Another day, same old routine; plush, luxurious car followed by the discomfort of the back of a transit van. He filled in the time by reassessing the timings and distances of this part of the route and matched them against his original notes. They were almost a mirror reflection. Catherine hadn’t stepped out to greet him this occasion. Shown into the usual room, Marius soon appeared.
“Is that the inventory?” he asked.
Matt nodded and pushed it forward across the table surface for him to examine.
“Excellent,” said the grey-haired man.
“Where’s Catherine?”
“In conference, she will join us shortly. I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”
Coffee soon arrived, courtesy of the scarily tall Francine. He settled into a chair expecting a long wait. The door opened before he’d taken his first sip and a young woman sauntered into the room. He’d thought they’d left her behind at the dock. Clearly she had travelled separately, taken a different form of transport. She plucked a cup from the table, poured out a coffee and sat in the adjacent chair.
“You never did tell me your name,” he said.
“Vera,” she replied.
“Vera! You’re either older than you look or just stepped out of a time warp.”
Her expression betrayed no offence.
“You know what they say about sharp minds. Eventually they end up cutting their owners,” she said.
“Aren’t you a little young for this line of work?”
“I look young because you’re getting older.”
She was sharp. Underestimating others leads to dangerous complacency. Rosa had taught him that.
“Why didn’t you introduce yourself earlier?”
“I arrived some time after you’d sailed, by helicopter.”
“Helicopters easy to hire these days are they?”
“They are from Feltwell.”
“Isn’t that a military base, USAF support?”
“I’m seriously impressed.”
“You have a tendency to collect odd snippets of vaguely interesting information as you get older.”
If the warmth in her subsequent smile wasn’t genuine she was a consummate actress.
“I thought military had to wear uniform. Or is the virtual non-dress you had on last night the current regulation for the armed services?”
Her left eyebrow rose sharply at the quip.
“You sound like my father.”
“Ouch,” he said. “And you sound like you enjoy putting older people in their place.
“I spent several years at university studying for a Masters degree in archaeology, so as you can see I’m quite used to handling relics.”
The riposte broadened his smile.
“Is Vera your real name?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re too young to be blessed with the name Vera, despite your line of study.”
“Then you’ve answered your own question.”
He sipped at the rim and settled back as the door opened and Catherine appeared, looking first to Marius.
“It is all here.”
Catherine nodded and stood over the others.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Nothing,” said Vera. “No sightings of her disembarking after docking and no-one had seen her leave beforehand. In fact, none of the passengers or crew appeared to have noticed her at any time throughout the cruise.”
“What happened?” asked Catherine of Matt.
He shook his head.
“Leave us,” she ordered to the rest.
Once the door closed she made a coffee and glided into the remaining comfortable chair without speaking. He waited until she was ready.
“I repeat, what happened?”
“She didn’t want to come back.”
“Did she say why?”
“Stefan,” he said. “Her mind is made up.”
Catherine glanced to the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the abortion?”
Her eyes flickered with surprise before recovering their customary composure.
“It was not my place to say.”
“Are you holding something back?”
She held his puzzled look with a steadfast gaze and then her lips widened to a casual smile.
“You could not expect me to be candid on such a sensitive issue,” she replied.
As explanations go it was a reasonable stab but he couldn’t help feeling there was more to it.
“You have made a good impression.”
“On?”
“Those seeking the inventory’s return,” she said. “They are very pleased.”
“So I’m done?”
“There remains the matter of Rosa.”
“Oh no,” he said. “That wasn’t in their brief.”
“It was in mine.”
“I brought her to your front door, so to speak. I can’t make her cross the threshold.”
“Nevertheless, it was what you agreed with me.”
She was beginning to sound obsessive, an unpleasant and unfamiliar character trait he wouldn’t normally associate with someone like her.
“What did you tell them?”
“She is unaccounted for.”
“And they’re comfortable with that?”
“Yes.”
“So the pressure’s off.”
Catherine glanced to the window giving the impression of being somewhat distracted. He was curious to think what she might have promised Stefan, and why satisfying this guy’s needs would be so important to her.
