The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

“I’d stop there if I was you, Bill,” said the woman standing behind the colossus, and he spun around to address the voice.

  “Cain, where the hell did you spring from?”

  Matt looked over to see Rosa pointing the gun at Francis. She looked terrible. Wet, bedraggled and with sullen eyes, she looked in no shape to even pull the trigger.

  His reaction was immediate. Perhaps it was the in-built instinct to survive, or maybe it was hearing Rosa’s weak voice that spurred him into action. Whichever case, it gave him one final opportunity to keep his promise.

  A burst of adrenalin coursed through his veins and the fog cleared from his mind, allowing him to think straight. Matt propped his arms solidly to the ground and swung his right leg in a wide arc to catch Francis from behind, toppling the giant from his perch and causing his body to fall and slide over the lip of the rocky spur.

  Matt could hear him scrambling for grip and looked down upon Francis’ terrified face. A clump of rock gave way under his desperate grasp, and the Canadian used the telescopic reach of his upper limbs to stretch out a bucket sized hand. It glued itself around his other hand, clamped firmly to another protruding piece of mountain in danger of breaking away. His enemy’s face was desperate, begging.

  “Durham,” he yelled, “for God’s sake, help me man.”

  Matt looked down upon the frightened face.

  “Sandra Hayes may well have been infatuated with a work colleague once upon a time, but Grace was in love with only one man. She was in love with me. You might want to ponder on that on your way back down,” said Matt, coldly.

  He lifted a foot and jammed the heel of his boot hard down against the crumbling stone, and it broke away completely. Matt felt no remorse towards the disappearing face as it dropped away from the side of the cliff face, only the inner glow of revenge.

  With Francis out of sight, Matt turned to attend to Rosa and walked gingerly towards her wan, ashen face. He was inches away when it hit him.

  “Jesus, you smell like shit!” he said.

  A glimmer of a weak smile crossed her lips then, in cinema fashion slow motion, she began to crumple to the ground. Matt stretched out his hands to break Rosa’s fall, and held her gently. The stink of her clothes from hiding in the pig sty was overpowering. This was no time to worry about that. He placed a hand to her damp brow and felt the cold perspiration.

  Matt lifted her into aching arms and carried the limp figure back to the hotel where Martin was waiting, his face a picture of awed amazement over what he had witnessed.

  “How is she?”

  “Weak,” replied Matt. “She needs to be warmed through and quickly. Is there anyone inside the hotel?”

  “Gerhardt”

  “Go and tell him I need a room urgently for Rosa. Any room will do.”

  Martin threw open the door and Matt carried the human parcel into the room. He looked around for anything that might help.

  “Gerhardt has to go down to the village” said Martin. “He will visit the doctor and ask her to return with me.”

  “No,” said Matt immediately. “No-one must know we are here. This must be kept secret, please.”

  The Austrian nodded.

  “We shall return in the morning.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I much appreciate your help today. Safe journey,” Matt replied, beginning to unbutton Rosa’s drenched, smelly clothes.

  “Gerhardt says there are fresh clothes in the room at the end of the corridor, to your left. They are unlikely to fit, but they will be clean.”

  Matt nodded appreciatively as the Austrian departed.

  Touching her brow with the back of his hand he could feel it was as cold as ice, and knew he had to respond urgently. He raised her once more, walked into the shower and turned the tap. Using his hand to shield her eyes from the sudden surge of hot water, steam soon filled the room. Carefully, he wiped away the brownish black clumps of dirt glued to Rosa’s hair and a steady stream of muddy water made its way to the plughole. He’d hoped the hot liquid would bring her to consciousness but she made no sounds of life.

  Undressing the wet clothes from her body, he removed his own, and tossed them into the corner of the shower. He began to rub her soft skin vigorously; first to her arms and legs and then around her heart.

  “Come on, Rosa. Show some life,” he said. “Come on, I didn’t come all the way back to St Wolfgang for you to give up on me.”

