Gorgito's Ice Rink by Elizabeth Ducie
Gorgito’s Ice Rink
Gorgito's Ice Rink was runner up in Writing
Magazine's 2015 Self-Published Book of the Year Awards.
Two small boys grieving for lost sisters — torn between family and other loves. Can keeping a new promise make up for breaking an old one?
Two small boys grieving for lost sisters — torn between family and other loves. Can keeping a new promise make up for breaking an old one?
When Gorgito Tabatadze sees his sister run off with a soldier, he is bereft. When she disappears into Stalin’s Gulag system, he is devastated. He promises their mother on her death-bed he will find the missing girl and bring her home; but it is to prove an impossible quest.
Forty years later, Gorgito, now a successful businessman in post-Soviet Russia, watches another young boy lose his sister to a love stronger than family. When a talented Russian skater gets the chance to train in America, Gorgito promises her grief-stricken brother he will build an ice-rink in Nikolevsky, their home town, to bring her home again.
With the help of a British engineer, who has fled to Russia to escape her own heartache, and hindered by the local Mayor who has his own reasons for wanting the project to fail, can Gorgito overcome bureaucracy, corruption, economic melt-down and the harsh Russian climate in his quest to build the ice-rink and bring a lost sister home? And will he finally forgive himself for breaking the promise to his mother?
A story of love, loss and broken promises. Gorgito's story, told through the eyes of the people whose lives he touched.
Purchase Links
My website page: http://elizabethducieauthor.co.uk/book/gorgitos-ice-rink/
Kindle
universal link: https://geni.us/3OHR
Until
14th October, Gorgito’s Ice Rink is only 99 p/c
in all territories.
in all territories.
Excerpt 3: Nikolevsky,
June 1995
Context: Hospitality is
a big part of life in Russia, even when the visitors are working. In this
scene, Emma and her team have just completed a successful visit to the factory
they are helping to build. Gorgito throws a party for them, before they head
back to UK.
By
the time the roomful of people reached the main course, inhibitions were
starting to melt. Fuelled by vodka and laughter, everyone was less interested
in eating than in dancing and having fun. This didn’t surprise Emma. Ron had told her
of half-eaten meals going cold on many a restaurant table. Tonight there was no
live music but they were using an old gramophone, dragged down from Gorgito’s
apartment on the top floor of the administration building.
The
style of dancing was new to Emma and Helen, who were more used to jigging
around their handbags. They were introduced to the waltz, the foxtrot and even
the tango. They barely sat down at all. Each time one partner stepped away with
a bow and a smile, another was waiting to take his place. Just when Emma
thought her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer, someone started to sing and people
gradually sat down to listen. One by one or in little groups, they all did
their party pieces.
Gorgito
sang a passionate Georgian folk-song. The two women from the Ministry of
Health—who had arrived unexpectedly two days before—shed their stern
countenances and delivered a soulful version of Midnight in Moscow which had half the room in tears. Emma knew it
would be her turn soon. She couldn’t sing and she didn’t feel reciting Ode to a Nightingale
would really cut it. In the past two weeks they’d made friends and learned
something of the local culture at the same time. Now she wanted to bring a
little of the spirit of England to this isolated spot in the forest. So when
the party had been going for more than three hours, Emma decided to teach the
Russians the hokey-cokey.
Jumping
up, she grabbed the hands of the two people sitting nearest to her and dragged them towards the centre of the room. Telling them to wait
there for her, she went over to a small group by the bar and gestured for them
to join her.
‘Okay, stand in a line and join
hands,’ she called. ‘You put your left leg in.’ Emma matched her words with
actions. The roomful of Russians looked bemused but quickly caught on. Soon
everyone was waving their arms and legs around enthusiastically.
It
seemed a good way to end the party. As the evening started to wind down, some
of the Russians were heading for the door. Charlie sat in the corner with a
smile on his face and one of the packing girls on his lap. Emma had never seen
him talk to any of the girls about anything other than tablet machines—and
certainly not without an interpreter. Emma didn’t think they were talking business
now.
Author Bio – When Elizabeth Ducie had been working in
the international pharmaceutical industry for nearly thirty years, she decided
she’d like to take a break from technical writing—text books, articles and
training modules—and write for fun instead. She started by writing travel
pieces, but soon discovered she was happier, and more successful, writing
fiction. In 2012, she gave up the day job, and started writing full-time. She
has published four novels, three collections of short stories and a series of
manuals on business skills for writers.
Social Media Links –
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