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STOLEN HOURS


STOLEN HOURS COVER

Love is the theme of thousands of books – man falls in love with girl, goes off to war, comes back, can’t find girl and spends many years, going through many trials to find her as she’s the one and nobody else can replace her.

He moves heaven and earth trying to find her and resume what they had in the past. The main character builds a successful life post-war, but always feels there is something missing in his life, a particular woman.

His friends try to help him out in this regard but nothing works as he feels the years slipping away and hours of his life being stolen in time.

A parallel love story is taking place at the same time with several players in the romantic drama travelling to such disparate places as Kyrgyzstan in Central Asia and Pago Pago in the Pacific. They all get involved in the movie business which further complicates matters.

In Store Price: $29.95 
Online Price:   $28.95

 

AMAZON

EBOOKS
Ebook version - $AUD9.00 upload.

ISBN:978-0-9954202-3-6             
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 341
Genre:
Romance Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

Nobody Reads the Credits

Voyage of the Britannica

Adventure in Java…and other places

Temptation Island

Seize the Day…The Movie

An Australian Mining Tale: The Last Great Challenge

An Unlikely Textbook for Young Lawyers

Many Shades of Green

The Screenplay

Law in a Shrinking World


Author
-
Gordon Carr
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published:  2017
Language: English


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PREFACE 

The mystery of love: it can come, and go. Sometimes love is lost because of misunderstanding, distance, time, religion, interference, but it is never forgotten and the memory of that special love returns to haunt the former lover for the rest of his or her days.
Where do the minutes, hours, days, the years of our lives go? Are they just stolen from us, slipping inexorably into the past, never to be regained, leaving only memories? Someone, once very close, vanishes as though they had never existed; a haunting sense of loss and longing remains. It is said that art imitates life.

Perhaps it does. What is the purpose of it all? Can those stolen hours and lost love be regained?

FROM THE AUTHOR:

In case you thought I had disappeared without a trace, it’s not true. Here I am again with another book…not crime fiction this time but ROMANCE. Not the same or as good as Jane Austen of course, just different. It’s the theme of thousands of popular

romance novels. Man meets girl, falls in love (she’s the one) and then he goes of to war or somewhere as men do. Comes back, girl’s gone. He can’t forget her, even though there are thousands of other beautiful women in the world he could have had. He has become wealthy. She’s special in his mind and spends years and a fortune trying to find her.

when he does, she’s married. That doesn’t deter him, he still tries and his quest takes Him to such unlikely places as Kyrgyzstan (where’s that) and Pago Pago. MeanwhileThere are other (secondary) romances going on with others. Is he successful? It takes 100,404 words to find out.

 

Read a sample: 

Jason Whitney had moved into 1/35 Crestwell Tower on Fitzwilliam Street just before Christmas and because everybody was going about their end-of-year business, nobody took much notice of him; indeed, they didn’t seem to want to meet him or for that matter have anything at all to do with him. This put him in rather a lonely quandary as his family, or most of them, lived in the far outback, so as much as he would have liked to introduce himself, make himself known, all nearby residents hurried past, eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact; in fact no contact at all. He wondered about one of his neighbours, a man who occupied the luxury penthouse on the top floor, complete with swimming pool and garden, a young male like himself. The lucky dog seemed to have plenty of callers, mostly attractive young women, dressed in diaphanous clothing or brief shorts, who arrived chattering like parrots and usually clutching a bottle of what looked like champagne. Faintly he could hear music, not too loud to be annoying but loud enough to fill him full of longing and nostalgia, wishing he was part of that scene. He could just imagine wrapping his arms around the golden body of one of those young women and dancing to the lilt of the music.

Jason had come to the city after graduating with a university degree in management and finance. After a year off he toured through Europe and the United States as a backpacker, but that was all over. He had to come to the city to make a living as the small town he came from had very few jobs available in management, or finance for that matter. Most of the major banks had pulled out of the small towns and even post offices had closed down in some, government business, stamps purchase and the usual post office business transferred to small shops which were found to be totally inadequate by most of the residents.

Jason’s new job did not start until after the New Year so he had plenty of time to settle into his apartment for which had to pay a totally outrageous rent, look about him and find his bearings. Nevertheless the feeling of loneliness was hurtful. There had been girls in his life, of course, and one he corresponded with now and again, but none had made a major impression on him, or he on them for that matter.

Peeping out the window he saw her arrive, another girl calling on his upstairs neighbour. She was tiny with a perfect figure, small feet in high-heeled, cork-soled sandals, long dark hair; she looked foreign, possibly Greek. If one could fall in love with a passing shadow, Jason felt he could. Why did he see this perfect woman from a distance and fall in love with her, knowing the agony that he might never meet her? Life wasn’t fair. She walked confidently so as to give emphasis to her presence. She entered the door and disappeared inside. Jason felt unreasonably jealous of his neighbour. He came to a decision: he had to take his courage in both hands and meet him.

