The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

“This way Madam, Sir,” said the tiny waiter as he ushered them to their allotted table on the upper floor.

  They were led through the vast upper arena of the two-tiered restaurant. In the middle of the room there was a large hole where stairs led down to the lower eating hall. It made the upper floor look circular in shape, spreading around each side of the staircase.

  Almost all of the waiting staff were from Indonesia or were Filipino. They scurried around the floor like worker ants, whisking in between the tables in their white, crisply ironed jackets attending to the needs of the guests.

  The subdued lighting made the room appear darker and more intimate, candles flickering at each table to accentuate the mood. The sun had set making it too dark to take in the view of the ocean outside. Matt guessed there were some two hundred tables or more on the upper floor, slightly crammed together. Some could seat up to eight people, others were set for two.

  The waiter led them towards a table for four, next to one of the large windows at the side of the restaurant. Matt had hoped they would have their own table. It soon became clear they would have to endure their evening meals with another couple.

  “Hello,” said Grace, introducing herself to the rounded, plain looking woman.

  The woman’s long dark tresses failed to camouflage her cherubic features, while her tight black dress did little to conceal the fact she was carrying some excess baggage. She seemed cheerful and friendly enough. Matt took his place opposite the woman’s partner and held out his hand in greeting.

  “Matt, Matt Durham,” he offered.

  “Pleased to meet you, Robert Evans,” he said. “Most people call me Bob. This is my wife,” he added, diverting Matt’s attention to the woman sat next to him.

  “Hello, I’m Chrissie, Chrissie Stoner, ooh,” and she started to giggle. “It’s not Stoner, I’m called Evans now! Bob and I just got married. It’s so hard getting used to a new name,” she laughed. “I bet your wife had the same problem.”

  “Not really,” replied Matt disinterestedly. “We’ve still to tie the knot.”

  He felt Grace’s heel jam into his foot, hard!

  “Oh, I hope I haven’t said the wrong thing. You looked like a perfect match and I, obviously, wrongly assumed. I do apologise.” She emphasised the word obviously, meaning she wasn’t the least bit apologetic. Not that it was of any consequence to Matt.

  “He’s still wriggling Chrissie. I sense he’s starting to tire though,” said Grace amused by her fishing simile. It made the other woman laugh out loud.

  “Keep fighting it,” urged Bob. “Struggle for as long as you can. Look at me, and I‘m only twenty five.”

  The woman laughed out loudly again, finding the subject extraordinarily hilarious.

  For God’s sake, he thought, give yourself a humour bypass or this woman will screech you to death. He glanced to his side and was surprised to see Grace sharing in the woman’s vociferous laughter. This pleased Matt, for he was happy to see a smile on her face.

  The two couples quickly established both men were from British descent, and the ladies originated from Canada.

  “Fancy,” said Chrissie. “What a coincidence. Do you think it’s because there’s not enough women to go round in the UK, Grace?”

  She chuckled, and the two women laughed together.

  A long meal awaited, and another six after this!

  The repast took slightly longer than an hour. The time passed quicker than he anticipated, mostly because Grace appeared relaxed and enjoyable of the company. Neither of them had to say too much, the conversation being dominated by their confident table partners. Grace took to the new acquaintances, particularly Chrissie with her constant irritating and screechy laughter.

  Bob told how he ran his own UK based business, which he had set up in 1998. He met his new wife whilst on a business trip to Montreal. Chrissie worked for a small business in the city before leaving to join Bob’s outfit, Evans Packaging. She described the move as a leap in the dark, risking all to be with Bob. The move had worked out perfectly.

  Matt ordered champagne for the meal, in celebration of the recent union. They reciprocated with a bottle of Canadian red, which disappeared with alarming speed.

  He consumed little of the alcohol himself preferring to let their table partners take full advantage, though it certainly lightened his mood as the evening wore on. It was as well he kept his wits about him or he wouldn’t have noticed the woman looking at him, a couple of tables away. Matt offered a brief smile to the elderly grey haired woman, carefully studying his face as if trying to place it. He promptly turned his attentions back to the people around his own table.

  Sipping the remnants of the coffee, Matt suggested to Grace a stroll around the deck to take in some air.