  She moaned, ever so slightly, and he responded by rubbing harder; gradually coaxing some movement into her limbs. Rosa moaned again.

  “Matt,” she whispered.

  “That’s my girl,” he said excitedly. “That’s my beautiful Rosa.”

  “You came back.”

  “Of course I came back. I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” he said tenderly.

  “I’m so tired,” she said, “so cold and tired.”

  Matt turned the shower head off, reached for the towel and wrapped it around her. Easing Rosa away from the wet area he softly massaged her damp body with another towel, and then carried her to the bed. He rubbed gently over her hair to dry the remnants of the hot water. Moments later, she was safely tucked into the double bed and he began to breathe a little easier, feeling he had done all he could to this point.

  “Matt,” he heard her whisper again, “I’m so cold.”

  He never gave it a second thought. Just made sure he was dry himself, climbed into the bed and pulled her perilously cool body against his. Matt pressed his bruised torso into hers, determined to allow Rosa to drain every last drop of heat from his body.

  They lay for what seemed like an age, hours, before Rosa finally spoke again.

  “So you are like all other men, stop at nothing just to sleep with me.”

  A weary smile crossed his lips.

  “I’m pleased you’re feeling a little better. Maybe I can get warmed up now.”

  He rolled gingerly onto his back and Rosa followed his movement to snuggle back into him, resting her head onto his chest.

  “Matt?” she whispered.

  “Yes”

  She paused for a few moments.

  “Nothing, it’s nothing ... except I’m still feeling cold.”

  So he gritted his teeth, wrapped her tightly into his arms, and winced in silent agony as she pressed hard up against his bruised and battered body.

  “Jesus, Francis really kicked the crap out of you,” Rosa said, lifting her head from the pillow on seeing Matt standing at the end of the bed.

  Propping herself up she looked aghast at the blackened shapes peppering the flesh of his body. The ugliest bruise erupted from underneath the belt of his jeans, and spread almost the entire length of his back.

  “Yeah, the bastard was good, too bloody good,” he replied. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. You’ve no idea how uncomfortable a pig sty can be. They need to do something about that.”

  He smiled.

  “Then you’ll be up for this, then?” he said, holding up the wire clippers.

  “First of all, where did you find them? More importantly, what exactly are you thinking of doing?”

  “Roll onto your stomach,” he said, and a momentary look of horror crossed her face before doing as he’d asked.

  Rosa felt the tips of his fingers descend gently upon her skin and slide lightly down the course of her spine, from the top of the neck to her last vertebrae. It made the nerves in her back tingle and she shuddered ever so gently.

  Matt’s sensuous touch moved to the side of its original path with painstaking slowness and circled an area of her flesh. He stopped briefly then re-started the slow circling movement with an almost uncanny, erotic feel.

  She heard the snip of the cutters and could feel the first staple snap open, followed by the second, then the third. She thought to move but felt his hand gently press her form back to the mattress.

  “Wait,” he said, and Rosa could feel the ends of each staple being lightly prised away from her skin.
r />   A few seconds passed before he had finished. Instead of allowing her to rise, he resumed the slow and gentle, sensual circular movements to her lower form. She thought not to try and rise again, just allow and enjoy the tips of his fingers to weave patterns over her soft skin.

  Matt had no idea why he continued the exercise, only that he found it relaxing. Once again, Rosa had saved his life through an unexpected and well timed appearance. At the time he needed it most. He believed it was fated for their paths to cross at times of individual crisis, constantly zigzagging through each other’s lives. He was alive today because of Rosa, and she because of him.

  These interventions had brought them close, forging an unbreakable bond of friendship. Matt thought it surreal he should be touching and gazing down upon such a beauteous female form and think only that it was Rosa, true friend and loyal companion.

  They were a unit, a complementary partnership. This filled him with feelings of immense pride and admiration and ... something else, though he could not begin to describe it.

