Secretive Writer Unmasked

By EgmontGrigor2021

Chapter 1

An hour after sunrise, Wally (Wallace) Heggie was on his pre-breakfast jog out to Dog Point and the beach to look for anything moving in the sea ranging from a fitness nut in a kayak to a container ship and occasionally migrating whales.

He noticed an approaching female and thought, "Goodness, what is this?"

She looked a real mess with her hair was all over the place, her dress was dirty and she had nothing on her feet.

"Morning," he said politely, stopping when she was at least 20 feet away to avoid her being frightened by being accosted by an old fellow.

"Good morning, sir," she said softly. "This road ends at the coastline."

"Yes, that's because we're on a no-exit road. Didn't notice the road sign when you turned off the main highway?"

"It was pitch black when I turned on to it late last night. I slept on the beach."

"Are you lost?"

"I suppose so."

"Are you hungry?"

"Lost, cold, hungry and dirty."

He thought he should divert to avoid her thinking she was being interrogated.

"I'm Wally Heggie."

"You're talking to Wendy Conway. I've run away from my abusive partner."

Wally said he was sorry to hear of her plight and he could offer help if that's what she wanted. He added lamely he understood that women found him trustworthy.

She flared and asked aggressively, "Why did you mention trustworthiness?"

"Hopefully, to give you confidence to accompany me to my converted barn to accept my offer of hospitality with a roof over your head. You appear in need of survival assistance. A storm is forecast to hit this coastline around mid-afternoon today. I see the dark clouds gathering out to sea."

"Thanks, I accept as yours is the only helping hand on offer. I was on the verge of asking for water and a sandwich. I fled the brute, half-terrorised with no opportunity to grab essentials."

Wally said that was understandable and it would be best if she now tried to forget the trauma.

"Put on my jacket and then take my hand for the half-mile walk."

"You are very kind."

"That's what my late wife used to say."

At that he saw the slight flicker of possible interest in her eyes. Either that or alternatively the flicker was indicating that Wendy was in a state of shock and semi-exhaustion. Being a fiction writer, he preferred the former although the latter was the dramatic alternative.

With merely 100 yards covered, she staggered a little and she dry-sobbed, "I'm chilled to the bone, having not eaten for about twenty hours and am almost out on my feet. Do you mind holding me for support?"

Of course, he didn't mind. He was in his early fifties and she was in her late twenties and attractive.

"There we go," he replied, putting an arm around her upper waist and drawing her closer.

"Let me tell you about the history of this district. Save your strength by listening and you set the walking pace."

They turned into the dirt track and she looked up and saw the former barn and said, "What a marvellous conversion."

"What?" he said in surprise, thinking was Wendy might be an architect.

"I mean it looks nothing like a barn."

"Ah, I did everything myself apart from using hired labour for heavy lifting and lopping off the curved roof and replacing it with a front to rear sloping roof that conceals its agricultural heritage."

"But the curved former roof line would have made a huge attic."

"And why would I require a huge attic, being a sole dweller with little to store?"

"Sorry, I took you for a former hippie of lower intellect. I'm now confused."

"I was senior university administrator and took early retirement upon my wife's death from a massive stroke."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess you decided to become a recluse."

"Yes, and no. I just needed peace and quiet, and a place in the country suited my desire to work from home."

Wendy stumbled and Wally's tightened grip prevented her from falling.

Although she straightened, her head remained slumped, and Wally thought she was close to losing consciousness.

"Wendy."

There was no answer.

He swept her up into her arms and hurried forward to take her into the warmth of the heavily-insulated modernised home.

* * *

Wendy awoke nude and in a warm and frothy full bath. A chair was drawn up beside the bath containing a sandwich and hot cocoa and a female black cocktail dress hung over the back of the chair, but her dress and underwear were nowhere in sight.

How odd.

She figured the storm would not have hit yet. She still had time to escape her second dangerous situation in 24 hours.

Wendy sipped the cocoa. Ah, one sugar, just how she liked it. As she munched the delicious cheese and cold bacon sandwich thoughtfully, she mused why did she think she was she in danger.