“I have news,” she said.
“News?” he said.
“A local vagrant was arrested in connection with the brutal murder of Matthias Schumann. He has been identified as being in the general vicinity at the time of the incident and his fingerprints were found at the crime scene. The authorities have identified this vagrant as the real culprit and he is to be charged with the offence of murder. This new information shows Gratia was wrongfully accused and the charges against her have been subsequently withdrawn.”
“You’re trying to tell me the local police have by chance and after all this time happened to come across a passing vagrant who, despite Gratia’s confession, turns out to have been the real perpetrator all along?”
“Yes. I expected you would be pleased for Gratia now that the path has been cleared for her to resume her career as Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries.”
His mind struggled to take in the news, news that could irrevocably change everything.
“What are you playing at?”
“Play?” she said. “I never play.”
“Gratia doesn’t want to return to Schafen.”
“By chance I happened to be in St Wolfgang at the same time Gratia was there visiting her father so I brought her up to date on the happy news.”
“You never go back to St Wolfgang.”
“I did on this occasion. Such is fate.”
He could feel imaginary walls closing in on him, choking the surrounding air from his lungs.
“Like I said, she doesn’t want to go back. Why should she when we’ve just bought a house …”
“Gratia has agreed to return.”
“Don’t you dare try and manipulate us.”
Her smile evaporated, the warmth disappearing from her eyes in an instant.
“Gratia has returned to her old life.”
“You’re lying.”
“Perhaps you would like to hear it directly? I can arrange for Francine to set up a video link, if you wish?”
His anger boiled to the point where he almost couldn’t be legally held responsible for his actions. Her impassive façade refused to yield to the fierce, visual interrogation from his eyes. He tried again but couldn’t break through.
“Do you wish for the link to be established or not? The choice is yours.”
He nodded, unable to speak for fear of losing control, and she left him with
his rage. Minutes of angry pacing followed as he waited, his mind swirling with uncertainty and disbelief over what might follow. The door opened and Francine placed a laptop on the table. His eyes screamed fury. Get out they said. Once she’d departed he took a few deep, short breaths to regain some sort of equilibrium and pressed the live button. Her face appeared on screen.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello, Matt.”
“Are you good?”
“I’m good.”
The conversation stuttered to an untidy halt, the way it does when people have met for the first time and are unsure how to break through the initial uncertainty.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m with Catherine in Northern France, not too far from St Wolfgang,” he said. “And you?”
“Munich,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation.
“I thought the background was a little unfamiliar. What are you doing there?”
Her glance flickered to the pen cradled between her hands and returned to the screen. It was already clear to him how this was going to play out.
“I think you know why I’m here.”
He kept telling himself to stay calm, speak to her with an even tone. Words scrambled around in his head but refused to form, wouldn’t order into a meaningful sentence.
“I’d hoped this conversation would be easier,” he heard her say. “The fact we are talking over this link suggests Catherine has spoken to you already.”
“Catherine now is it? Whatever happened to the devious bitch Vogel who couldn’t be trusted?”
Gratia nipped at her taut lips.
“This is something I must do.”
“No it isn’t. It’s something you might have chosen to do but not something you must do.”
“I have given the issue great thought…”
“The sum total of a few seconds if I’m to believe anything Catherine tells me.”
“I have not made this decision lightly...”
“And you made it without talking to me?”
He heard a voice calling her name, drawing her away from the screen. Gratia turned to answer, face visibly relieved at the intervention. He should have used the time to adopt a more reasonable and conciliatory stance. Reason had long deserted him, however, but rather than erupt with rage he felt strangely and eerily numbed. Business concluded, she returned to the matter at hand.
“This is another chance for me,” she said.
Gratia by all accounts appeared determined to do this, to the detriment of anything else. If timing is everything in life this had put Matt in a timeless limbo, taking the wind from his sails and leaving him becalmed on the open sea. Seemingly drained of the ability to speak she took the opportunity to fill the gap in the conversation.
“I had hoped you would be supportive,” she said. “You are after all familiar with the concept of placing all else aside to grasp at a second opportunity.”