  Once Francis’ face had disappeared from his sight, falling headlong down the mountain screaming for salvation, Matt felt something release inside him; like a terrible weight had been jettisoned from the darkest recesses of his closed and bitter heart.

  Grace had dragged Matt towards the sun, burning his soul and scarring him forever. He hoped the healing process had begun and this would allow him to learn how to deal with her passing. It was time to look forward. Whilst the wound would never completely heal, he was determined not to allow her memory to crush his spirit.

  This brought Matt’s thoughts full circle, back to Rosa, lying patiently in front of him while he continued to exercise his deft touch around the contours of her back. She, too, had suffered a terrible loss. He wondered if she would ever find a way to eventually exorcise and release her inner ghosts and demons. He hoped so.

  Matt was so wrapped in thought he failed to notice Rosa’s head turn and see her luscious blue eyes gaze up. It took the soft and gentle touch of her hands to his face to shake him from the mental deliberation. She had sat up to bring her face within touching distance of his.

  Neither spoke. The laughter lines around her eyes became more visible as she tenderly smiled; the affection between the two almost tangible. Rosa appeared to understand what had been going through his mind. Maybe similar thoughts were occupying her own.

  “What are you thinking about, Matt?”

  “A warm night in Canada,” he whispered after a pause.

  “A warm night ... in Canada?” she queried.

  “The night in ...”

  The sound of the main hotel door opening startled both into action. Matt leapt up, gun in hand, and stood cautiously at the door. Rosa sprang to her feet and dressed hurriedly.

  “Martin and Gerhardt,” said Matt in relief, before adding “Martha, too.”

  The complement saw Matt’s eyes peering through the half open door and the woman raised a see through plastic bag in the air to display the eggs and other foodstuffs they had brought with them. The welcome was warm and friendly, despite the sickening odour emanating from the two fugitives. Martha doted upon Rosa like a loving mother smothers an infant child. This was the first occasion Matt had observed Rosa in a family type environment, for this is how it seemed, and she took to it like a duck takes to water.

  After they had changed into slightly ill-fitting clothes, they joined the others in the kitchen and listened to Martin dominating the conversation. He told how expertly Matt had disposed of two of the bad men before witnessing the incredible beating inflicted upon him by Francis. He spoke of Rosa’s intervention, which saved the day, causing Martha to beam with maternal-like pride.

  Eventually, Matt broke into the monologue. He related how events had unfurled which led him to believe they had been betrayed by Catherine Vogel.

  “No,” said Gerhardt, immediately. “That is never possible. Catherine Vogel is the best of people and would never betray anyone in the village.”

  Matt pointed out many years had passed since Vogel left the village to seek fame and fortune in the Belgian capital, and it was possible for anyone to change within the strict confines of a political environment.

  “No,” Gerhardt insisted. “Catherine is not capable of such a thing. She may have made a misjudgement over her child, but never betrayal.”

  “You all know about that?” said a surprised Matt.

  “But of course,” said Martha. “Everyone knows about Eva-Maria, except Eva-Maria.”

  “It’s Vogel,” insisted Matt. “Everything points to her.”

  “Who?” interjected Martin, “who else knew of your times in St Wolfgang?”

  “Only Johannes,” replied Matt quietly, glancing across to Rosa’s blank stare.

  “And Johannes’ cousin, Wilhelm,” she said in even quieter tone, without lifting her gaze.

  A silence descended upon the table and the Austrians seemed to retreat into their individual contemplations.

  “What of Julia?” Martha asked. “Was she also aware?”

  “I saw her in the village the other day,” answered Rosa, quizzically. “What of it?”

  Another silence ensued before Gerhardt nodded towards Martha.

  “Catherine and Julia were lovers,” she began, “for some years.”

  “That’s impossible,” remarked a shocked Matt, “Vogel has a child for God’s sake and Julia has two of her own!”

  She tipped her head sideways and shrugged her shoulders.

  “This is very true but the two were, indeed, lovers. It is the real reason why Catherine hardly ever returns to the village, to avoid Julia.”

