He wondered if she had come to meet him. Exiting passport control his anxious eyes scanned the sea of faces waiting to greet the new arrivals. The slim-fitting white lace strapless top caught his eye and then he saw the long raven hair covering her bare shoulders. Matt had once remarked the top made her look particularly stunning and he took this as a positive sign to her current demeanour.
“Hi,” he said, on reaching her.
“Hi.”
Why the processes of speech deserted him beyond this initial exchange was a mystery.
“You got out quickly,” she said.
“First class,” he replied with a shrug.
She tried to smile. He couldn’t.
“You look fantastic,” he said.
Her Guinness eyes threatened a warm welcome, which was more than he could manage.
“The things you will say to get people to meet you.”
“It’s worked once before.”
“And now twice,” she said
At last, he felt his facial muscles relaxing into a smile.
“So we’re good?” he asked.
“We’re good.”
He dropped the case to the floor and wrapped her in his arms, his relief palpable to anybody bothered to observe the reunion.
“We must never argue like that again,” she whispered into his ear.
“Don’t worry. I’ll know better in future.”
She laughed gently.
“Maybe on one or two issues,” she said.
“Okay.”
“But you must always give in at the end.”
“Okay,” he said.
Neither wanted to relax their grip and they stood quietly for some time. Eventually, he looked at his watch.
“I’ve brought you a peace offering,” he said. “It’s back in there.”
She moved her head back and looked him in the eye.
“You were that worried?”
“Briefly,” he said.
He clasped her hand tightly and led her deeper into the airport, through a seemingly circuitous and intricate route to a room fronted by a thick wooden door marked private. Matt nodded politely at the security guard positioned there.
“Have you robbed a bank?”
“Better than that I hope,” he said. “You go first. I’ll join you in a minute or two.”
“What are you up to?”
“Don’t argue,” he said with a warm smile. “Go and see.”
The guard rapped his knuckles at the window and the door opened. Matt nudged her forward.
She stepped inside to see two figures stood quietly, looking out of the window to observe the frantic activity of the runway workers readying the next set of planes for take-off. The small rotund-figured woman pressed herself tightly against the taller man keeping a firm grip of his hand, as if seeking shelter from a storm. The elderly man’s stance was a little more crouched, a little more stooped from how she remembered, but it was him all the same.
“Papa?” she said.
The pair turned, eyes instantly brightened by her entrance into the room.
“Gratia, is it you? Is it really you?” said the man with the greying, thinning hair.
She skipped towards the waiting arms of the couple, the tears already in full flow.
“Gratia, Gratia my liebchen. I thought we would never see you again,” the man cried.
The intensity of the group hug showed no sign of abating. All three wept like lost children rescued from a dark forest. What struck Matt most was the manner Gratia comforted both with equal measure; the distinction between blood relative and stepparent finally banished into the stratosphere. To describe the scene as heart warming would have been an injustice and he recalled Catherine’s earlier words, about the unique bond between parent and child. He was beginning to understand what this meant. The phrase, lump in the throat, also began to resonate with him. He thought better of interrupting the highly charged emotional occasion and stepped away from the room, in part to allow the group enjoy their rediscovery, but mostly to provide him with the opportunity to take a few deep breaths and recover his own poise.
Matt waited awhile and then quietly slipped into the room to deliver the final surprise. Martha had sensed his presence and looked up.
“Matthew, is it you? You are alive?”
The old man heard her and relaxed the grip on his daughter to look up. Martha abandoned them to scuttle towards him and he opened his arms for the expectant embrace, only to be met with a small fist rapping at his upper arm.
“What were you thinking of? Why have you not told us you were alive,” she shouted. “What kind of son would do this to his own mother?”
His initial reaction was to wince at the part playful punch to his arm. Then he circled her frame and squeezed her tight.
“I keep telling you, we are not related.”
“Be quiet and give your adopted mother a hug.”
He hadn’t held her long when he felt the tears begin and she trembled against his body.
“Why did you not say, why? Am I so unpleasant a woman that you must hide away from me?”
“No,” he said, gently caressing her hair. “We’ve wanted to tell you both for so long but it’s just never been possible until now. It’s a long story.”
He felt a light tap on his shoulder, followed by Gerhardt’s big hand being thrust into his.
“How are you my boy?”
After the brief man hug he came face to face with the elderly man’s tearful daughter. The look in her eyes told him she had already worked out in her mind that he’d made a commitment in return.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, and he smiled.
“Let’s get you all home,” he said.
