Solidarity Road: Salvation in Virgo

By Catherine Biddle

Devon Albright seemingly has it all. A successful businessman, hes leveraged every advantage his gracious life has ever offered to him. The years have also been kind to him, and his tall, athletic physique served him well in both his professional and his personal life. He is charming, influential, and above all, a good friend.

For half a century, his friendship with Andrew Sanders has been a constant source of happiness, support, and comfort. Andrew has not weathered the decades with as much grace or success, but his friendship never wavers.

As a child living in Africa with his family, Devon made his first true friend in a local boy named Gabbie. The son of the Albrights gardener, the two quickly became inseparable. It broke Devons heart to leave his friend behind.

Now, fifty years later, Andrew tells Devon that Gabbie is in trouble and needs their help. The two embark on a long and dangerous journey to save an old friend at any cost. The risk is extreme, Devon realizes, but that is sometimes the cost of friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Dec 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452527093

Catherine Biddle

CATHERINE BIDDLE has worked as a medical imaging and ultrasound technician for thirty-five years. An avid traveler who dreams of being a travel writer one day, she also enjoys spending time with family and friends, especially her three sons and two grandchildren. Catherine and her husband live in Sydney, Australia.

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Copyright © 2014 Catherine Biddle.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

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www.balboapress.com.au

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2708-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2709-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/05/2014

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

For my family

Devon Albright is a successful businessman with a lifetime of experiences. He hears an old friend is in trouble and seeks the aid of another to help him. This evokes memories of an extraordinary life.

CHAPTER 1

D evon Albright stared across the glistening waters of the Sydney Harbour from the twenty-fifth floor of the sparkling new building in downtown Sydney—the home of Sanders Construction. Sydney reminded him of New York in many ways. Sydneysiders, as they called themselves, had the same resolve as New Yorkers. Just like New Yorkers, they never gave up. He had so many connections here. It didn’t feel like a second home anymore. He loved Sydney; it stirred something in him to keep on going. He simply loved it. The traffic, the taxi drivers with their stories, the restaurants, the buzz. The excitement of a new, young city.

Then there was Paris. Nowhere could hold a candle to Paris.

Devon squinted as the sun bounced off the crest of a wave in the wake of a ferry. Paris didn’t have a beautiful harbour like Sydney or New York, but it was unique. He loved the cobblestone alleyways of the Latin Quarter, where a person could get lost all day exploring the small shops and cafes. The ageless wisdom of the city was the opposite of Sydney’s glistening youth. That’s why he loved them both. For a very long time, he hadn’t thought he’d settle down. There was too much to do, too much to see. This was his sixtieth year, and he’d lived all over the world, had done more than most people do in two lifetimes.

Unconsciously, he rubbed at the ache in his right hip.

"Mr Albright?’

The distinctive Aussie accent snapped him out of his reverie. He smiled to himself. He never tired of hearing it, and just for an instant, his memory flashed to the first time he’d heard it.

Devon turned, seemingly unsurprised.

Yes, he replied, extending his hand. You must be the very efficient Miss Evans I’ve heard all about?

The young woman’s reply faltered slightly, and her face turned a slighter shade of pink. It was not a response Devon hadn’t seen before. He looked much younger than his age; he was six feet tall, crowned by a full head of dark hair, and he’d kept in shape. The years had been very kind to him, despite the hardships.

Oh, Mr Albright, it’s wonderful to finally meet you, she replied a little shakily. Please call me Louise.

Her reaction was nothing new to Devon. He almost didn’t notice anymore. His strong commanding presence made even tall, willowy, beautiful women falter. He was the type of person who made you feel as though he genuinely was happy to meet you. Devon did notice Louise’s creamy, flawless complexion become somewhat pinker, and she seemed to be staring at him longer than was necessary.

