A wonderful, platonic friendship developed between them.

He knocked on her door vigorously and she opened it, surprised to see him.

“Henry, this is a surprise.” She looked at the bundle in his hand. “What have got you there?”

“Alice, sorry for barging in on you, but I need your help.”

“Come in, come in.” The baby began to cry

“Is that a baby?”

“Yes, I’ve found a baby.”

She asked nothing further, but took the bundle from his hands, went into her room and placed the baby, crying loudly, on the bed.

She stripped the child down, “He needs changing,”

“Is it a boy then?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“No, but I’m glad, his name is Zachery.”

“You didn’t know it’s a boy, but you know his name?”

The sound of the baby’s crying filled the apartment.


Alice opened the bag and took out the formula and bottles and thrust them into his hand.

She commanded, “Go mix his bottle quickly before he brings the building down around our ears, his lungs are very good. I’ll see to changing him.”


“Go on man! Sterilise everything with hot water. Read the instructions on the tin and don’t make the bottle too hot.”

Reybolt hurried to the well appointed kitchen, beside the sitting room. He got the water boiling, read the instructions and measured out the mix.

Alice came out of the bedroom with Zachary in her arms. His crying had subsided. Giving the baby to him she took the bottle.

“It’s too hot,” and went to the sink and ran cold water over it, testing the mix on the back of her hand. Satisfied, she began to feed him. He drank hungrily.

“My goodness, the child was starving.”

Reybolt looked at her in wonder, “You’re good.”

“A woman’s instinct.”

Zachary gave a loud burp as she patted his back.

“I think he’s satisfied, he’ll go to sleep now.” and she tucked his little body on the sofa.

She looked at Reybolt, “Now tell me, whose baby is this?”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I really don’t know.”

He told her of finding the child on the bench, and that the woman in the accident must be his mother.

“So what do you intend to do? You can’t keep him, you know.”

Then she got up, “Just a moment,” and she went into the bedroom and brought out a small grey purse.

“This was in his blanket.”

She handed him the purse. He opened it and took out a folded ten pound note and with it a piece of paper on which was written, take that bitch you’re worth much less.

He read the words aloud, frowned, “What do you make of that?”

“A tortured soul, I would say,”

“And what would you say about the money?”

“All she had left.”

“It just doesn’t add up, you know.”

Alice kept looking at him, his reaction to the child puzzled her.

“Have you really looked at Zachary? He is very special, you know.” He said.

A look of sympathy crossed her face, “You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”

He didn’t respond to her question, but his expression changed.

“You’re right of course. Tomorrow, I’ll try to find his mother and help her. To tell the police at this stage would only get her into more trouble.”

“Your delay in reporting the matter could get you into a great deal of trouble.”

“Never mind, I can get around any difficulties.”

She came over to him and held his hand.

“Imagine falling in love at your age.”

He looked at her, “Is there an age limit to falling in love? But you know it’s the strangest thing now that you mention love. I was struggling with the thought in the park when it came falling into my lap.” He shook his head, “The strangest thing.”

“Go home, and get some rest, I’ll take care of Zachary tonight.”

“I could help. I could spend the night here.”

“Go home, Henry. What would the neighbours think?”

The next morning, bright and early he rang her door bell. She opened it holding Zachary in her arms.

“Come in, take him and I’ll make some tea.”

He took the baby, who resisted a bit.

“He seems attached to you already. How did you manage last night?”

“He is a remarkably good baby. Only once did he get up and I changed him, gave him a bottle, and he went back to sleep.”

Later that morning, he put the call through to his lawyer.

“Henry, I’m glad you’re back, I need to discuss some legal and financial matters with you.”

“Frederick, I too need to see you as soon as possible, today actually.”

“Sounds important, tell you what, I have a court matter. I can see you, just a second I’ll look at my diary, at four o’clock this afternoon.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be there.”

Henry sat across from Merton and told him the story of Zachary.

When he was finished, Merton kept staring at him.

“Let’s have a drink,” he took out a bottle of whiskey and glasses and poured two drinks.

“Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you want to go to jail for kidnapping. You’re a wealthy man. Do you want to lose everything you’ve worked for?”

Reybolt held up his hand, “I know, I know, Alice has bent my ear with all of that.”

“She is a smart woman, you should listen to her.”

“Hear me out,” Reybolt continued, “I want you to hire someone to find his mother,” he took a type written paper sheet from his pocket and handed it to the lawyer.