The three walked ahead, arms intertwined, as Matt lugged the baggage trolley. He wondered on the thoughts occupying her mind, unable to detect the truth of her real emotions towards him. She well understood this unexpected reunion had come with a price tag. It had to have done. Nothing was said during the taxi journey, Martha providing little opportunity for any interruption to her buoyant and constant chattering. Gerhardt appeared more interested in maintaining a watchful gaze on the body language between the young couple. Matt supposed all fathers must do this when supplied with the knowledge a daughter has set up nest with another man. For her part Gratia clung to Matt’s side throughout, the fingers of a hand knotted into one of his, a closeness she was at pains to exhibit to her father. And it felt good, it felt right, to have this woman by his side.
After the obligatory house and grounds tour the ladies retired to the kitchen so Martha could investigate every nook, cranny and appliance of her favourite room in any house. There was much laughter too as they set about preparing the evening meal. How their relationship had changed. The two men had taken up residence on the porch, each armed with a bottle of Canadian, soaking up the late afternoon sun.
“What do you make if it?” asked Matt, nodding towards the half empty bottle.
“I need to test a greater sample. One bottle could never be enough. Ask me later,” Gerhardt said with a slight smile.
Matt understood something to be on the older man’s mind.
“We’re happy, Gerhardt. At least I think we are.”
He nodded and sipped at the bottle.
“I used to love my first wife,” he said dryly.
Matt chuckled at the wicked slice of humour. The old man hadn’t lost his touch. Then he noticed Gerhardt hadn’t joined in with his merriment. He had to ask.
“Do you not approve?”
“Of you?” said Gerhardt. “I couldn’t wish for my daughter to find a better man. And you are already like a son to me and Martha.”
“Then what bothers you old friend?”
The German hesitated.
“We were told you were dead, and that we could never see Gratia again.”
“Well now you have, and you will continue to see Gratia whenever you desire.”
The old man turned away and Matt no
ticed he was biting at his lip.
“Gerhardt, what is it?”
Several seconds passed before the old man felt comfortable enough to resume eye contact.
“I am sure there is humour to be viewed in the situation now but your mother and … I mean Martha, were devastated for months on end when we were told the news. And then we were bundled onto a plane, without explanation …”
It dawned on Matt the old man had been overwhelmed by the experience. He touched at Gerhardt’s hand, a gesture he could never make to his own father. Gerhardt responded by gripping Matt’s fingers.
“I do not know what it was you were both involved in or how you both got to this place. I only want to be sure she will be safe here, looked after …”
Gerhardt’s eyes filled with moisture and he sniffled to hold the tears in place.
“You are not going to lose her again, Gerhardt. I’ll make sure nothing bad will ever happen to her.”
“Promise me, Matt.”
“It goes without saying.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to look me straight in the eye and promise. Promise you will always stay together and keep her free from harm.”
Matt smiled softly and tightened his grip around the old man’s trembling hand.
“I promise,” he said, looking directly back into the watery and pleading eyes.
He’d expected they would be up until the early hours of the morning celebrating the reunion. The alfresco supper started well enough, the young couple revealing how Catherine Vogel had used her political influence to secure Gratia’s release from prison and spirit her discreetly out of Europe to the island. She described the terrifying ordeal of the attempted sexual assault which prompted her to resist with a kitchen knife. Gratia had not intended to commit murder, only sought the first available means of defence during the unequal struggle. Matt confirmed her version of events to reassure them she had been wrongly imprisoned. Due to the avid media interest in the story it had been necessary to construct the pretence that Gratia had been committed to permanent solitary confinement. This allowed her to be discreetly moved to Canada under a pseudonym and was now known as Grace Fox, the English equivalent of her true identity, Gratia Fuchs. Matt explained to the elderly pair he’d agreed to being reported as dead after surrendering some information as part of a deal he’d made with people to secure Gratia’s release.
For their part, they both talked of the unbearable pressure placed on them by the intense media attention and speculation back in St Wolfgang. Catherine Vogel had once again weaved her political wand to minimise the impact, much to their relief and eternal gratitude. Fatigue, however, soon began to take its toll on the elderly duo with Gerhardt, in particular, finding it increasingly difficult to prevent large yawns escaping from his mouth. Matt reminded the pair they had several days to enjoy the hospitality of their hosts and the new surrounds they found themselves in.
“It is wonderful to see you both together,” said Martha, “I knew you were a match from the start. Did I not say as much, Gerhardt?”
The old man’s elbow slipped from the edge of the wooden table, startling him back into life.
“Gerhardt, what are you doing? Pay attention.” demanded Martha.
Matt looked across the table and his partner returned his gaze, though he could see the smile was shrouding something behind those rich and deep Guinness eyes. Something was on her mind. He volunteered to clear the dishes while the guests were escorted to their accommodation upstairs.