This was easier thought of than done as the neighbour seemed to be mysterious, coming and going at odd hours. He was difficult to catch as he got into his car (a $90,000 BMW) in the garage, shot out, came back, closed the door behind him and disappeared into the building, often accompanied by a young woman but not the tiny (possibly Greek) girl, Jason was pleased to see. He would do some detective work and find out who the man was, and then hopefully who she was. The simplest way was to ask the building supervisor who had an office on the ground floor but he only told Jason the barest of details: his name, which was Mark Saxon, and that he was the proprietor of several businesses. However, fate intervened because the man himself emerged from the lift to collect any mail left for him in the residents’ post boxes that lined one wall. The supervisor introduced them.

‘So you’re the new arrival in No.1 are you, mate?’ asked Mr Saxon companionably. ‘How about we go and have a drink down the road? There’s a good pub, I just feel like a bit of a walk, blow the cobwebs away. I’ve spent the better part of the day in bed recovering from last night so really need the hair of the dog to recover. I really should exercise more, you know. Those health shows on TV always say that most of us don’t get enough exercise.’

Mr Saxon prattled on not needing or expecting an answer. Jason was pleased to hear himself referred to as ‘mate’ from time to time and his neighbour didn’t look as though he needed to exercise much as he looked healthy, slim and walked with coiled energy.

Seated at the pub with a cold beer within reach Mr Saxon proceeded to find out about Jason’s history. ‘You’re a new arrival in town, where are you from?’

‘I’m just a country boy and yes, new in town, come to work for Fisher Partners, a bit of financial planning, that sort of thing.’

‘You’re in the money business and not monkey business – that’s a relief, one never knows these days.’

Jason had a feeling that Mr Saxon had deliberately targeted him to find out who he was, a sort of self-protection exercise in case he was a plant of some kind from the taxation department, or maybe not; perhaps he was just feeling dramatic.

‘What about you?’ asked Jason, turning the tables.

‘Oh, just a bit of this and a bit of that. One of the more interesting things is a secretarial service I run. You may have seen my girls coming and going recently. I’ve had most of them up for a Christmas party and I hand out bonuses at the time, they all like that.’

‘A secretarial service, that’s an unusual business for a man to run, isn’t it?

‘Yeah, you might say that, but it’s pleasant and the girls are great to work with, no trouble, and it’s legitimate of course.’

This made Jason wonder what his new companion might be doing illegitimately seeing he had mentioned it.

‘I have interests in a few other things, real estate development, agriculture, mining – you know, ordinary odds and ends like that, nothing really spectacular. Oh yes, I almost forgot, I may bankroll a movie that’s planned to be made here soon. It’s about a war, a difficult romance and a family who get here on a boat from somewhere. All my secretarial girls are greatly excited and hope to get roles in crowd scenes. I’ll put pressure on the casting agent to make sure they do. As it’s my money that brought it about I get Executive Producer credit, how about that?’

Jason was suitably impressed. There was definitely something about this man. He might appear mysterious but he certainly had a lot going for him. It was time; he must ask about the Greek girl.

‘Ah, there’s something I wanted to ask you, mentioning the girls that come and go from your place, there’s one I noticed – tiny, slim, long dark hair, looked a bit Greek I thought?’

‘That would be Svetlana – yes, she’s Greek, or partly. If you ever need a secretary I could send her to you. She’s very efficient, has great shorthand and a very fast typist.’

What a capital idea, thought Jason. He couldn’t have thought of a craftier scheme to meet a desired woman.

‘What about you?’ asked Jason, maybe daringly. ‘Married or just playing the field?’

‘As you’ve probably noticed I’m knee deep in the field and of course I’m not married. What wife would tolerate endless young women coming and going?’

‘Well, you’ve certainly got a lot to choose from. Do you like any one in particular?’ The purpose of all this was to hopefully eliminate the Greek girl from a possible list of bed candidates.

Mr Saxon sighed and looked a little troubled. ‘Really it’s none of your business, but if you want to know I don’t mix business with pleasure, and yes, I do employ them because of their looks and freshness, but as to marriage, why would anyone tie themselves up like that? It’s not for me.’

‘OK, sorry I asked. As you say, it’s none of my business.’

‘You’ll always be wondering so you might as well hear the whole story about women and how I see them. Here’s the thing. I left this bit out. I used to be in the army, served three tours of duty in Afghanistan. Started as a private and came out a lieutenant.’

 

 

 

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