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The Origins Lyric Wheel Sunny Days, Lonely Nights... Lyrics courtesy of Sarah Williams "The Turn of a Friendly Card " Alan Parsons Project Song follows the Story - some minor changes have been made in the lyric to make it a better fit. Duncan and company are not mine and a good thing, too. He'd want me to exercise and I get enough of that jumping to conclusions… Origin - Duncan and Tessa meet and the set up for the antique shop in Seacouver PG Feel free to archive-just let me know where. Feedback treasured: mehri@dame-mehri.com The sketch was faded with time. His hair had been too short for the pony tail and stuck out under the watch cap. Kyler'd caught him out without his sword and after being hit by the police car, he'd made a flying leap to the deck of a sightseeing boat. She'd been standing there, the ridiculous sailor's hat cocked at a perilous angle… Duncan MacLeod smiled at the pretty blond as he left the boat. God, she was like a sunny day with her hair flying and quick mind. He found himself wondering if he should try for a coffee, maybe even a dinner date. With Kyler on the loose, he really didn't want to put anyone else in danger so he shrugged and went back to the small, student style flat near the University. His art history class was completed and really, he'd been in Paris a little too long. He needed to handle the Kyler situation and then leave Paris. Autumn had been beautiful, but winters didn't have a lot of charm unless you had a family to share the Holiday season with. Connor had offered him a partnership in the New York antique store but the city always seemed too crowded and noisy for him. This century, New York… with its unsmiling faces and bright plastic chains and wheels in perpetual motion didn't appeal to him... People followed the races and paid out the gains with no show of outward emotion. He did have a formidable selection of furniture and other beautiful things he'd collected over the years, and antiques were always good business… He had several storage facilities in France, a couple of them in Germany… There was always the Northwest. He liked the area around Mt. Rainier. He hadn't run a business for quite a while. Might be fun. Might be even more fun with a pretty woman beside him. Loneliness hit like blow to the gut. It had been years since Diane's death. The reporter had been beautiful and intelligent with the heart of a 20th century Joan of Arc. Perhaps that spirit was what captured him. Linda Plager had been like that, too. Her camera was like a sword cutting through to the visual heart of the matter. There were always attractive ladies around, including the ever-elusive Amanda, but more as friends than relationships. Now there was another word that had changed its meanings. The 70's and 80's seemed to be a time for strange associations and new meanings for old words. The skies were darkening, now. Time to go find something for dinner. He looked around the flat. It was clean, everything its place and, he realized, boring. Clean, uncluttered spaces cleared in case of a challenge made good sense, but he missed having a truly comfortable chair. The kitchen counters were bare except for the old-fashioned stove-top espresso machine. Cooking for himself had very little appeal and he usually ate out or picked up something simple on his way home. Cooking for her might be fun, though. What was her name? The crew list on the cabin said Theresa Marie Noel. She had that fire, the exuberance that always drew him. Acting on an impulse, he looked up the company's phone number. A glance at his watch brought home the fact that it was long past business hours. Tomorrow. He would call, perhaps take another ride on the boat and work it into an invitation. Yes, that would be delightful. The next morning, he made a few calls. He hadn't been back to the Northwest for a while. He had property there including the cabin he'd built a hundred years before. The climate there was comfortable. A fax to his Seacouver attorneys started them looking for a storefront with a living space attached. Once he had a list, he could decide what to have shipped. He needed to see what was in the warehouse there. He remembered some fine Chinese porcelain pieces and lacquer ware. There were a few Russian pieces, too. That settled, he took his time getting dressed. No jeans today. He made sure of his katana and headed over to the river. Yes, there was the boat. No sign of her, though. Finally he made his way through the sightseers and located the captain, "Bon jour, monsieur. Is Theresa Marie working today?" "But, non, my friend. She is at University, an artist and only works for me when she needs the money." The shrewd eyes of the captain took in the camelhair coat and Italian shoes… "You look a bit different. For the lady?" "I thought I might invite her to dinner. Do you have her address?" "Well, ordinarily, I