By the time he entered their room Gratia was flossing. Matt quickly discarded his outer clothes and followed her into the bathroom, standing directly behind as she opened the door to the medicine cabinet to pluck out the rectangular silver tray covered with foil.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I thought I’d let you enjoy the next few days then try and pick the right moment,” he said.
“What do they want you to do?”
“Find a few people and persuade them to return something that doesn’t belong to them.”
“You, a negotiator?” she said.
“Stranger things have been known to happen.”
He noticed her look at his reflection in the tall, wide mirror checking for signs of deception.
“It must be dangerous or they wouldn’t have agreed to your demand to allow papa and Martha to come here.”
“Not so much a demand, more a request.”
She prised the tiny tablet from the silver foil and placed it on her tongue. One sip of water and it had disappeared.
“But it is dangerous?”
“Shouldn’t be,” he whispered, circling her slim waist with his arms to kiss at the nape of her neck, and she responded by allowing her head to drop and rest against his chest. Sensing encouragement he drew a finger up from her wrist to caress at the sensitive skin around the mid-arm crease, only to find his progress halted by a smothering hand.
“Not until you’ve told me everything,” she said.
“What’s there to say? I find these people, talk to them, and get the stuff back.”
“And what is the stuff?”
“Just stuff,” he said.
His other hand moved up her left arm and smoothed against the soft skin, swiftly held to ransom by her other hand.
“I said everything.”
Undaunted he kissed again at the nape of her neck.
“Can’t this wait?” he whispered.
“No.”
“I’ve spent a long time on the plane thinking about this.”
“Then a little longer will not hurt.”
Feeling deflated, in more ways than one, he rushed out the next sentence.
“They’ve got hold of quantities of the Milieu virus.”
“What!”
“There’s nothing to worry about, I have the antidote to be on the safe side.”
Her shoulder muscles tensed and he realised a complicated situation had suddenly become a whole lot trickier.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said.
“These people are terrorists!”
“No, there’re just a band of do-gooders in over their heads needing some common sense talked into them.”
The reflection of her studious face in the mirror revealed the confusion in her mind.
“It makes no sense,” she said. “You fought against Vogel’s people for over two years to try and reveal their conspiracy and now you have agreed to help them?”
“They’re trying to prevent the virus from being released by these people.”
“It is the plan of Vogel’s people to do this.”
“Was,” he said. “It turns out the side effects of the antidote are almost as lethal as the virus itself.”
“There is something more lethal than death?”
“Permanent infertility,” he admitted. “People inoculated with the antidote, men and women, are all rendered infertile. The human species will shrivel and die if their hand is forced into using it.”
“Which means if these do-gooders decide to infect you with the virus then you could end up infertile,” she said.
“It won’t come to that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Not good enough. I need to understand the reasons for your confidence. Why these people would not choose to infect you in order to defend themselves, or worse.”
There was nothing else but to go for it.
“Rosa is with the group holding the virus.”
“Rosa Cain?”
“Yes.”
Fire erupted in her eyes, flames of fury searing out of the dark expression now covering her face.
“So now we are closer to the truth. And if I had not pressed you would have said nothing.”
He remained silent in the hope the flames would quell. After a few nervy moments she gripped his hands and pulled them away from her waist then retired at speed into the sanctity of the bedroom. He strode in pursuit in time
to see her disappear under the cover and advanced to sit by her side. Motionless silence followed, which he broke by touching at her covered shoulder.
“Get off me!”
“Listen …”
“I said get away from me.”
His hand touched her shoulder and she reacted by turning over in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Matt wasn’t about to let the matter rest, tugging at her shoulder, and she shook his hand away. Incensed, he straddled her body to pin her arms to each side of her head.
“Get off me!”
“No,” he insisted. “Not until you’ve heard me out.”
“I do not wish to hear your excuses.”
“Well you’re going to hear them, like it or not.”
She made an attempt to break free and he pressed her wrists hard to the bed.
“Rosa is in trouble. After everything she has done for me, for us, the least I can do is try and get her out of it.”
Her head moved to the side, averting her eyes.
“Gratia, listen to me …”
“Now I am Gratia again,” she said, attempting another escape.
He pressed harder to halt her struggle, fearful he might have used an excess of physical force. The body underneath went rigid and her eyes spat defiance.
“You will always be Gratia Fuchs to me,” he said softly.
Her body conceded the unequal fight and the fire dowsed, fled from her eyes at his soft words. Believing he had eased her irrational concern he spoke again.
“I will always have a bond with Rosa Cain, because of what happened before,” he said. “You’ve known that from the first time we met. But it is a bond, and nothing more.”
Her rich gaze flitted to every part of his face before settling upon his eyes.
“You could say those words to me a thousand times and I would never be convinced,” she said.
Chapter Nine
Encouragement