The polite oldie had graciously taken her into his home, placed her in a hot bath without interfering with her as far as she could tell, and left her refreshments and replaced her possibly smelly clothes with an odd choice, a cocktail dress, presumably his late wife's and of possible nostalgic significance. She could hear classical music playing softly and the door was slightly ajar.

She reasoned, if he intended doing her harm, why would he be treating her so thoughtfully and kindly and furthermore, why would have leave the door unlocked, and why would he be playing the Peer Gynt suite?

Her host knocked on the door.

"Come in," she said without hesitation.

"Ah, so you are awake. I won't come in as you won't be adequately covered Come out when you are ready. Is that dress okay or would you prefer one of my laundered shorts and shirts?"

"I'd like to try on the dress. Perhaps you could find a shawl or a small covering that could go around my shoulders."

"Yes, I'll search. Your voice sounds stronger. Look, do you wish me to call one of the neighbours to ask if you could stay the night with them? There is no chaperone here for you."

"That's unnecessary, thanks Wally. I don't think women these days think they need a chaperone when alone with a male. I certainly don't. Just treat me as you think your mother would expect you to treat a lady in distress."

"That already is my thinking," Wally laughed lightly.

Wendy was reasonably slim and the dress fitted her like a glove although the modest-sized cups of the built-in bra were a little short of being comfortable.

On the way out to the kitchen, Wendy stopped to look at a full-length photo on the wall of a pleasant-looking woman in her early forties, and guessed that was the late Mrs Heggie. She was relatively slender and the almost look-alike female standing with an arm around her was probably their daughter aged about twenty.

Feeling better, she entered the kitchen.

"Holly fuck... oh Wendy, I apologize," he said. "For a moment my heart almost stopped beating as I thought you were Diane coming through the door."

"It's okay, my Good Samaritan. I saw a photo in the hallway that I guess was you late wife and your daughter."

"Yes, Diane and Brittany on the eve of Brittany going to college in Iowa on a swimming scholarship. Britt is now married with two children living in Kanas and coaches senior high school soccer."

"Wow."

"Yes, she became a star player in female soccer in the Midwest and married a top male soccer player after he graduated as from med school. Today, he's a surgeon specialising in sports injuries. I go over there for 10 days every couple of years. The whole family came here for Diane's funeral."

"That would have been lovely and supportive for you."

"Yeah, and very emotional because they all loved her. Diane was a wonderful wife, mother and grandmother."

They went to the day room for coffee and Wendy, over at the wall to wall and floor to ceiling selection of shelved books said, "Obviously you like to read."

"Yeah, always have."

"Omigod, there are about 20 of Terrence Walters' novels here."

"All 32 of his writings."

"I've read five," Wendy said, and flicking open the dust cover of the book she was holding and looking at the photo of the author said, "Omigod, Terrence Walters is unmistakably you."

Wally/Terrence confessed that his first publication was a sleazy detective paper back published in Australia in which the leading character, Fred Mills, aged 20, had it off with half of his clients, the other half being old spinsters or males, plus he also had a hot night in bed with his mother and two sisters aged 18 and 20.

"I sent my second transcript to my current publisher in Chicago and didn't wish to be associated with that sleazy paperback. My commissioning editor suggested I use a non de plume. I took Terrence Walters off the top of my head, combining with adjustment, the first names of my two mates, Terry Sullivan and Walt Greenway."

"When I received a request from the publisher to submit two more manuscripts over the next four months, I decided to kept the penname and write incognito to avoid fan-mail and media publicity and to avoid being connected with that low-life paper back."

"Incidentally, the name switch meant I would unlikely to be exposed as I was a 21-year-old primarily running errands for the university administration department plus collecting and distributing mail and adding and removing notices on noticeboards throughout the university and keeping the boards tidy and clear of unauthorised messages."

"But when you began rising in popularity as fiction writer, didn't you experience the urge to expose yourself?"

"Yes, I did but my publisher said the name Terrence Walters had become quite well established that an exposure at this stage could have an adverse effect on my book sales."

"Why?"

"They couldn't explain that thinking to my satisfaction. However, I decided to take the conservative approach and leave things the way they were."

