Once his eyes had welcomed in the morning Matt clasped his hands together and placed them behind his head. The outside sun was trying furiously to burst its way into the room from the other side of the curtains. Reaching up a hand he tugged one open, and daylight invaded the room with bright sunshine. As he cradled his head in the palms of his hands Matt looked up at the ceiling to see a large, full bodied spider making its way across the surface.
“Morning, Tillman.”
The spider scurried away and he chuckled. He’d spotted the beast on the first night deciding to leave it as the bloody thing looked ready for a fight; too big and scary to pick up and put outside. Besides, who else did he have to talk to? He pictured his eventual interrogation. They would demand to know who knew about the files. Tillman, he would be tortured into admitting. Now that would cause a stir.
His thoughts drifted back to last night. The piece of paper Jenna had given him held a note of her telephone number and a scribbled bit of text which read, in case you ever come back to Vancouver.
Matt had warmed to her to the point of worrying about her lifestyle. Jenna had got caught up in the never-ending trap of working every hour God sends just to stand still. She deserved better from life. He wished there was some way he could help. Had he been living a normal life then he might have been better placed to support her.
But a normal life was beyond him now. He was a fugitive on the run. Matt couldn’t hang around in Vancouver because he’d stayed here before, thereby leaving an earlier paper trail for them to follow. If they were still trying to trace him, this would be one of the places they would ultimately search. Matt decided to keep her number though, for he was sure he would like to meet up with Jenna again. He didn’t know when, or if, it was ever going to be possible.
About a hundred yards after leaving the hotel Matt stopped in his tracks and looked around the immediate vicinity. No-one seemed to be following him. One part of his mind rejoiced in this feeling of freedom, the other cautioned him to continue to be wary and remain on guard at all times.
He’d considered catching the ferry then decided, if they were looking for him over on the west coast, they would surely be checking the terminal at Tsawwassen. The brief mental debate resulted in the decision to walk down the inclined pavement to the harbour, where he could see two floatplane terminals.
As he approached the first he could tell it belonged to a large operator. There were at least three sizeable looking sleek white planes moored behind a large sign, giving the name of the company. The employees standing inside the office were dressed in expensive looking uniforms talking amongst each other. Matt concluded they would probably keep records. He decided to walk on.
The next was anything but a large operator terminal. The burly man with the gingery brown full head of hair watched as Matt neared. Dressed in a light blue jacket and dark blue trousers, a uniform of sorts, his arms were crossed under his ribs, resting on the protruding stomach slightly bulging over the top of his trousers. His grey eyes fixed upon Matt.
“What time do you fly?” asked Matt.
“What time do you want to fly?” was the gruff reply.
“Oh, I thought you would have set times or something.”
“We’re an air taxi lad. We come and go when the punter asks us to,” he said, again a gruff tone in his voice.
“Victoria?” asked Matt.
“One hundred and thirty dollars,” replied the man.
“Good enough,” said Matt. “Can I sit up front?”
“That’s an extra twenty dollars.”
“You must live well,” said Matt, smiling, “I’m trying to work my way across Canada.”
The man slowly looked Matt up and down. There wasn’t much to this young, confident man with the disarming smile. Certainly below six feet tall with a slender build, there was not much appearance of muscle on his frame either.
“Not enough meat on you, lad, to work your way around this country.”
He continued to inspect Matt’s slim frame. Then his face broke out into a large grin.
“One hundred and thirty it is then,” he confirmed, nodding Matt towards the door of the yellow painted seaplane.
Matt counted eight green cloth seats in the main fuselage behind the pilot, and was curious as to why the man was happy to take him to Victoria on his own. Hardly economical, he mused, clambering into the tight fitting space of the cockpit.
A few minutes later and the single engine plane had ferried out into the bay, ready for take-off. The pilot had a good look around and then checked the sky above, to make sure there would be no obstacles in their path.
Matt gripped each side of the small seat, the noise of the engine filling his ears and the smell of the fuel invading his nostrils. The pilot, glancing sideways, saw Matt’s grip tighten and smiled as he pushed the throttle back. The engine roared at the lapping waves and then the machine jerked suddenly forward.
Picking up speed the plane skimmed the flat surface of the water and, within a minute or so, the floats had lifted from the sea and the plane rose sharply into the sky. Matt released his grip as the pilot glanced back at him.
“Take offs eh!” he said
“And landings,” confirmed Matt. “They both give me the jitters.”
The man chortled loudly, his hands manipulating the controls to level the plane.
“Stanley Park is coming up below us,” he said, as the plane banked round to its left and headed out of the harbour area.
Matt looked down at the large forested island seemingly glued on to the end of the main bay. It was inhabited by huge, tall trees rising from the ground, reaching up into the sky as the plane banked gently right.
“I’ll take yur over the bridge,” said the pilot. “It’s called the Lions Gate Bridge,” he continued. “After ‘the Lions’, the two mountain peaks north of Vancouver.”
They crossed the path of the huge suspension bridge at the same time a blue and white hulled cruise ship squeezed itself underneath the massive structure.