“I’ve written it all down. Police and hospitals, would be the way to go, I expect, spare no expense. We can discuss the other matters at another time.” He wanted to get back to Alice and the baby.

When he left, Merton called in his secretary and gave her the paper with the brief account of the accident.

He explained, “An accident at the eastern side of Knightsbridge Park involved a woman. Employ an investigator to find out which hospital the ambulance took her to and her identity. He has two days to find her, so get a competent person.”

The lawyer’s secretary, swamped with work, didn’t want to spend time looking for an investigator. She remembered her friend Molly had a boyfriend, an ex-policeman.

She called her, “Molly, I need some investigative work done. The investigation is to locate an accident victim and must be done quickly, within two days, actually. Do you think your boyfriend can handle it?”

“I’m sure he can, I’ll ask him and get back to you.”

In an hour’s time Molly called, her friend would be willing to do the investigation, but it would mean putting aside all his other work. If they agreed to pay five hundred pounds, he would start right away, half in advance.

The secretary went to Merton.

“It’s expensive, okay, but the report must be on my desk in two days.”

Molly picked up the advance and the note with the address of the accident.

“Now don’t mess this up, Jack, we need the money and it’s simple, just find the lady, okay? And we’ll have another two hundred pounds.” She had kept one hundred and fifty pounds for herself.

Jack had once been a handsome, six foot, young man, when Molly fell in love with him. On the rise as a police officer, he had one problem, he drank. His excessive drinking cost him his job.

Jack took the hundred pounds, ‘This would be easy’.

The next morning he set out to do his investigation. He strutted confidently, with the hundred pounds in his pocket. It was a bit early, so he decided to drop into his favourite pub, to have a bite to eat and kill some time. After all, it just meant visiting his friends at the police station. Unfortunately, one small drink led to another and his visit lasted until closing time. Molly collared him when he got home, inebriated, but he calmed her, telling her that he had completed the investigation, and would type out the report the next day.

Jack concocted a totally fictitious report.

Merton phoned Reybolt. “The person who was involved in the accident was an old woman and could not be the accident victim.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, the investigator’s report was very professional.” Jack had used his training as a police officer in creating the fantasy.

“From the note she left, one may conclude that she could have committed suicide, any reports about that?’

“As to that, there were none, whatsoever.”

“In that case, I need to see you, could you visit this evening?’

“I’ll be there at seven.”

When he arrived, Reybolt invited him to sit, offered him a drink and got down to business right away. He showed Merton the note found on Zachary.

“What do you make of that? I found it in a purse left with the baby.”

“This must have been written by a very troubled person.”

“That’s what Alice thought, also. Have you exhausted all avenues to find her?” He asked Merton

“Well, I did what you requested and got a professional to look for her, here, I have his report.” He opened his briefcase and took out the three sheet report and handed it to Reybolt.

He spent some time studying it. “It’s quite comprehensive. What else can we do to find her?”

“She seems to have disappeared into thin air, even the police don’t know about her.”

“Would you agree then, that we have done all we can to locate her.”

“Yes, all but putting an ad in the newspapers.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“Well, what do you have in mind?”

“I want you to arrange a birth certificate for Zachary.”

Merton sitting tensely, eyes fixed on Henry, took a sip of his drink.

“Alice and I will get married and we will become Zachary’s parents.”

Alice, who had come out of the bedroom with Zachary in her arms, almost dropped the baby, her mouth fell open. She recovered and stood very still. She would have no objection, for she loved Henry.

“Henry, think about what you are saying, man. It’s utter madness.” But he knew that nothing said would dissuade his friend and it would be left to him to pull every trick in the book to comply with the mad wish. He wiped his face with his handkerchief.

“Whatever it takes, pay it.”

“We’ll christen him, Zachary Reybolt.”

“No, we won’t,” Alice announced. “We’ll call him Zachary Oliver Reybolt. Oliver was my father’s name and he was a wonderful man.”

Thus began the life of Zachary Oliver Reybolt


Reybolt had his way, they were married and the baby baptised, Zachary Oliver. Alice sold her apartment and with Zachary they moved to his estate in Sussex.

From the age of two, Alice sat Zachary down at the piano, on a cushion, and taught him the keys. The little boy exhibited great powers of concentration and could soon play with ease. Mathematics, English, French, German and Latin, were introduced at three. At five, with light brown hair and green eyes and above average height, he had become a handsome, active boy, running, fishing, playing with the animals. All the workers on the estate were fond of him.