  “What a good idea,” said Chrissie. “Grace, how would you feel about some good old fashioned female company on your tour?” Grace nodded happily. Matt smiled at the newlyweds delight in Grace’s acceptance of the suggestion. On the inside, his heart missed a beat.

  Their pace along the deck was slow and sure. The two men engaged in meaningless small talk while the women strolled ahead, talking animatedly like re-discovered friends catching up after a lost period of time. Every so often Grace would turn and smile at Matt, checking he was reasonably content with the arrangement. He wasn’t, but there was little he could say or do about it.

  “Look over there,” said Bob. “There’s a ship headed back to Vancouver. It looks bigger than ours.”

  He stopped to observe the fully lit leviathan of a vessel over to their right. After a brief pause to watch the ship disappear behind them they resumed their stroll. The two women were now well ahead. Bob walked sedately, in no hurry to make up lost ground. He started to question Matt about his background and current status with Grace. Bob regarded them as a good match and was curious about how the two had met, given she was Canadian and he English.

  Matt rolled off the tale about selling up to travel the world and of meeting Grace in Victoria, where she ran a franchise pub restaurant. They were a new couple, still getting to know each other, and he believed it was much too early in their relationship to talk about Grace at any length. This had the desired effect of limiting the conversation about the two of them, allowing Matt to change the subject back to small talk.

  After four circuits of the ship the men finally caught up with their two female companions, waiting patiently by the door leading back into the interior.

  Bob suggested a nightcap. Grace admitted to being bushed for the day, so they bade goodnight and retired to their suites. She was indeed tired, asleep from the moment her head hit the pillow on this first night.

  “Carter?”

  “Hello, young lady,” said the burly man seated in the visitor’s chair. “How are yur feeling today?”

  Rosa moved uneasily in the bed, discomforted by the severe bruising to her back and shoulders, wincing at every movement. Her eyes gradually regained their focus and she began to inspect her new surroundings. The white walls made her feel cold, feeling as though she was lying in a room without heating, and the smell of disinfectant hung in the air. There was ample space around the bed, with a two drawer clothes chest and a small wardrobe positioned on the wall opposite. Moonlight shone through the partially open window, throwing yellow light on the surface of the floor, helping the small lamp light up the room. She struggled to lift her painful frame.

  “Here, let me help yur,” said Jack kindly.

  Rising from the plastic chair he placed a supporting pillow behind her.

  “There, that’ll help yur,” he added.

  “Where am I?” she asked hazily, uncertain of these new surroundings.

  “The hospital, yur’ve had a nasty accident. Yur need time to rest and heal.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  She tried to recall the incident.

  “Couple of days,” was Jack’s languid reply.

  “Days, how many days?” she asked.


  The memories began to flood back, flowing madly into her head the way water rushes through a dark tunnel.

  “Matt? Where’s Matt?” she asked anxiously.

  “Gone,” replied Jack. “Yur’ve missed him. Doubt yur’ll find him now.”

  “He’s in deep shit. You have to tell me where he is.”

  “Yur don’t need to worry. He’s in a safe place, somewhere where yur can’t hurt him.”

  “It’s not me he needs to worry about. Tell me, where is he Carter?”

  Jack looked upon the young woman’s urgent expression, trying to decide whether to believe her or not. He sat quietly in response to her animated words, studying the concern in the blue eyes dulled by the pain affecting her slender body. Rosa kept her gaze on the older man’s face, determined to convince him of her cause. She wanted to wince some more with the discomfort but there was too much at stake. She decided to try a different tack.

  “Jack, what does Matt mean to you?” she asked.

  The question surprised him, as did her reference to his first name. It prompted an involuntary admission.

  “He’s like a brother to me, family I never had,” he replied quietly.

  “Well he’ll be your dead brother unless you help me. In fact, he might already be dead.”

  The finality of the statement stung Jack into responding.

  “How do I know that? How can I be sure yur mean what yur say?”

  Rosa thought quickly. She needed more than words, she needed evidence.

  “What have you done with my laptop?”

  “All yur stuff is over there, either in the wardrobe or in the drawers,” he said casually.

  “Bring it to me, Jack,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

  For no obvious reason Jack felt himself being convinced by the pretty blonde woman, though he didn’t fully understand why. He rose and ambled across to where the furniture held her belongings.

  “Jack?” she asked, “I need to dress too.”