would not give it, but, in the interest of amour… a moment". With a wink, the captain stepped back into the cabin. A moment later he came out with a scrap of paper, "Here you are, young man. Take her someplace nice. She works too hard." Duncan grinned at him, saluted him and turned. The address wasn't all that far from his flat and there were several coffee shops and bistros in the area. He'd get some coffee and then find her place. The address looked like one of the dozens of older buildings where the owners had cut up larger flats and made them into tiny apartments for students and artistic types with talent, but little money. It was after eleven and some of the earlier traffic had cleared, but the shop was still busy. The croissants were all gone and the owner was sitting at the counter with her own cappuccino. He sat where he could watch the people walking by and ordered an espresso. The coffee tasted wonderful and he realized he hadn't eaten. Letting himself get distracted by a woman, even one as pretty as Ms. Noel, was not a good idea. Connor would shake his head and laugh. And then, there she was, coming in the door with a cheerful hello for the owner. He stood and she looked at him, not recognizing him for a moment. "Allo, monsieur. Not jumping on boats, today?" "Not when the pretty lady is here…" She blushed slightly and turned to order. "Please, may I ask you to join me?" The proprietor grinned at both of them and went to make her espresso. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and came over to his table. He helped her with her chair and they sat for a moment, both of them unsure of what to do next. Duncan Smiled at her, "I'm Duncan MacLeod. I live near here." "Tessa, Tessa Noel. I have a place further along the street. I don't believe I've seen you here before." "I come in once in a while, in the early morning, after my run." The espresso arrived and she took a sip, looking him over carefully. "Do you approve?" Her laugh was warm and full. No silly female, this one. The more he learned, the better he liked her. "You, what is the phrase, "clean up nicely", Mr. MacLeod." "Please, call me Duncan." For the next couple of hours they chatted, ordering more coffee and watching the people come into the shop. The long Paris lunch hour was well over and the last of the coffees cold by the time she looked at her watch, "Oh, dear… I was to speak to a gallery owner this evening and I need to get back and change. Please excuse me, Duncan. This is a good opportunity for me and…" "The Captain tells me you're an artist, of course, your work is important. Perhaps, you'll let me escort you home? I can drive you to your appointment if you like, and then, perhaps we can celebrate with dinner." She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He left the addition and a generous tip, and they left. He offered her his arm and they walked up the block to an old stone building surrounded by a heavy wrought iron fence. "I live up on the fifth floor, Duncan." She unlocked the gate and showed him to a door that probably led directly to a kitchen at one time. They climbed the narrow stairs and came to a hallway that was surprisingly bright in comparison to the gloom of the rest of the building. There were windows at either end of the hall and her room was high enough to catch the afternoon sun. There was an easel near the window. Sketches of the rooftops and people were loosely stacked on an older table. The bed had been pushed against the far wall but even so, there wasn't a lot of room. She opened a narrow armoire and took out a silk shirt and a dark blue suit that made her skin look luminous. "This will only take a moment. Please make your self comfortable." She left for the small bathroom down the hall and he yielded to the temptation to look at her sketches. She was really quite good. Many of them were people on the sightseeing boat and he really wasn't surprised to see one of a man in a dark watch cap grinning in the sun. Did this mean she liked him? The idea pleased him. He hastily slid the drawing under several of the others as he heard the door down the hall open and close. She came in, slid on a pair of pumps from under the bed and smiled. She picked up the large black folio and quickly went through the sketches adding a couple from the stack. "Well," she said. "I'm ready." She handed him the address and they returned to his car. It took only minutes to get to the gallery and he found a parking place where he could watch the door. "It will go well, Tessa, I know it." She smiled at him and picked up the folio. He watched her straighten her shoulders and lift her chin as she walked up the stairs. Perhaps the antique shop could wait for a while. He could see how important her career was to her and he could take on private commissions for a while. Connor was always after him to find things. He had some real estate in one of the better