“You may find this difficult to believe, but I had never before been the home of our monarch and government. My adoptive parents never had time even for a holiday by the sea, and you know that I have no inclination towards monuments and the like; I should always rather be ensconced in a comfortable chair with a good book. This, I suppose, is why it had taken me quite so much time to get out of said comfortable chair and do, as they would say in Sri Lanka, where, you will remember, I spent a little unplanned time, the needful.”
Max Maartinesz is a history professor. He is single and lives alone. Make of that what you will, is what he would say. His life is by and large ordered and very comfortable. But he always has the distinct impression that something is missing. Perhaps a bit of spice?
Lillian Selby is a librarian. She works at the Manchester Central Library. She lives alone in a small maisonnette in Rusholme, which has been her home since she was an undergraduate at university. Her life is quiet, ordered, mostly solitary, quite mundane.
Then they both go on the most hair-raising, life-threatening adventures, through the maleficent offices of Propitious Peregrinations ®. Although their separate experiences occur a quarter of a century apart, they learn that they have more in common than one might think.
For instance, each took the trouble to set down in writing, for the edification of the general public, an account of their tribulations. Each also formed life altering connections that were equally all too abruptly severed.
Now Max and Lillian proceed together on a common quest to tie up loose ends left hanging from their previous sojourns. Dare we hope that, this time, they might experience truly propitious peregrinations? Frankly, what are the odds?
“It was, I have to admit, something of a relief for me to have a little time to myself. I was certainly quite fond of this delightful lady, and I did appreciate the the opportunity of having an honest and understanding exchange regarding our common eventful expeditions. At the same time, I had the distinct impression that she was far from enamoured of my enjoyment of the odd glass - well, all right, bottle - of fermented beverages.”
“He gestured to the weapon in front of him on the table, daring me to reach for it. Hah! I wouldn’t do that. I had not the slightest idea how the damn things work, even if I could grasp it before he did, which I almost certainly couldn’t.
I was thrown back into my unpadded cell, where I resumed my mental draft, possibly of this very passage.”
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