  Matt looked to Rosa who shook her head in surprise.

  “When Catherine left for Brussels she had to make an uncomfortable choice, for she was filled with huge desire to do good things,” the Austrian woman continued. “To be gay was one thing, to be involved in a gay affair with a cousin is an entirely different matter.”

  The pieces began to fall into place for Matt.

  “Such news would have broken Catherine’s career long before it had started,” continued Martha. “It was a choice that did not find favour with Julia. She has been dangerously bitter since. Though Catherine does not know this.”

  “I can understand how this could make Julia critical of Catherine, but what doesn’t add up is Julia is now married to Wilhelm and has children by him.”

  Martha shrugged her shoulders again.

  “Men rarely notice the true feelings of women, unable to grasp the real emotion that lies beneath. Once Catherine had been caught with child Julia spoke openly of her ambition to bear two children or more, intent on upstaging Catherine at every turn. Like most others, she has many different sides to her nature.”

  “Many of them unpleasant,” interrupted her husband.

  “Hush, Gerhardt. She is misguided, that is all. Wounded by what she saw as Catherine’s betrayal of their relationship.”

  Matt thought back to the night of the assault in the village, Julia had retired early to bed with the children. He recalled them passing the family on the stairs as they hurried to Matt’s room to begin the escape. Julia remained fully dressed, as if expecting to be up later in the night. Everything made sense.

  “To risk the lives of others, such as Johannes and Rosa, to avenge an unrequited love takes a very poor mind,” said Matt.

  “Ah, Julia clashed with Johannes often over the years,” replied Martha. “He would always defend Catherine, and Julia came to view his open support unkindly. However, she shed many tears at Johannes’ funeral for I do not believe she had intended that outcome.”

  Matt leaned across the table and touched Rosa’s hand.

  “Are you alright to keep talking about this?” he asked.

  Rosa smiled weakly and nodded.

  “Damn!” said Matt suddenly, hammering his fist against the wooden table and spinning out of the chair.

  “What? What is it, Matt?” asked a start
led Martin.

  He exhaled deeply and then cursed again.

  “Matt,” said Rosa “What’s wrong?”

  “Catherine agreed to stay in St Wolfgang during the festive recess, so we could plan a conference for the New Year, and is due to arrive today.”

  “So?” said Rosa.

  “We agreed to communicate by handwritten note. The notes are to be taped to the underside of a restaurant table, where we would alternate the order of our attendance. One day Catherine will eat first, the next it will be me.”

  “Not a big problem, then,” she said.

  “Oh but it is. Who do you think made the reservations? The one person in St Wolfgang Catherine would think she could trust above all, the same person that alerted the authorities to Rosa’s presence in the area.”

  The silence around the table told him the penny had dropped with the others. His mind searched for a solution, a way he could intercept Catherine’s arrival in the village before it was too late.

  “She will be coming by car, through St Gilgen?” he asked.

  “That would be the expected route,” said Gerhardt.

  “Martin, Gerhardt. I need your help. We have to get down there before her car passes through and bring Catherine up here, to the mountain, without Julia knowing.”

  “I’ll come as well,” said Rosa.

  “No,” he replied instantly. “You need to stay with Martha, to rest and regain some strength.”

  “No, Matt. I’m coming too,” she insisted, rising to her feet.

  He strode across and held each of her forearms gently in his hands.

  “Rosa, please. There should be no danger to this and I need you well, for the conference. Stay here with Martha until we return with Catherine.”

  “There was a time when I used to give the orders,” she said quietly.

  “And no doubt you will again once you’re better. For now though, let me pick up the slack until you’re fully recovered.

  It was an instinctive gesture, leaning forward to peck her lips with a soft kiss.

  “Please,” he said again, and she nodded reluctantly.

  “Matt,” she called out as they turned to leave. “Make sure Catherine changes everything before you bring her up.”

  “Everything,” he confirmed.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The Deceiver