suburbs. It wouldn't take a lot to get it in order. If she was willing to move in with him, she could have the old conservatory as a studio. Of course, he'd have to spin a story about cataloguing the antiques for the owner. That might just work. Tessa was a very special woman and somehow, he hoped she thought he was special, too. Only two weeks later, Tessa was setting up her welding gear and insisting that he not help. "You go cook or something, Duncan. I'm not that fragile! I handle these tanks all the time." He grinned at her, "All right. I'll go and find something special and we can picnic in the garden." "Duncan, you are sure that the man you're working for will be all right with me using the place as a studio…" "I'm certain, I've worked for him before. He appreciates talent. He also needs to upgrade his insurance… I'll be back very soon." Duncan found himself almost humming as he called on the various little charcuterie shops, bakery, greengrocers and wine merchants. The pate was fresh and the bakery's morning baking included the chocolate éclairs that he'd found out were Tessa's besetting sin. Fresh salad greens, cheeses, apples and pears, walnuts and a good white burgundy filled out the rest of his planned basket. She would love this and afterward they could make love under the shelter of the old oaks that surrounded the fountain. It wasn't until he stopped to pick up the afternoon edition of the newspaper that he realized he was being followed. Only a faint hint of the Presence followed as he retraced his steps as though looking for something, as a pilgrim must follow in search of a shrine. He entered the cathedral, Sacré Coeur. He stopped just beyond the entrance to see if he could identify the other Immortal. No one was in sight. He could not go back to the house. He didn't want to risk being followed and he wasn't ready to explain anything to Tessa, not when things were going so well. He walked quickly over the bridge to St. Julian's, the whisper of a following Presence, soon overwhelmed by that of his friend as Darius met him at the door. "What's wrong, Duncan. "I seem to have a shadow; one I really don't want to take home with me.' "There is someone out there. He slipped around to the other side of the boulevard." "Could you tell who it is?" "No", he said regretfully. "But, you are welcome to stay here for a little while. The chess board it set up." Duncan smiled at his mentor. "I wish I could stay, old friend, but there is a very pretty lady waiting for me. I just need to be sure no one will follow me. Can I leave these bags with you while I look?" Darius nodded and Duncan left by the vestry door. He searched carefully but there was no further sign of the other Immortal. Darius was waiting when he returned to the small church. "What will you do, Duncan?" "I don't know, Darius. I want to see Tessa well launched and her career is only beginning. She's had a couple of shows and her work was well received but if I ask her to leave Paris now…" "Time is always a factor. Duncan, have you told her?" "No… We're just getting to know each other. That's not the sort of thing I want to drop on her, yet." "She is special to you…" "Oh, yes. She is beautiful, and talented and… There's something special in her, Darius. Maybe, because she's an artist… I don't know, but she sees more deeply. I find myself wanting to share things with her and yet, I don't want anything to scare her off. He put the sketch back in the small folio. There were photographs of her, taken as they wandered through Paris. There were others from the shop and trips to his cabin. She had never been frightened off. Her strength of will had been incredible and he still loved her for it. Carefully he replaced the folio and pictures in the chest. Perhaps it had been foolish to come here. The warehouse held so much of his past. Looking back was painful but there were memories that were wonderful, too. That first year with Tessa had been one of those joyful times. Tessa was everything he could have hoped for, intelligent, beautiful and perfectly able to argue her own point of view. She had that wonderful laugh… There would be other women in his life, but no one would ever be more special than Tessa. She would always hold a place deep in his heart. Sighing, he locked the chest and walked out into the Parisian evening. The memories would keep him company under the stars. Tessa would always be with him. Your lyrics: (Alan Parsons Project,
copied from Lyrics.com) There are unsmiling faces and
bright plastic chains And they think it will make their
lives easier There's a sign in the desert that
lies to the west For they think it will make their
lives easier But a pilgrim must follow in search
of a shrine v. The Turn of a Friendly Card
(Part 2) There are unsmiling faces in fetters
and chains And they think it will make their
lives easier
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