  “No clothes, yur need to rest,” he replied.

  “We don’t have time to argue. Just pass the first thing you lay your hands on.”

  He brought the computer and a set of clothes, including underwear, jeans and a t-shirt. Rosa decided to dress while the laptop loaded.

  Jack stood and watched as she struggled from the bed. He thought better of offering assistance, until she asked for help to undo the ties at the rear of the hospital garment. As it fell aside from her back she slowly and painfully twisted her head round, to see the burly Canadian gazing at her naked flesh.

  “Turn around, you dirty old man,” she said sharply and he instantly obeyed.

  “I object to the old bit,” he muttered back, turning to face the wall.

  The quip made Rosa smile. Matt had chosen his friend well. Gradually, she managed to force her aching frame into the clothes provided, gently lifting each limb and easing them into either a sleeve or a trouser leg. Jack winced with every groan Rosa made as she dressed.

  “Shoes,” she called out, and Jack threw a dark coloured pair of covered sandals towards her.

  Then he heard the sound of light tapping behind him.

  “You can look now,” said Rosa.

  “Looks good on yur,” he said, nodding in approval.

  “Not me, the computer screen you big lump,” she scalded, and he walked across and peered at the screen.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Listen, can you hear it?” said Matt.

  Chrissie was the first to answer.

  “Hear what? I can’t hear anything!”

  “Exactly,” said Matt, “absolute silence, isn’t it magical.”

  All four were stood on the deck of the white painted bow of the ship as it sliced a path through the freezing cold waters, miniature icebergs floating past the dark blue hull of the iron mass. They were sailing up a narrow channel between two great landscapes of dark green forest. The trees were planted to every inch of the ground and rose up steep slopes, towards the top of each mountainous snow-capped peak. It was a truly awesome sight.

  They were less than half a mile away from each shore yet not a sound of wildlife could be heard in the still, windless air. Even the water holding them afloat seemed unable to stir into noisy action, despite the liner’s steady progress up the channel as it cut through the dark green liquid. Were a pin to drop Matt was sure it would echo for miles around, like a huge clap of thunder in a storm. Yet, in the midst of the deathly silence, the sun shone brightly and warmed the faces witnessing this incredible scene. It was nature, in all its glory.

  This was the third day of the cruise. The ship had already stopped once, at Juneau, a place where it was normal for the rain to fall for three hundred days of the year. They had taken a tour boat to watch humpback whales leap from the sea before their massive frames crashed back into the ocean. The wondrous excursion marred only by the close proximity of the newlyweds. They stuck to Matt and Grace like industrial cling film and suffocated his desire to revel in the freedom of the vast open spaces.

  Despite their claustrophobic presence Matt had resigned himself to accommodating the situation, particularly as Grace had warmed to the couple. She found their companionship a relaxing distraction though it discomfited Matt. He found himself revealing increasing snippets of information about them with every passing hour. He was sure their interest was innocent, probably normal. However, their questioning was persistent. And he was wary.

  At least he had the nights alone with Grace. They talked at length during the dark hours as they cuddled in bed, watching the brightly twinkling stars through the open curtain. For the first time they talked about their individual histories, their families and friends and their upbringings. Then they would chat about the day’s events and their newly acquired friends, the newlyweds, before Grace would return to the same subject. He gave little away about the plan he was formulating in his mind, fearful too much knowledge could ultimately lead her into danger.

  Matt enjoyed holding Grace at night. He would wrap his strong arms around her and she would press her body tight against him, responding to the affection by almost purring in satisfaction. They had yet to make love on the boat, the sea air seeming to draw the physical strength from Grace’s delicate frame. Eventually the need for sleep overpowered them, and they would wake the next morning still caught in each other’s embrace.

  The images swirling around in Matt’s mind were suddenly disturbed by Bob, patting the pockets of his dark blue plastic anorak. He pulled out a mobile phone.

  “It’s a text from work. Sorry love,” he said apologetically to Chrissie, “I’m going to have to answer it.”

  He kissed her cheek and apologised again before striding purposefully away, into the coolness of the ship’s interior. The two women turned their attentions back to the scenery and the ice floes approaching the ship’s bow. Matt took out his mobile from the front jean pocket and looked at the screen. No messages.

