Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

Matt arrived at the residence feeling tired, hungry and more than a little dispirited. He needed a long hot shower to help raise his spirits and hide the disappointment of the trip from his hosts. At least it was still daylight and the air remained warm. He made a point of being pleasant to Martha, asking if it were possible to eat alfresco tonight.

  Forty minutes later and his general mood showed signs of improvement. Well enough to eagerly anticipate a taste of Martha’s appetising cooking and a bottle of red. He’d been determined to help Martha in the kitchen but she’d shooed him outside onto the balcony, insisting he was no more than nuisance value. Not that he’d put up much of a fight after being handed the cold bottle of lager.

  He settled into the plastic chair and looked at the snowy peaks of the mountains on the far horizon. He could feel the bright sun gently cook at the flesh of his bare forearm, even at this hour, and adjusted the position of the chair so it sat completely under the sun umbrella. His thoughts dwelled awhile on the remarkable contrast between the sapping heat he could feel and the icy pictures of the distant landscape. The sound of someone stepping through the patio doors caused him to remark on the picturesque scene.

  “Hello, Matt,” said the woman’s voice.

  He twisted round in the chair.

  “Gratia, what are you doing here?”

  She smiled warmly.

  “I needed a break.”

  “Already?” he said.

  He watched as she stepped onto the balcony. The turquoise scoop necked top hung gracefully from her shoulders, sharply contrasting against the colour of her long hair and designer slacks. Once again she wore the open toed sandals format she most preferred, the picture of manicured perfection he’d come to expect. The half glass of red sank to the table as she took the seat next to him.

  Matt felt uncomfortable with the barrage of insults he had thrown at her on the last occasion. This awkwardness caused him to shift his gaze back over to the mountains. Instinct told him she recognised his discomfort, and therefore understood his reason for looking away.

  “Yes, it is very picturesque,” she said, agreeing with his earlier statement.

  She appeared surprisingly relaxed, almost as if their last angry and heated conversation had never happened.

  “Did you find what you were looking for in Hameln?”

  “No, unfortunately not,” he replied.

  Neither looked at the other, just kept their eyes fixed on the mountainous view.

  “I’m guessing you’ll try the Italian address next,” she said. “Then France and Spain, keep Russia last.”

  He nodded and they were silent for a while. Gratia reached into her shoulder bag and placed a small notepad in front of him. At first he tried to ignore it. Curiosity got the better of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “The first few pages are the details of all the addresses you seek. They are followed by route maps to get you to each of the places,” she said. “It will be difficult at this time of year to find hotels, so I have included a list of recommendations that may accommodate you.”

  He examined the lines of her writing. As expected, they were meticulously bold and clear. Why would she go to so much trouble? Particularly given the unpleasantness of their last encounter?

  “Thank you,” he said, somewhat sheepishly.

  “I could arrange for a car to be made available. However, you are likely to interpret that as too much help.”

  He declined to respond, merely kept his eyes fixed on the surrounding view. First they spend an entire night in glorious conversation under the stars. Then he makes a complete fool of himself, enabling her to belittle him with unerring ease. The next day she responds to his appalling insults by going to extraordinary lengths to try and help him. Will the real Gratia Fuchs please stand up, he asked himself.

  Matt sighed. Deep down he knew it was his behaviour that could be interpreted as erratic, disjointed. He’d encouraged her to sit up all night and engage in conversation, because he needed the company. The next day he had behaved entirely the opposite, pushing her unpleasantly away. It was clear she was trying to mend a fence only he had broken, re-establish their initial relationship. He wanted to explain why he had behaved in the way he had. He also knew he couldn’t as this could place her in danger.

  “I can’t let you help me,” he heard himself say.

  He felt her steady gaze upon the profile of his face, like she was trying to understand his inconsistency. Matt wanted her help. He needed it. Something inside wouldn’t allow him to involve her. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want anything to happen to Gratia. She continued the search of his mind for several more moments.

  “Why can’t I help you?”

  He shook his head gently to let her know he wasn’t going to explain. It was enough to encourage her to rise from the chair.

  “I’ll see if Martha needs help with the meal,” she said.

  As she turned her back on him to step away from the balcony, Matt relented.

  “I should never have said the things that should never have been said,” he called.

  Gratia halted momentarily. He watched her shoulders rise and then fall. One second became two, then three and four as she stood motionless at the opening. After what seemed like an age she returned to the seat and looked at him.

  “I was wrong to speak to you so unkindly,” he said.

  He looked her directly in the eye in an attempt to show he meant every word. Gratia gave him nothing other than a short smile.

  “We need to work on this together. But if I am to help then you must commit to one thing,” she said.

  “What?”

  “When I am ready, you must answer all of my questions with complete honesty.”

  “Done,” he quickly agreed.

  “I had not finished.”

  “Then you ask two things.”

  “Detail, mere detail,” she said.

  “What else?”