On his first trip to London, they visited Harrods. In the toy department he could have any toy he wanted.

He asked them, “What price?”

“No limit,” they replied.

“Can we go to the book department, then?”

“Don’t you want a toy?”

“I have all the toys I need,” he answered.

He shocked them when he chooses the complete Works of Shakespeare.

“Are you sure, Zachary?”

“Yes father, you told me these were among the greatest books ever written. Not as good as yours, of course.”

Both Alice and Henry burst out laughing. They purchased the collection.

The time came for him to meet and play with children of his own age, so they enrolled him the village grammar school. The headmaster welcomed the son of the estate owner, Mr Reybolt, as one of his students. It would bring prestige to the school, especially at prize giving day.

Thirty children attended the school. Above the average height of the class, he sat at the back. The teacher wrote a math question on the blackboard and asked the class if anyone could give the answer.

No one put their hand up. He looked at Zachary.

“Mr. Reybolt, do you know the answer?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Come up here.”

Zachary stood at the blackboard, took the chalk, and wrote the answer.

”That is correct.”

Zachary turned to go back to his seat, but the teacher stopped him.

“Can you solve this sum?” He wrote a harder question on the blackboard.

Zachary answered correctly. The teacher, intrigued, wanted to test Zachary further, oblivious to the puzzled looks on the faces of the other school children.

The third time, Zachery had had enough. He wrote down the wrong answer.

By the end of the second week, the headmaster realised, Zachary’s knowledge was far beyond that of the other children, but he did not flaunt his brightness, and even quietly helped the other students. All the girls in the school had fallen in love with him and some of the boys became his friends. But he had enemies. The bully of the school, a burly young fellow named Harry, seethed with jealously. The prettiest of the girls ignored him and wouldn’t give him the time of day, but seemed to swoon in the presence of Zachary. The bully hated Zachary, so with his small group of followers, he decided to embarrass him and take him down a notch or two. Zachary would be driven to school by his mother or at times he would be accompanied by one of his father’s workers. Then he took to strolling on his own. He enjoyed this immensely, skipping and jumping along, listening to the birds whistling and the sheep bleating in the fields.

They waited for him one afternoon and as he rounded the bend, Harry pounced. Zachary didn’t have a chance. He punched Zachary in the face and in the stomach, another pulled his hair and he fell to the ground. They emptied his schoolbag and threw his books into the hedge by the side of the road. They were laughing as they ran off.

Zachary picked himself up, gathered his books, and with body aching, and face stinging and his torn shirt, continued his trek home.

When Alice saw him, she ran to him and called for Henry. They cleaned him up and questioned him. He insisted he had slipped and fallen into a ditch.

Reybolt made discrete inquirers and found out what had happened. From then on Zachary was accompanied to or from school.

Then Henry paid a visit to London. Four days later he returned, accompanied by a tall muscular man, whom he introduced as Bill Wood. Bill exemplified fitness. He had been an ex- prize fighter, who had become a physical instructor. The stranger with the scarred face, impressed Zachary

Wood started to train him and his natural ability soon saw him moving like a fighter, who could throw and block punches. Bill visited the estate every other weekend and left Zachary with exercises, which he faithfully followed.

The boys of the school knew nothing of his training. Zachary ignored the taunts of Harry and his friends at break time. To try to diffuse the tension, the headmaster asked Zachary to help the students with their math problems. The boys influenced by Harry, refused the help, the girls, however, flocked to him. This made matters worse.

Furious, Harry waited to catch Zachary, in an unguarded moment. The opportunity didn’t arise, and the Headmaster kept a strict eye on the children.

Then one day, Zachary openly spoke of how he had enjoyed coming to school without his escort. Overhearing this, Harry and his friends plotted to attack him.

On his way home Zachary strolled along, whistling. Harry and his friends waited for him to round the bend. The whistling stopped and they looked at each other, puzzled. Then they heard a noise at the back of them and on turning, they saw Zachary facing them, smiling.

Like someone out of the movies, he struck a pose, “Looking for me fellows?”

The boys were startled and didn’t move for quite a few seconds. On the previous occasion, there had been three of them with Harry, now there were four.