Wendy laughed and said that was a much ado about nothing.

"Agreed, and some critics say something similar about my books that win significant readership favour. But there's an explanation for that."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it can be assumed that those spiteful critics are failed authors."

Wendy laughed and said Wally was funny.

"Am I to sleep with you tonight?"

"No!" he said, in a shocked tone.

She said wow, that was a rather firm rejection.

"How can I be your good Samaritan and then then turn around and screw you? The two actions are logically incompatible."

"Ah, that's making quite a point."

"And I'm approximately twice your age."

She said coyly, how was she expected to see some degree of relevance in that assertion when she knew definitely that he wasn't her father nor her much older brother?

"What?"

"Ah, got you there," she said. "Even an author can be confronted with a question that he cannot answer adequately not matter how his mind manipulates itself around it."

Wally said hotly, "That's rubbish because you and I being in the same bed at the same time is never going to happen. You will bed down in the guest room and recover from your ordeal that you suffered before meeting me."

"Oh my, it's little wonder that you live alone."

"Your comment is unduly harsh, Wendy."

"Okay, I give up. You probably have forgotten the benefits of have a female work you up into having an erection anyway. Let's just have our coffee and ruminate in silence."

"Instead, Wendy, forget that you see me as a hermit and I'll try not to see you as a sex-focused young woman. Let's just sit, sip and talk like two ordinary and sensible adults."

Wendy said very well, but no way could she regard him as ordinary when he was an undercover highly successful fiction writer and she was rather removed from fitting the ordinary definition when she was an abused run-away who was a currently unemployed travel agency Europe destination sales manager who'd not had sex for several days due to domesticated bullying.

"Omigod, may I use your situation as a future prime character in a novel?"

"Yes, but divulge my identity and I'll sue you for every asset you possess."

"Revision. May I use your situation as a prime character in a novel who is a witch?"

Wendy laughed and said once again she had to say he was funny.

* * *

Wendy awoke in the morning after a peaceful night of deep sleep. She smelt coffee and found a tray on her bedside cabinet of poured coffee and two pieces of lightly toasted bread and dishes of butter and runny honey.

Yummy.

She pulled a note from the tray.

My Stroppy Guest.

Enjoy this start to a new day. If the coffee is cold, you should have awoken earlier.

We'll go for a run at 8.30.

Make fresh coffee if you wish. We will breakfast after our hour's jog.

I'm in the dayroom working on the first edited draft from my editor.

Grumpy says do not disturb him even for fresh coffee or a must-have physical connection by touching him on the shoulder. He must be left alone during this crucial time until 8.15 of battling with the publisher's quest for changes. XXX.

Wendy sipped semi-warm coffee, studying the note. She decided it was a half discreet apology, almost half conciliatory with a touch of flirtation. A double XX represents friendliness whereas a XXX represented the reader is the person the writer wishes to be shafting.

Rightly or wrongly, that was her impression.

She put on her dried underwear and the loan cocktail dress and thought that would be okay for distance running. And then sat and waited.

There was a couple of taps on the door.

"Enter if you wish to grope me," she giggled.

Nothing happened.

"Please enter."

Wally entered and smiled, saying she looked well rested and then added, "Are you running bare footed?"

"Yes, I don't have running shoes with me and your footwear is too large for me. But no worry, I have run long distances on grass and on sand many times over the years.

"Right, let's go. I'll give directions and you set the pace."

"You appeared interested that I'm a published author. Do you have a degree?"

"Yes, I'm a currently unemployed travel agency branch manager. The agency I work for has closed due to the affects on several lockdowns associated with efforts to cub the worldwide spread of the Covid-19 virus. If the closure becomes permanent due to people generally no longer wishing to take the risk of Covid 19 and its variants during travel, my bachelor degree in Business majoring in travel and hospitality management will be wasted."

"No formal education can ever be completely wasted.

"Perhaps. I suppose your degree was on how to get published."

"Indeed, I completed a masters in creative writing and literature."

"How beautifully appropriate, Wally. Give me a precise of what's involved in getting more than one manuscript accepted for publication, being aware of course of the saying that potentially everyone has one book in them to write."