“Pretty impressive eh?” said the man.
Matt had to agree. The natural beauty of the Park, linked to West Vancouver by the Lions Gate, was a monument to man’s ingenuity in bridging the void between mankind and nature. A few moments longer and they were headed over the inland sea towards the southern gulf islands.
The pilot took another glance at the passenger, curious of his fare.
“There’s likely one of three reasons a lad yur age is doing what yur doing,” he said.
“What would they be?” asked Matt.
“Yur could be running from a woman,” the pilot gently enquired, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“No, no woman involved.”
“A bad debt?” asked the pilot.
“Never lend or borrow is what my Dad used to say.”
A brief pause ensued.
“And the third?” asked Matt curiously.
“Must be the law, then,” was the pilot’s answer.
Another pause followed.
“Third strike and out!” countered the passenger.
He knew he didn’t have to say anything but Matt didn’t feel at all uncomfortable talking to this gruff, burly man.
“I’m Jack,” said the pilot introducing himself.
“Matt,” was the reply.
Jack crossed his right arm over his left and shook the passenger’s hand vigorously.
“Yur can see the ferry port at Tsawwassen to yur left now,” Jack pointed out.
Matt turned his head and saw the large terminal glistening in the sun. A white ferry was headed into the docking area, and a second was about to depart the other way. The sky was light blue, virtually cloudless. In contrast the calm sea below was coloured a dark blue, dotted with a number of differently sized vessels making their measured way across the inland sea separating the land masses.
“What kind of work do yur do?” asked Jack.
“Anything really,” was Matt’s reply, “anything, more or less.”
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“Are yur stronger than yur look?” grinned the pilot.
“I’ve done some weights,” said Matt defensively.
“Dirt bother yur?” continued the older man.
“Not especially, got something in mind?”
“It’s the tourist season. There’s always a lot to do in town keeping those monkeys happy,” he bellowed, and Matt gave him an acknowledged smile. “Yur got anywhere to stay?” asked Jack, to which the younger man shrugged.
“How do you get to fly one of these things?” asked Matt. “Looks like fun.”
“Seventy hours flying time,” shouted Jack above the noisy engine, “and yur gotta be a Canadian citizen so’s yur can get a licence!” he bellowed loudly, clearly amused by his own unique sense of humour.
By now, they had reached the Southern Gulf Islands. Matt looked down at the dark green covered landscapes below him, barely habitable. Dotted along the shores were isolated numbers of houses built into the forest edges, and one of the white ferries was weaving its way through the dark channels between the islands.
“Awesome,” said Matt out loud. “A man could live here all his life and never tire of the natural beauty all around him. No wonder you Canadians keep it to yourselves.”
The pilot took the plane around the toe of Vancouver Island before levelling the yellow flying machine. He readied to make his descent into the wide mouth of the estuary, leading to Victoria, the capital city of Vancouver Island.
“This is the outer port,” said Jack as they made their way. “We’re headed for the inner harbour.”
Matt could see a narrow opening leading into a large oblong shaped mass of water, possibly one to two miles wide. The plane passed the opening and gently fell upon the water then ferried towards the long stretch of land ahead.
“There she is, the Inner Harbour,” informed Jack.
To their right was a small, walled port area where a variety of cruiser boats were moored to wooden jetties. Over the road in front sat the imposing Fairmont Empress hotel. The wide massive structure, built at the height of British colonial power in the region, completely dominated the harbour front. Matt had popped into the hotel on his one day trip here a couple of years ago. It had been extended and modernised over the years but retained many of its original features and proudly boasted of the retention of its old British customs, such as afternoon tea and scones served at four each afternoon. Further to the right was a long building set away from the harbour in a park like space, the middle of which housed a large green dome-like structure.
“The Parliament building,” said Jack. “Pretty as a picture when lit up at night, from one end to the other.”
As they neared the central harbour side Matt caught sight of the floatplane mooring terminals, some several hundred yards or so away to the left. The first set of structures clearly belonged to the large operator he had first seen in Vancouver, judging by the large sign and sleek white planes. Beyond lay a smaller wooden jetty, with a cabin office set away from the waterside. Jack taxied the plane towards those moorings. As the plane drifted against the buoys, a young man snared it to the land with a rope.
Matt clambered out first so his case could be handed down to him by the pilot. Jack followed him out and went to help the young man struggling with the mooring rope.
“Well done, Johnny, yur starting to get the hang of this.”
Moving out of the shadow of the wing both men blinked as the sunshine hit their faces. It was then they noticed the small figure in front. Using their hands to shield their eyes from the sunlight, Jack recognised the figure immediately.
“Hello, Missy,” he bellowed. “Yur beginning to weaken to the old Carter charm, I can tell.”
The small young woman smiled weakly in return. It was the smile of a woman needing help and assistance, but a thank you was as much as she was prepared to offer in settlement.
Matt couldn’t help but hold her steady gaze as she looked over Jack’s shoulder at the new face behind. Her porcelain coloured skin was the first thing to strike him, rather than the dark rimmed glasses protecting her soft brown eyes. Matt’s open smile caught her gaze.