  He couldn’t understand what was keeping Jack from getting in touch. If Bob could receive a signal in this wilderness, then so should he be able to get one. The thought of not knowing about how events were unfolding back in Victoria was bad enough. The fact three days had passed without a word from Jack was becoming a matter of real concern. He peered at the open deck above and caught sight of a grey haired woman looking down upon him. It was the same woman who had so closely scrutinised him in the restaurant on the first night, and he felt slightly unnerved by what he regarded as her constant monitoring.

  Grace was showering when the message from Jack arrived. Matt lay on the sun lounge out on the veranda, inhaling deeply on a Marlboro.

  ‘Yur been tagged and tailed, get off the boat. Pick up?’

  It was not the message he had been expecting.

  The three people had been sat in Holly’s enormous kitchen since early morning. Almost a whole day had passed since Jack had sent the message and they were beginning to fear the worst.

  Holly poured yet another coffee
and carried it across to Jack, sitting on the stool by the breakfast bar. She placed an arm around his shoulder and he responded by wrapping a strong arm around her waist. Rosa stretched her arms gingerly in the air, still feeling the bruises ache as she extended her hands towards the ceiling. She settled into the chair by the wooden table, in the centre of the room. The silent, nervous wait continued. Holly made for the sink and set about washing the dishes while she gazed out of the window, looking down at the freshly mown lawn of the garden. She hoped the call would arrive soon and put the smile back on her lover’s face, finding it hard to cope with the sad look in his eyes.

  The green light on the mobile started to flash, the quiet humming noise sending a gentle vibration skimming across the table top. Jack sprang from his seat and grabbed at the phone.

  “Is it Matt?” asked Rosa.

  Jack nodded. He opened the text and she looked over his shoulder to read the message.

  “SK 22.30, what does that mean?”

  “Skagway, at ten thirty,” he said, looking at his watch.

  Rosa inspected the sailing schedule before referring to the map of Alaska.

  “The ship is due to leave Skagway at ten, their time. It’s a long way, Jack. Can we make it?”

  “We have to,” said Jack. “If we leave now it’s possible.”

  He wasn’t sure. Rosa walked over to the holdall on the bench and pulled out a handgun and clicked the magazine free to check it was fully loaded. Holly looked on, aghast.

  “Is that real?”

  Rosa’s eyes darted towards the woman at the kitchen sink before returning to the bag, to pull out two further magazines and strap them to her belt.

  “Jack, must you do this?” asked Holly, fearfully.

  He moved to where she was now sitting, at the wooden table, and squatted beside her.

  “We’re his only shot to get away,” he said calmly, “I can‘t let him down.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s why Rosa is coming. She’s trained to protect big oafs like me,” he said, grinning broadly.

  His words failed to comfort her. Jack understood the danger and was determined to play it down, placating Holly with humour and small, tender gestures. He spotted the wry smile on Rosa’s face through the corner of his eye.

  She knew Tillman worked a target in teams of three. If Matt did get off the ship alive he would likely have all three to deal with. There was every prospect their own arrival would make them targets as well.

  Holly’s distress steadily rose as she watched, transfixed, as the younger woman continued to expertly examine the tools of death at her disposal. Jack worked hard to reassure Holly but his intentions were lost in her fear, falling on deaf ears.

  Leaving the case, Rosa emptied the plastic supermarket bag to reveal a box of hair dye and a large pair of scissors.

  “Jack?” she asked, nodding at the other two holdalls under the wooden table. “They’re cargo for the plane. Can you load them for me please, while Holly helps me with these?”

  He nodded and kissed Holly on the end of the nose.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. We’ll pick Matt up and be back as soon as we can. Don’t worry. Yur won’t get away from me that easy.”

  He gave her the nicest smile, the warmest gaze.

  The real Jack, thought Rosa, glancing across and witnessing their intimacy. She’d taken to the big Canadian. He never ceased to surprise her.

  Jack carried the holdalls outside and Rosa ushered Holly upstairs to the bathroom. The older woman stopped halfway and turned to confront Rosa‘s energetic pursuit up the stairs.

  “Rosa, I don’t want to lose him,” she said, her eyes moist with fear.

  “No chance,” said Rosa. “I’m too good for that to happen.”

  Holly felt better.