Finally, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and appeared to straighten her slim shoulders. The efficient Miss Evans was not usually one to be so distracted. She flicked a loose strand of her long, dark hair away from her face. Now a little annoyed with herself, she regained her businesslike demeanour. Mr Sanders sends his regrets, but he’s been caught up in a meeting in the city.

I see, Devon replied, with a sudden impatient tone, his forehead creasing slightly.

Well, Louise jumped in, he asks that you make yourself comfortable, and he’ll be here as soon as he can.

Devon checked his watch. Unconsciously, he ran his thumb over the face of the old classic Swiss. When he lifted his gaze to again look at Ms Evans, he couldn’t help but notice she was biting her lower lip.

How long do think he’ll be? Devon asked, all trace of his smile gone.

Miss Evans blinked. Oh, he said perhaps an hour and that I should make you comfortable.

Devon stood there saying nothing but didn’t appear to be pleased. Louise took a deep breath as she stepped backwards, almost toppling when she caught her stiletto heel in the edge of the rug.

Devon’s arm shot out, grabbing her above her elbow. Louise could feel her face turning scarlet.

Mr Sanders didn’t expect that meeting to go on for so long. We can reschedule if you’d prefer, she offered.

Devon’s gaze mellowed again, and a slow smile spread across his face. Miss Evans, I’m sorry, a bad joke on my part. It’s fine. This is not a business meeting. He called me a short time ago,’’ he assured her waving his cell. He hated that people who didn’t know him didn’t understand his sense of humour. Andrew knows very well he can keep me waiting all day, and please, call me Devon."

Oh, of course. Well if you’d like to follow me, Mr Albri— um, Devon, I’ll show you to the lounge room. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there until Mr Sanders returns.

I’m sure I will, he replied, his endearing smile never faltering.

She showed him into a large, sunny room with several leather sofas and an oversized coffee table covered in magazines. A large flat-screen television hung on one side of the room, and a small kitchen adjoined the other side.

Can I make you some coffee? Louise asked sheepishly.

No. Thank you. I’m fine, he replied. He placed his briefcase on the coffee table. I have some work to keep me busy.

Well if you change your mind, there’s also tea, or there’s juice and champagne in the fridge. I’ll be in the next office, if you need anything, Mr Albright.

Already deep in thought, he didn’t respond.

***

Sausage.

Devon grinned to himself when the door swung open and the rambunctious voice pierced his thoughts. Andrew Sanders’s substantial frame almost filled the doorway. He hadn’t aged quite as well as Devon. He was about twenty kilos overweight, and his blond hair had turned grey at the temples. At least he still had hair, he often remarked. Immediately, Devon could see that, after more than half a century, his friend still had that ungovernable glint in his eyes. He’d long ago given up getting Andrew to call him by his actual name. His friend’s long legs only needed a few paces to cross the room. He grabbed Devon in a bear hug and then slapped him on both shoulders.

Sorry I’m late. How are you, mate?

Devon studied his friend for a moment. I’m good. And you?

Can’t complain too much, but you know. Andrew’s answers were usually succinct and colloquial, but his wife’s untimely death two years before had mellowed his usual raucous personality.

Andrew Sanders tilted his head and considered Devon. The two men had known each other so long they could read each other’s expressions and thoughts. So why the unexpected visit? he probed.

One corner of Devon’s mouth curled. I could never keep anything from you.

Andrew raised one eyebrow and turned and headed for the small bar. Sounds like we need a drink first. Well, I do anyhow.

Devon nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. Andrew poured their drinks, and they sipped slowly, taking in the view.

So what’s up? Andrew finally asked, all jocularity gone from his voice. I didn’t think you’d be back in Sydney for months.

Devon took a drink, staring into his glass and watching the ice cubes swirl around the sides. It’s Gabbie, he finally said.

Andrew sighed and lowered his head and then walked over and sat behind his huge, glass desk. He leaned back in the oversized leather chair. Devon knew only too well that Andrew was tired of his lifelong affiliation with Africa and his old friend.