“Get him!” Harry shouted and rushed at Zachary, ahead of the others. Big mistake, he got his nose flattened with a straight right. Harry howled. The others stopped in their tracks and looked at Zachary in wonder. Then, the bravest of them came at Zachary. He fell to his knees crying and holding his stomach where he had received a good punch. The other boys ran off, wanting no part of Zachary.

Harry’s father speaking loudly in the pub, stopped when his wife came in, visibly shaken.

“What’s the matter? Mum”

“The boy from the manor beat up our Harry.”

“What!” The pub became silent.

“Come and see him, he’s outside.”

Drinks in hand, most of those in the pub followed outside to see Harry, who stood, head bowed, and hand over his face, with a spattering of blood on his shirt.

“What happened to you, boy?”

“Reybolt beat me up.”

Owen immediately saw a way to make money.

“I’ll take you to the police.”

“No, no, dad, don’t take me to the police, I’m alright.”

“Come along boy, you’re going to the doctor.” And off they went.

Back in the pub a bearded man sitting at the end of the bar raised his mug and said aloud, “That’s how the gentry do it.” The other patrons raised their glasses too.

They were drinking to Harry’s comeuppance.

When the story got around that Harry had beaten up young Reybolt, they held their collective breaths, waiting for a backlash. Mr Reybolt had become a great benefactor to the village, giving jobs to many, and shopping for supplies locally, even sending his son to their grammar school. The village community had worried about Mr Reybolt’s reaction to the treatment of his son. When nothing happened they relaxed, now they knew why.


Prize giving day for the school approached, and the head master had a problem on his hands. Young Reybolt qualified for all the prizes. Zachary sensed his problem and went to his father.

“Father, would you please tell the headmaster that I must not receive any prizes.”

His father looked at him, “Why not son?”

“Come on, father.”

“I see.”

A relieved headmaster invited Mr Reybolt to say a few words and present the prizes to the winning students. Mr Reybolt accepted the invitation.

Two days before the day of the big occasion, the Vicar came to visit.

“Headmaster,” he said, “The Bishop is coming. He has heard of the prize giving and would like to say a few words to the boys and girls and to present the prizes.”

The headmaster blanched and spluttered, “But I have already asked Mr Reybolt to present the prizes, you know what a good friend he is to the village. As a matter of fact, he is funding the reception, after the prize giving. How can I now withdraw the invitation?”

The vicar looked at him, “And how can I tell the Bishop that he can’t make the presentation. You know what the Bishop is like, don’t you?”

From past experiences he knew that the Bishop was not one to trifle with. Choosing what he considered the easiest way out of the difficult situation, he paid a visit to Mr Reybolt.

A gracious Mr Reybolt understood, and he and Mrs Reybolt were asked to sit with the board members in the front row.

The village population, dressed in their splendour, packed the hall. The children, Zachary among them, in high anticipation, sat in their special reserved places.

The headmaster stood before the microphone and thanked everyone for being present. He then introduced the Bishop, and invited him to say a few words, and present the prizes.

The Bishop had a bit of the theatrical in him, and as he stood up, he looked at the crowd and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then he focused his gaze on the children, who started to squirm.

He launched into his speech heavy with clichés, about honesty and hard work. Fifteen minutes into the speech, the men became restless. Now, a bar to serve liquid refreshment had been erected among the other stalls, which would cater for the crowd, after the prize giving. In the bar, however, the pub owner had also provided for the special liquid appetites of the men. The word had been quietly passed around. One by one, as the bishop rambled on, they quietly slipped through the side door, to wet their parched throats. The Bishop, looking through his heavy horned rimmed glasses, observed this, became incensed, and launched into a tirade on the evils of liquor and the benefits of a life of temperance. The wives kept nodding their heads. Another ten minutes into the lecture, one of the men slipped back in. He had had his fair share of liquid refreshment and stumbled a bit as he sat down heavily.


About me

Rudolph Brandt was born in Guyana, South America. He's travelled and lived in many countries, his career involved the business world. This is the third book that he has written. The first two, "The Adventures of Sebastian Bold"and "A Web of Deception" are in print and available on Ebooks.

Q. What is the inspiration for the story?
The story of a young woman who was sexually assaulted and became pregnant. Her wealthy family forced her to abort the child against her will.Unable to overcome the grief she eventually comitted suicide.The question is, if the baby had survived what would've been the baby's destiny.
Q. Why do you write?
I write because I enjoy working in the cyberspace of the mind.

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