  He noticed the texture of her eyes had softened, as though she had been weakened by physical pain.

  “You must never say such hurtful things to me again,” she whispered.

  “Agreed,” he replied softly.

  Darkness fell by the end of the meal. Martha, surprisingly, had allowed Gerhardt to smoke one cigarette without complaint. After he had finished the dastardly act Martha picked up the unattended packet and emptied the contents into the waste bin. The look of abject horror on Gerhardt’s face, at this minor act of vandalism, had his remaining companions in stitches of laughter.

  Shortly after, the elder citizens elected to retire, leaving Matt and Gratia to finish the second bottle of red. The parting farewells were intriguing. The traditional peck of the cheeks between the two women exuded little affection on Gratia’s part, while her subsequent embrace with Gerhardt showed real warmth. He hadn’t noticed this previously and thought back to Gratia’s earlier dismissive comments about Martha. For some reason there was bad blood between the two of them.

  Having made his peace with Gratia earlier however, the last thing Matt needed was to sow the seeds of another potential conflict by referring to it. They sat quietly to enjoy the simple pleasure of taking in the evening air.

  “I see Sam is in the sky again tonight,” she said.

  Matt chuckled.

  “You see, isn’t that much easier to remember?”

  Despite her humour he could sense there were many things on her mind. He thought about asking. Something inside told him it would be better to wait.

  “There are missing chapters to your book.”

  He smiled.

  “No, Matt Durham is a very thin volume of work.”

  “Each page I turn deepens the mystery.”

  “It is the thought of mystery you find compelling. Trust me. The end chapter is a major disappointment.”

  “The reader is the ultimate arbiter of a book’s quality rather than the author.”

  Matt heard her words, smiling inside at the gentle probing. He knew the
re was more to come. Matt was confident in his ability to reveal only as much about himself as he needed to keep her onboard. He heard her ask him a question. For some reason however, his mind had drifted into another direction.

  “Suffer,” he said, out of the blue.

  “What did you say?”

  “Suffer,” he repeated. “One of Kendricks’ people said they wanted me to suffer. Why? Where is the logic to that?”

  Gratia saw his statement as an opening.

  “Did you not ask?”

  “No, I didn’t get the chance.”

  “There is no senior person with the name of Kendricks employed by Schafen Industries,” replied a studious Gratia. “The diary was one of a numbered batch issued to Herbert Kestlemann, Head of our North American logistics division, based in Seattle.”

  “Kendricks was American. I suppose there could be a connection.”

  “Herr Kestlemann has not reported the diary missing. He has a fine, though somewhat undistinguished, record with us. Some years ago he was transferred to Seattle, shortly after the settlement of a bitter divorce. There have been a small number of subsequent relationships, none of any permanence.”

  She paused to catch her breath.

  “His wife remarried, to a banker by the name of Jeremy Cole, and moved to England with their child. There has been no contact between Kestlemann and his estranged wife since the divorce, and he has few close or personal friendships. The son is now grown. He joined the British military soon after leaving school but has now left.”

  Matt was seriously impressed.

  “His personal finances are strong,” continued Gratia. “They show a healthy savings balance and little expenditure, so he has no money problems. Golf is his main preferred recreation, though he also dabbles on occasion with online chess and war gaming. By all accounts he is well respected within the local business community, attending many functions and dinners for good causes.”

  “God, you’re scary,” said Matt.

  “Scary?”

  “The way you get this information. Whatever happened to data protection?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I suppose it’s a useful start,” he said. “Why is it, in a world cluttered with all manner of new technology and smart mobile phones, modern companies keep producing something as old fashioned as a company diary? You would think they would be obsolete by now.”

  “It is tradition, good corporate practise and a sensible back up,” said Gratia, sounding slightly offended.

  “Waste, that’s what it is,” replied Matt. “Is it any wonder the rainforests are getting smaller.”

  “Pay attention,” she said. “The diary shows a number of addresses in different countries.”

  “I knew that much already.”

  “Pay attention.”

  “Okay.”

  Gratia leaned over to the table and picked up the diary. She thumbed through to the relevant page.

  “The first three letters represent a town or locality in these countries. The following mixture of letters and numbers are the area post codes, and the figures or words listed below them are the house or apartment names and numbers.”

  He wondered why he hadn’t sussed that out himself from the start.

  “Within the next few hours, perhaps a day or so, my people should be able to provide details of all residents. I expect this to include photographs, personal history data, and financial and employment records. This will help you in your search, maybe shorten it.”

  As Matt’s mind sought to digest the information, Gratia began to rise. Instinctively his fingers folded around her wrist to prevent her from leaving.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To retire to my room,” she replied. “I have an early start and a full day tomorrow.”

  “I thought you had a number of questions?”

  “All in good time,” she said.

  Her expression never altered. Matt should have been relieved to escape her cross examination. Instead he felt disappointment. He relaxed his grip.

  “Good night,” she said as she left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cogolin (Cog)