  Grace and Matt sat shivering together on the covered bench. The ship grudgingly disappeared from sight. It had taken several long minutes for the huge iron mass to manoeuvre away from where it had docked, and then turn itself around for the next leg of its journey. Lit up from bow to stern by the many hundreds of lights, switched on to try and dispel the blackness of the night, the huge shape resembled a floating candelabra as it cut a path through the silent waters of the deep sea inlet.

  Another liner, bigger and brighter with its extra lighting, moored a short distance from shore where it would anchor until the morning. The shapes of the tall mountain range sitting behind were lost in the pitch blackness of the night.

  Cold continued to bite into them, now the warmth of the ship’s heating had taken flight from their bodies. The bench was placed about a hundred yards from the pier and a good half mile from the centre of Skagway, a tiny frontier-like town comprising no more than what seemed like half a dozen short streets in total. Like most urban areas on the coast of Alaska it was accessible effectively only by sea or floatplane. As the lights of the cruise ship were finally extinguished from view, Matt reached into the shopping bag he had been carrying and produced a fleece jacket.

  “Try this,” he said. “It’ll help to keep out the cold.”

  “When did you get this?”

  “While you were taking one of your long showers, I nipped downstairs to the shop. Not pretty but effective.”

  She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the jacket and pulled up the front zip. The fleece lining helped to retain what little heat remained in her delicate frame. This was the last thing she would have chosen to wear, the dark brown fake fur exterior patterned as it was with images of wolves and bears.

  “Matt, what’s going on?” she moaned. “I don’t understand why you had us bundled off the boat, or even how they would allow us get off. How are we going to get home? It’s hardly a bus route. This is crazy.”

  “I told the ship’s captain there is a family emergency and a floatplane is on its way.”

  “And is it?”

  “Yes, Jack’s on his way as we speak,” he answered.

  “But why,” Grace replied, the pitch of her voice heightened in further irritation.

  “Jack sent me a message.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “Text, to say we were under surveillance on the boat. He’s agreed to come and pick us up.”

  “And you believed him? Jack’s hardly an intelligence expert. More like someone who needs a dose of intelligence.”

  “I did some checking on the library internet, as a result of Jack’s note,” he continued, “on our two newlywed friends.”

  “Matt! That’s disgraceful. How would you feel if someone did that to you without your consent, invaded your privacy?”

  Her mood was dark and unforgiving, a complete contrast to everything he had previously understood her to be.

  “That’s not important. I’ve found out some interesting stuff about them,” he insisted.

  “Stuff?” she seethed. “They’re a perfectly ordinary down-to-earth couple enjoying a honeymoon cruise, which is more than can be said about either of us or, more particularly, you!”

  Whilst Matt understood her anger at being involuntarily taken off the boat Grace’s unpleasant and barbed responses towards his attempted explanation, given their circumstance, was beginning to get under his skin.

  “There is an Evans Packaging in Slough, with a director called Robert. But the picture on the website looks nothing like the guy we’ve been dining with the last few nights,” he said. “I arranged for a note to be delivered to let them know we were both ill, as cover.”

  “You’re being paranoid and completely over-reacted to Jack’s message. He’s not exactly the brightest light bulb on the planet,” she said scathingly.

  Her cutting remark raised the anger building inside. It was so unlike her.

  “Think what you will about Jack but he’s like a brother to me. I’d trust the man with my life, with both our lives. If he tells me we are in danger then I believe him.”

  As the temperature of the debate rose their warmth towa
rds each other cooled. They hadn’t argued before. Matt insisted he was right to be ultra cautious, whilst a cold and dispirited Grace refused to accept his pleas for understanding.

  “Shush!” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “I thought I heard something. Maybe it’s Jack.”

  The conversation stopped and they could hear the drone of an engine, steadily growing louder. The flashing wing lights of an airborne craft appeared in the dark sky, heading towards them from the direction the cruise ship had taken. The lights lowered from the sky, onto the surface of the sea.

  “I’ll carry the cases,” he told her, promptly taking one in each hand and lifting them from the ground. “With any luck Jack will have the heating on,” he quipped.

  He strode energetically towards the wooden jetty stretching out into the water, close to the main platform where the cruise liner had docked. Matt had covered most of the distance when he thought he saw a movement ahead of them, and ducked instinctively. A noise flashed over his head, magnified by the still night. It sounded to him like a missile being ejected from a blowpipe.

