Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

All Matt could remember of the dream was a soft pair of lips kissing his forehead. In his current semi-conscious state the dream had been replaced with the sound of an irritable voice, increasing in volume with every passing word.

  “Matthew, Matthew,” it kept repeating.

  He stirred the aching eyes, realising they’d had insufficient rest. As he opened them to the glaring sun, the gravel he was sure had been tipped under his eyelids began to grate and he cursed at the discomfort.

  “Matthew,” said the urgent voice again.

  “Tell me I’m dreaming or I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he replied to the voice.

  “You are very much alive and in the way. What in heaven possessed you to sleep outside for the night? Is your room not comfortable enough?”

  Matt sat up and swivelled his body to place his feet on the concrete ground. Instinct caused him rub at his eyes, an action he instantly regretted.

  “I thought I’d try and catch the dawn rise,” he said. “Looks like I fell asleep instead.”

  “Catch the dawn rise indeed.”

  With consciousness fully returning he looked around.

  “Where’s Gratia?”

  “She obviously had the good sense to retire to her room, where you should have been.”

  “What, in Gratia’s bed?”

  Martha’s next words were in German, accompanied by her hand smacking against the back of his head. Though he didn’t recognise every one of them, those he could understand were less than complimentary.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time you were out of my way. Now go. I will wake you in a few hours.”

  Matt was too tired to argue. Leadenly, yawning constantly, he eventually found the route to his room. He heard the door slam shut behind him and collapsed onto the bed. In seconds, he had succumbed once more to the need for sleep.

  The white ceiling was the first thing Matt saw on opening his eyes. He waited for them to gather their focus, knowing his mind was coming quickly from behind. The watch read three in the afternoon.

  Matt undressed and headed straight for the shower, in the forlorn hope the vigorous battering his body would receive from the hot water would breathe some life into him. The energetic rubbing of soap into his skin failed to stir him into active life. Washing his hair at the same speed only resulted in one of his eyes getting sore, caused by shampoo penetrating the side of an eyelid. It was a relief to escape the hot shower and return to the bed. The persistent, aggressive rubbing of his hair with the spare towel finally brought some semblance of considered thought back into his mind.

  Hauling the jeans up to his waist, he manoeuvred the belt buckle firmly into place. These were a new pair so he began to empty the jeans he’d discarded, starting with the small change in the back pocket. Matt had nearly finished the task when he discovered something was missing.

  The diary had gone.

  He might have dropped it. There was another, more likely, explanation. Flinging his shoe at the wall in anger at his own stupidity, he thumped his back against the mattress. There was no time to lose. He had to find Gratia as quickly as possible. All he could hope was that she hadn’t been foolish enough to poke her nose too deeply into his affairs. That final thought spurred him on to finishing dressing.

  Unable to see who he was looking for inside the building Matt hurried out to the concrete patio, anxiously scanning each and every one of the people-filled tables in view. He prayed either Martha or Gerhardt would be able to tell him when, and where, she had gone.

  “Good afternoon, Matthew.”

  “I’m sorry, Martha. Looks like I’ve overslept.”

  “Everyone needs to sleep, even you,” she said, reaching up to peck his cheek and straighten his collar. “Gerhardt has at last decided to replace the light bulb in the hall, when he can find a spare. He will be back soon.”

  Matt nodded and grimaced. It was meant to be a smile but he was far too anxious for that. He continued to be distracted by the ongoing search for the woman who had occupied his time last night. His mind was brought back to focus by the diminutive Austrian woman, pressing her fingers against his cheek so he would have to look her in the face. Reluctantly, he complied.

  “What possessed you to sit up all night?” she said, staring directly into his eyes.

  He grimaced again. Matt looked to the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze. Somehow, he plucked up enough courage to look at her, and noticed the side of her lip begin to break out into a motherly smile.

  “Gratia likes you. She asks many questions,” said Martha, straightening his collar again. “There, you are ready. Now go. Gratia has decided to work from the residence today and you have kept her waiting long enough.”

  The ugly smile returned before the nod.

  “Go,” she demanded.

  Matt hurried through the door and Gratia immediately raised a hand to prevent him from speaking, so as not to disturb her conversation on the mobile phone. He understood some of the German language but she spoke at such speed he found it impossible to follow. Matt hoped she was discussing company business.

  The room was a reasonable size, roughly fifteen feet by fifteen he estimated, housing a small wooden table and four chairs placed in the middle of the space. To the right was a small kitchen unit, hosting a coffee machine and a spare cup. A separate two seat leather sofa was pushed up against the left hand side, close to the far wall where the patio doors had been opened to let in the afternoon breeze. He could see a white, rectangular plastic table on the wooden balcony accompanied by some chairs.

  Matt’s eyes searched the room. The diary was nowhere to be seen. His gaze drifted back towards Gratia, roaming the wooden flooring as she spoke.

  She had a different outfit on today. Her white knee length skirt was perfectly cut into her midriff, emphasising her slim waist and attractively shaped legs. The tan, short sleeved cashmere top clung tightly to her chest before disappearing behind the light brown belt of the skirt. Her hair seemed an even blacker colour in daylight. Once again she wore minimal layers of make-up, which made her youthful complexion all the more remarkable.

  Matt considered he’d been right to describe her as beautiful, only more so now than he’d originally believed. His attention was drawn to her left hand, scratching lightly at the top of her head as she spoke. There was the diary.

  Her talking stopped and she began to listen to what Matt assumed was incoming information. She moved to the table and began to scribble on a large notepad. The numbers and letters were being writ large, full of boldness and confidence. Matt could do nothing other than wait for the call to end. He walked over to the open patio windows and stood, trying to be patient. Sensing a presence approaching, he turned.

  “Good morning,” she said, “even though it is nearly four. You were right, the rising sun was magical.”

