John Ambrose was not a man to take no for an answer. Therefore although he was, by now, too advanced in years to find travel easy, he would not allow that to stop him from going to the book fair to oversee his hapless publisher's attempts to bring his “The Channel Islands: From the Ice Age to the Modern Age” to a wider audience. This magnum opus had been in construction, in that book-lined den of his, for several years longer than he had anticipated.
“Just as I thought I'd got to the end of it, along comes material for an entire new section. If I'd known what was in store for us, I'd have rushed it into print before the occupation. Well, the least they can do now is help promote the thing.”
They being, of course, not the publishers, but the people responsible for the delay in publication: to wit, the Germans. But the Frankfurt Book Fair, newly reinstated, was the oldest and most famous in the world, and there, accordingly, John Ambrose was to go
( ... )
They sat, and Philip ordered another pot of coffee, and Richter made enquiries about Olive, and the other travellers, and the journey. Gradually Philip felt their old - well, friendship was perhaps the only word for it, though yelling had come into it as often as not - friendship, then, reasserting itself.
Sometimes he had felt they were the only two men on the island who understood each other - and other times, he was very sure he would never understand the German Kommandant. But still, Philip had made an enquiry of Richter's regiment as the chaos of the immediate post-war period had subsided, and then it had seemed pointless not to get in touch with the man himself.
“Do you find Wiesbaden much changed?” Richter was saying.
“Not as much as -” Philip caught himself before he could say London, though Richter perhaps heard it anyway. “Not as much as I'd feared. And you're barely changed yourself
( ... )
Aw, thank you so much! This was a wonderful thing to wake up to today! I love it. So much, even from John Ambrose being a difficult man to say no to (because if he wasn't, the series wouldn't be the same) and all the rest, and their conversation. ♥ Thank you!
I'm so glad you liked it - happy birthday, and thank-you for introducing me to the series! John Ambrose was a devious so-and-so, and a natural lead-in to an after-the-war story. As for the two doctors (mustn't capitalise that) they always had a great deal to talk about, both during the war and (presumably) after it!
Erm, I've realised that this is almost a reverse image of one of your stories. I didn't mean for that to happen, but when I got the idea of the Book Fair, it just kind of did! Sorry...
I didn't think it was! I mean, I just want them to meet up post-war but not as written by me, and I like this very much. But meeting up post-war fics must have some similarities, really. :-)
Well, I'm relieved to hear that! I re-read your story and went "whoops" even as I was enjoying it. And now I'll see if I can harness one of the bunnies I had hopping about.
Doctor of Philosophy
John Ambrose was not a man to take no for an answer. Therefore although he was, by now, too advanced in years to find travel easy, he would not allow that to stop him from going to the book fair to oversee his hapless publisher's attempts to bring his “The Channel Islands: From the Ice Age to the Modern Age” to a wider audience. This magnum opus had been in construction, in that book-lined den of his, for several years longer than he had anticipated.
“Just as I thought I'd got to the end of it, along comes material for an entire new section. If I'd known what was in store for us, I'd have rushed it into print before the occupation. Well, the least they can do now is help promote the thing.”
They being, of course, not the publishers, but the people responsible for the delay in publication: to wit, the Germans. But the Frankfurt Book Fair, newly reinstated, was the oldest and most famous in the world, and there, accordingly, John Ambrose was to go ( ... )
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Sometimes he had felt they were the only two men on the island who understood each other - and other times, he was very sure he would never understand the German Kommandant. But still, Philip had made an enquiry of Richter's regiment as the chaos of the immediate post-war period had subsided, and then it had seemed pointless not to get in touch with the man himself.
“Do you find Wiesbaden much changed?” Richter was saying.
“Not as much as -” Philip caught himself before he could say London, though Richter perhaps heard it anyway. “Not as much as I'd feared. And you're barely changed yourself ( ... )
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I haven't forgotten your request either. Although I wouldn't go so far as to say it was yet a bunny... :-)
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