Like a defibrillator to the heart the words made him jump, shocking him back to life. Only they hadn’t just brought him alive, now he was aflame with incandescent rage.
“That’s totally different.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
“You mean in your plush leather chair behind your plush wooden desk in your opulent office replete with bone china cups filled with the finest Indian tea. Yeah, I guess from there it would be easy to consider yourself as one of the masses.”
The barb crossed the line. He knew it did. But he wasn’t going to take it back.
“There is the added bonus of being closer to both papa and Martha,” she said calmly. “Does the prospect of living so close to them not appeal to you?”
“It escapes your attention that there are very few openings for floatplane pilots in the centre of Europe.”
“There will be other things you can do.”
“Such as what?” he demanded.
“Does it matter? My salary will more than compensate until you find your feet.”
“You want me to give up my world, sacrifice everything I’ve built up and worked to achieve …”
He regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth, the instant he saw the pain inflicted on her face. The phrases digging holes and deep ground sprang to mind. She glanced at the desk surface and fiddled again with the expensive ink pen in her hands while she waited for him to reconsider his stance, apologise for the contemptuous remark. Matt understood their relationship was at stake. He had to make a choice.
“I can’t be a house husband.”
The subtle twirling of the ink pen in her hands stopped, too quickly for his liking.
“Then Vogel has won,” she said.
Gratia had made her decision. The die was cast.
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I have to get back to work,” she said, after a pause.
“Just like that,” he snapped.
“I am needed. Something requires my attention.”
The connection terminated, and her face disappeared in the blink of an eye. She’d ended the conversation, probably their life together, with the flick of a switch. He stared at the empty screen, bewildered and feeling suddenly alone.
The door swung open and a shape walked to the window and turned, resting her back to the wall to get a good view of his pensive expression.
“Your conversation has ended?”
“I could kill you for this.”
“You present upset is understandable. But you will recover in time.”
“This wasn’t what we agreed.”
“On the contrary you asked we facilitate a family reunion in return for the inventory and we have duly complied. Gratia has chosen to take it a step further.”
“Because you’ve manipulated the situation,” he yelled.
“I shall repeat. Gratia chose this path, not I. All I did was to provide the option.”
He snatched up the coffee pot and hurled it against the far wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces at the same time as roaring in unadulterated rage. The anger released he turned his stare on Catherine and brought fear to her eyes. For the first time he had frightened her.
“What the hell do you know?”
“Why are you so surprised?” she said. “Before Gratia had the misfortune to come across you the world was her oyster. By day she mingled with the international business barons of the world, by night with the rich and famous. She had respect, stature, access to the most highly prized designer goods on the planet. Gratia ate at the finest restaurants, filled her free time with evenings at the theatre, culture. How could you possibly hope to compete, fill the void in her life? You, a float plane pilot and part time assassin from the backwaters of Canada. It was always going to end this way, inevitable.”
They say the truth hurts. And Matt hurt. All he could think to do was lash out.
“You could be right,” he said. “I might be no more than you describe. But I might also be the man who brings down your kind from the stratosphere, the man who clutches at your ankles and brings you all crashing down to earth.”
Catherine latched on to his ill-timed, careless remark, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“What have you found?”
He turned away and walked to the window.
“What have you found?” she repeated.
“I find you rep …”
The sound of an infant’s cries interrupted the flow of his acid tone. Catherine gave him no time to pick up the thread, leaving to urgently attend the call. He shuffled uncomfortably around the room, waiting for her return, thoughts repeatedly evaluating the content of his exchange with Gratia. The door opened and Catherine reappeared, Ilsa cradled in her arms.
“The driver is waiting to take you,” she said.
Making swiftly for the door he pointedly refused to answer or look in her direction. The handle turned.
“Matt?”
He stopped.
“If you interfere with our plans, do anything which m
ight lead Ilsa to endure a life of anarchy, violence and shortage I swear on my daughter’s life to use every tool at my disposal to hunt you down like a dog.”
He blinked, considered responding, and then left.
Chapter Twenty Five
The Promise