  He looked again, straining his eyes to see ahead. He could feel his heart beat a little quicker, the adrenalin pump a little faster through his body. There was no movement, no unusual shadows flickering in the moonlight. Rising to his feet he took another step forward and heard the blowpipe sound again, followed by a stinging sensation to his left shoulder.

  Within a few paces he felt the intensity of the stinging grow. The rising discomfort made him stop, and he dropped the suitcases to the ground. He reached to touch his aching shoulder and felt the warm, thick liquid seeping through his shirt. There was no more stinging, only pain; a hot and sharp unbearable pain. And then the nausea started. Dropping to his knees he shouted for Grace to get away. He collapsed onto the ground and rolled on to his back.

  The sight of the stars glittering in the night sky was all he could see as the temperature in his body dropped to mirror that of the cold, concrete floor he was lying on. His mind finally absorbed the shock to his system, the increasing pain in his shoulder and the liquid seeping from his body. He’d been shot.

  Matt had never felt pain like this before.

  Not here. Please, anywhere else but here, he thought. This can’t be the place.

  Grace had caught up with him and knelt by his side. There was only one, dimly lit, street light nearby. The moon shone, not bright enough to illuminate all of her face. He struggled to keep his eyelids raised as the rising pain dug deeper into his psyche.

  “Go, Grace. Run. Hide,” he urged.

  Gently she lifted the lapel of the jacket from his shoulder and inspected the wound. A hand started to urgently pat his body and search through his clothes, digging into his pockets whilst he gasped for air. He felt the hand arrive at the small pouch on the inside of the jacket and pull back the zip, freeing the object from his protection while he lay helpless.

  Matt’s eyes were fixed upon Grace’s figure as she rose to her feet with the freshly retrieved object in hand, poised to speak into the mobile phone.

  “Bill Francis,” she spoke, and then waited.

  He assumed she was calling for help, a doctor perhaps to tend his bleeding wound. Then he remembered the name. Bill Francis, it was a name from the Milieu files.

  “It’s me,” she said. “The target’s disabled. I’ve found one copy but there are more,” she continued into the machine.

  “No, Grace!” he called. “You don’t know what it contains, what’s in the files, what’s at stake.”

  The moonlight brightened and caught her face, revealing her eyes. They were cold and dark, aloof and dispassionate, as they were when she had assaulted Rosa in Victoria. He tried to stretch out his healthy arm to grasp her leg, to shake some sense into her. She stepped adroitly out of his reach.

  Grace continued listening to the device, taking instruction whilst ignoring Matt’s begging; his plea to her humanity.

  “Skagway,” she replied, “his friend has landed. I’ll take care of it,” he heard her say. More instructions followed.

  “What shall I do with the target?” she asked.

  Matt knew the answer, the mental picture of the order being relayed already in his mind. Finish him!

  Grace flipped the phone shut and slid it into the side pocket of the fleece coat. He watched in horror as she knelt down to pick something up and then stood upright, pointing the weapon straight at him.

  “Where are the copies?” she enquired coldly.

  “Grace, don’t do this,” he begged again. “You can’t return these files, you mustn’t give them up.”

  His pained expression failed to alter her cold, inhuman stare.

  “It hardly matters,” she said, shrugging her shoulders with the realisation he wasn’t going to comply. “You’ve already told me no-one else knows. It would have been a bonus, that’s all.”

  “Grace, this is the wrong thing to do,” he whispered. He was struggling to believe, didn’t want to believe what his eyes now told him. “For so many reasons,” he added.

  She said nothing in reply.

  “Grace, you know I love you and wouldn’t lie. Surely that counts for something.”

  Her finger rested on the trigger. Matt saw her expression change as though in mental turmoil, in sudden doubt about the instruction given. He wondered if he had got through, hoping reason had succeeded in winning the inner argument. Then he heard her cock the trigger, and he knew. Matt closed his eyes to avoid witnessing approaching death. He felt like crying.

  Dear gentle Grace, the woman he believed to be the love of his life, was about to end his very existence. As the pain ate into his shoulder he heard the blowpipe sound one more time, and darkness consumed him.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Clarence, Henry & Willow