  Matt had entered the room in a foul temper; more than a little upset she had relieved him of the diary without consent. He knew he wanted to be angry. He had every right to be angry, and he opened his mouth to tell her he was angry.

  “Good morning,” was as much as he could manage to get out of his mouth.

  Her eyes sparkled to accompany the broad smile on her face, and she held her gaze for several seconds. The only way he was going to break this spell would be to look out of the window or walk away and pour out a coffee, anything to break the eye contact so he could put on his Mr Angry face and address her sharply. As it happened, he did none of these things. She was so close he could almost taste the scented perfume on her skin.

  “Sleep well?” she asked with a bright smile.

  “It was a very long five minutes.”

  “My fault, I fell asleep also once dawn had broken. When I woke it was close to eight and you remained in what can only be described as a coma. So I decided it was better to leave you to rest.”

  “Gratia ...” he began, intending to assert his authority in no small measure over the whereabouts of the missing diary.

&nb
sp; She cut him short by pulling him to the table and picking up the diary she had left beside the cup of coffee.

  “This loosened from your pocket. I thought I would use the time to ...”

  Without warning, his arm reached for her hand and gripped it firmly, bringing the oration to a halt.

  “Gratia, you must stop. Now,” he said.

  Her bright smile faded into a worried canvas. Matt’s tone was harsher than he’d intended.

  “This information is for your benefit. What would take you days, possibly weeks, to discover I can recover in a matter of hours,” she said.

  “You must stop,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “I don’t want you involved in this, period.”

  She returned his hardened stare without flinching, with an implacably cool expression told him she wasn’t going to back down.

  “Promise me you will stop,” he said.

  Matt thought he had met tough negotiators before. This woman was nothing short of lethal. But to back down now would leave him defenceless to her will.

  “I don’t want you involved,” he repeated.

  She blinked.

  “I’m already involved,” she countered.

  Her admission startled him. They’d only known each other a matter of hours. He reminded himself of the purpose of his visit, to secure Rosa Cain’s help. Failing that, he would travel to Brussels and ask Catherine Vogel for assistance. The first was a trained assassin, the other a powerful and consummate politician. Gratia was neither. It was unfortunate Rosa would not return for another two weeks, even more so that Catherine was also away. Gratia may be able to help him, but he didn’t want her drawn into his problems. Somehow, he had to find a way to discourage her.

  “How can you be involved? We barely know each other.”

  “I know enough,” she said, after a pause.

  Matt knew he had to dig deep.

  “You think you do. I suspect loneliness has got the better of you.”

  The cutting remark failed to make an impression.

  “We were both lonely, until last night,” she said.

  He didn’t want to say it. He really didn’t want to say it.

  “You might have been lonely. I was only interested in a quick screw and you looked as though you might have been up for it. The fact you are a multinational Chief Executive would have been a bonus, that’s all.”

  Matt hated himself for the harsh words he’d spoken. But if Gratia was hurt, she hid any angry emotions with admirable professionalism.

  “Judging by the speed with which you fell asleep in my arms, then it would likely have been a very quick encounter indeed.”

  The barb hit its mark, causing him to blink involuntarily. Matt had said an awful thing to Gratia, worthy of the utmost contempt. Yet her resistance to his verbal assault was nothing short of stoic, returning his serve with interest and then some. The atmosphere had now filled with awkward tension and distrust.

  “What is it you are not telling me?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “I do not want your help,” was all he could manage to say in response.

  They continued to stare fiercely at each other. He found it impossible to read into her mind or interpret the stillness of her body. Finally, her eyes narrowed.

  “As you wish,” she said, moving away from him. “Behave in the manner of an obstinate pig, if you insist.”

  He watched her stride aggressively towards the door and fiercely grip at the handle. She turned and glowered straight into his eyes.

  “But you should know my involvement with you rests only in the diary. The letter S, on the front, represents the logo of Schafen Industries. It is one of a small number printed for the use of a selective number of senior executives. The fact you had this diary leads me to suspect something is out of place. I had hoped we could have co-operated on this, but ... you do not wish for my assistance.”

  The door slammed shut, leaving Matt speechless. Feeling ridiculous didn’t come close. Gratia had played him from the minute he had revealed his ownership of the diary. This was her only point of interest in him, nothing else. Like a bull in a china shop, he had charged into the angry exchange without thinking. What a fool. Gratia was right about one thing. He had behaved like an obstinate farm animal.

  The late evening meal was challenging. Gratia had returned home, citing tiredness and a busy schedule as the reason for her departure. Matt barely spoke. He was polite enough, but far from his usual self. Martha and Gerhardt did their best to draw him into conversation. Getting blood from a stone would have been more fulfilling. The time had reached nine thirty when Martha could contain her curiosity no longer.

  “What have you said?” she demanded.

  Matt hunched his shoulders and looked apologetically to Gerhardt. The older man smiled and asked his wife to bring another two cold bottles. Her departure was fraught with over emphasis but at least prevented her from asking any further questions.

  “Gratia rarely reveals any disappointment,” said Gerhardt, more in statement than enquiry as he sipped the remnants from his bottle.

  Matt glanced across at the Austrian. Gerhardt’s returning smile was filled with warmth towards the younger man.

  “Unfinished arguments are the worst of their kind, do you not agree?” he added. “It is always so much harder to re-start a conversation.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it old friend,” replied Matt after a pause. “It’s highly unlikely I’ll be crossing paths with Gratia again.”

  Gerhardt raised an eyebrow. He peered over Matt’s head to look inside the residence.

  “Quick, Matt” he said. “Pass me a cigarette, before Martha returns.”

  And then he laughed aloud. Matt retired soon after with a smile on his face. He really did love the old man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hameln (Ham)