"Nah, that would only bore you," he said, as they loped out on to the extremely long beach and ran just above the waterline of the incoming tide. "Suffice to say is involves a damn lot of creative work and then successive edited drafts with requests for rewrites, deletions, corrections and cross-checking of the validity of statements, quotations and justification of underlined assertions."

"There are pleasant exchanges with your editor and then verbal battles if you are unfortunate enough to be assigned an editor who thinks he or she needs to rewrite large sections of your work or even orders a complete re-write along the suggested lines incorporating myriads of changes that, if followed, would leave you believing you were no longer the substantive author."

"In contrast to that, there are editors who supply masterly assistance that encourages much appreciated improvement to your work."

"Ah, we've done thirty minutes and so back we go," Wally said later. "Gosh, that half-hour simply flew."

During the cooked breakfast, Wally asked, "Are you intending to leave today or are you accepting my invitation expressed yesterday about staying for as long as you wish?"

"I'd like to say for at least a couple of more days."

"Great, but I need to appeal for your cooperation. I believe I need to report your presence here to local police in case a missing person report is circulating regarding you."

"Oh, I don't think that would happen."

"Then you are quite certain it won't?"

"Wally, how can one be so sure of anything in my situation?"

"In that case, in our mutual self-interest, I need to report your presence here."

"No, I don't want that to happen."

"That's fine. Then leave after breakfast."

"But I want to stay."

Wally sat gazing at her in silence.

"Very well, stubborn Wallace bloody Heggie. Register me as a run away with the local cops."

"Great and I'll make it easier for you to by calling the sergeant in charge to pop up here for a few words with you and then to consider registering your presence unofficially.

"God, Wally. You are in fairyland. Cops don't bow to residents to that degree."

"I've come to know Sergeant McLean very well through his wife Milly. She grows vegetables for sale and sells cheeses she makes from her goat's milk and supplies half the district with that output and re-sellers take all of her available free-range eggs. She has family and her market includes solo customers like me. Milly says I'm by far the biggest-spending solo customer she has and that I spend more than many customers purchasing produce for their family."

"Now that's a far more attractive proposition and presented with conviction. It indicates to me that logically I'll soon receive a seductive request to share your bed."

"Not in a hundred years, lass. I'm almost old enough to be your grandfather."

"Nevertheless, you'll hit on me."

"Wrong, I write about my fictional characters having sex whereas these days I stay well away from that sort of contract with any woman."

"Wally, you are thinking and talking about women around your age, most of whom would have lost their appeal for romantic encounters. I, however, possess a natural instinct to act sexily and soon, if not already, you'll recognise me as a wonderful opportunity to upgrade yourself on modern advances in sexual techniques and practices, Mark my words."

"Mark nothing. You will grow old marking time in the futile expectation of ever having sex with me. Mark my words, young lady. Incidentally, how old are you?"

"A hot and sexually ripe twenty-eight, and you?"

"The over-ripe age of fifty-seven."

"Christ, we are good together," she giggled and Wally didn't hold back from smiling generously as it was beyond dispute that she was correct in the verbal sense.

Chapter 2

Sergeant McLean and Constable Whittaker arrived just short of noon and the offer of a glass of wine was accepted. Wally opened a bottle of red and then called Wendy to the room.

"Christ," was Angus reaction as Wendy entered the room wearing the black cocktail dress, her hair piled up creatively and she was wearing lipstick.

Helen the constable and Wally eyed her in admiration.

"I'm Sergeant Angus McLean Miss, and confirm we have received no report of a missing woman even reasonably close to matching your description. Off the record, I say that bastard who abused you deserves to be garrotted and Helen added, "After being castrated."

Angus nodded and said Wally had done the right thing in reporting Miss Conway as taking temporary refuge in the area as it was a conservative district and gossip would spread like wildfire that hermit-like Wally Heggie had a young and attractive woman shacked up with him."

"Wally convinced me that notifying the police was in case I had been reported as a missing person and being seen happily moving about with him and, these are his words, looking so wholesome, may help reduce unpleasant rumours."

"That too, miss and any effort to protect the reputations of both of you is desirable, don't you think?"