So what’s happened now? he finally asked.

Devon was staring out at the harbour. Andrew was just waiting for a response. Devon could feel Andrew’s gaze burning into him and rubbed his forehead. It’s a long story, he replied flatly.

It always is, mate. Andrew stood and walked over to his friend, patting his shoulder. Then tell me over lunch.

CHAPTER 2

September 1960

D evon sat on his small bed in the corner of a sparsely decorated dorm room. The walls were painted a pale yellow, with a few flakes of paint beginning to peel. A noise startled him, and he turned to see a bird with some twigs in its beak flapping about outside the window. He leaned back against the wall and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He wanted to make himself as small as possible; burying his head, he tried to muffle the small sobs that now threatened to escape. He didn’t want the other boys seeing him crying like a baby. After all, his dad had told him he was a big boy now and he’d be fine. He had to keep his chin up and not let anyone see him cry—even if he was nearly five thousand miles from home. Home was nothing like this. It was so cold already, and he knew from books his father had shown him that it would snow soon. He’d never seen snow but was excited about the idea of sliding down hills on the soft powdery flakes.

The noise outside the room was getting louder with every passing minute. Devon swallowed nervously, even though his mouth and throat were parched. It sounded as though a thousand boys were in the hallway now. He glanced at the small watch on his thin wrist—a birthday present from his mum and dad, who had taught him to tell time only a few weeks ago.

He’d been waiting for a long time—ever since the old lady with the white hair had collected him from the train. She’d told him to wait here until assembly, but what was that? He’d sat next to her in the car on the drive to this big school, and she’d smelled like the white balls his dad would put in the closet to keep moths away. Another boy had sat in the back of the car. He had red hair and kept sneezing and wiping it on his sleeve.

Suddenly the door burst open, and a boy with a rough mop of wavy blond hair rushed in and jumped up onto the other of the two beds and began bouncing from one side to the other like a grasshopper. Devon quickly wiped his eyes and stared at the boy.

Hi, are you me roommate? the boy asked sounding puffed from all his jumping.

What? Devon muttered, not really understanding either the question or the accent.

You know, are you and me gonna be roommates?

Devon continued just staring blankly at the boy, as a tall, equally fair-haired man appeared in the doorway.

Dad, he shrieked, this guy’s me roommate. He pointed at Devon.

The tall man rolled his eyes. Well does this…guy have a name? the man asked. And stop yelling, he added.

The boy shrugged. I dunno; he didn’t say nothin’.

Devon looked from the man to the boy and back again. What language was this boy speaking?

Andrew. The man’s tone was quite cross. How many times have I told you? Do not point at people, and finish off your words.

Andrew had now ceased his bouncing and was panting in between screwing up his mouth. The large man took a few paces toward Devon, but somehow Devon felt at ease. Something about this man was comforting. He had a broad, friendly smile, and he looked at Devon with understanding. This was different from what he was used to. The man sat on the bed next to Devon.

Hello, he said, extending a huge, calloused hand. My name is Phillip Sanders, and this is my son Andrew. What’s your name? The man’s voice was deep but comforting.

Devon looked at the man’s giant hand, as he slowly extended his arm watching his small hand completely disappear. Devon, his meek voice replied.

The strange boy began laughing hysterically. Like the sausage, he cackled.

Andrew! The man’s head snapped around at the still laughing boy, now rolling on the bed clutching his stomach and almost falling off.

Devon is a good name. Stop being silly.

Phillip Sanders smiled at the small boy with a mop of tousled brown hair. So are you parents here with you, Devon? he asked gently.

Devon shook his head, No, they’re back home.

Oh, and where is that?

Mitaboni, he said, feeling very comfortable in this man’s presence.

Where’s Mitaboni? Phillip queried.

In Kenya, Devon replied offhandedly, as though it was around the corner.

Phillip’s eyes widened. Kenya, Africa?

Devon’s small head bobbed up and