This new man’s face was longer than it was wider. His light brown hair had been pushed back behind the ears, the length disguising the fact his ears were a little longer than average. His manner seemed confident and friendly, betraying no sense of apprehension or caution about meeting someone for the first time.
“This is my new buddy, Matt. He’s come to help us both this summer,” said Jack excitedly.
Her smile widened revealing the dimples in her cheeks, temporarily detracting Matt’s attention from her slim, pinkish lips.
“I’m Grace,” she introduced holding out a small, dainty hand.
“Matt,” said his softly spoken voice through a healthy smile. “Matt Durham.”
The shake was no more than a soft touching of hands, but warm and welcoming.
“So, how are you going to help us Matt?” she asked of the stranger.
“Any way I can,” he replied. “You name it, I’ll do it.”
“Careful!” she laughed. “That sort of offer could land you in big trouble.”
Her comment brought a grin to the faces of the two men, knowing she had not meant the quip in quite the way they had interpreted it.
The group of three walked towards the small cabin office on the harbour side. Jack had his arm resting lightly over the small woman’s shoulders while Matt followed obediently from behind.
“What can I do for yur?” asked the burly man.
“I’m sorry to bother you Jack, and I know you’re really busy, but I think Holly is right about getting someone to work on site for me.”
“So yur want me working at yur bar as well as running me own businesses!” he boomed loudly, amused by his own unique sense of humour.
“No, it’s not what I meant,” she said, taking his comment with a greater degree of seriousness than he had intended.
Realising her discomfort he pressed her shoulder firmly to pull her body against his masculine frame, as if providing shelter from some imaginary rain. Watching from behind, it was obvious to Matt the woman in the billowy white skirt and loose-fitting black t-shirt was uncomfortable with the enforced proximity of her body to Jack’s.
“I’m not being serious, Missy. What is it exactly yur have in mind?”
“I thought if I could get the small room on the top floor ready then I might be able to employ a resident handyman, someone to do all the heavy work around the place,” she said. “I try, but some of the things are so ...”
Jack squeezed her even closer to him.
“Hush, Missy, I think I’ve found the perfect solution. We’ll talk it through over a coffee.”
He turned to the young girl in the cabin office and spoke as they walked by.
“Donna, if anyone comes tell them the pilot’s on a half hour break,” and he tightened his hold of Grace’s shoulder.
“Matt,” he continued. “As yur got the cheap rate for the flight over, I reckon yur should pay Grace for her wonderful coffee.”
The small woman took the opportunity to stop walking and turn around to the new man, extricating her body from Jack’s grip in the process.
“Is that okay with you?” she asked politely.
Matt nodded and gently pushed his way between them as he stepped forward, creating a temporary barrier between the two.
“Just point the way,” was his smiling reply.
He turned to the right to look at Jack’s now furrowed face and grinned. Then he moved his smiling face to look in Grace’s direction and she mouthed a thank you back at him. Matt ushered her to the front. She led the two men to the right, up the gentle ramp like paved incline towards the road. They might have taken the steep steps to their left but this would have led them slightly further away from their ultimate destination, a white stoned building on the corner of the street ahead, some two or three hundred yards away. Before his new elder friend could b
egin to catch up with Grace, Matt engaged him in conversation.
“So how many years have you been flying aeroplanes then, Jack?”
The burly Canadian’s expression represented a picture of disappointment as he replied to Matt’s question, his brain still trying to work out how the love of his life had escaped from his grasp. As the two men talked, Grace turned round and smiled broadly at the younger man.
Grace placed the tray onto the oblong shaped wooden table and sat on the chair between the two men. They watched as she poured the freshly made coffee into each of the three mugs and topped them up with milk.
Matt was entranced by the subtle gliding movement of her feet as she walked, like she was pushing her tiny feet through beach sand. He noticed her small hands and even tinier wrists, so thin he expected them to snap in two from the weight of the coffee jar.
Jack was the first to add sugar, pouring three heaped spoonfuls into the mug and stirring vigorously. Matt offered the sugar bowl to Grace. She declined with a bright smile and he tipped a half measure into his mug with the other teaspoon.
In answer to Grace’s questions Matt explained he came from a small town in England. After leaving public service he had set up his own business before selling out to pay off his debts, deciding to spend his new freedom travelling the world as much on impulse as anything else.
Matt related his story with humility and dry humour, in typical British self-deprecation. Grace quickly warmed to the stranger. Jack was charmed too, but the clock was running. He gently tapped the watch on his wrist and glanced across to her.
“I’m sorry, Jack, you came to help me and here I am talking to your new friend instead. You said you had a solution?” she asked him.
Jack got straight to the point.
“I need labour, yur need labour, and he needs to labour,”
Jack chuckled, pointing to the Englishman. “He also needs somewhere to stay but, by the sound of it, he’s got no cash to pay for a roof over his head,” he added.
Matt grinned sheepishly, in embarrassing agreement with Jack’s assessment. He glanced towards Grace to gauge her reaction. She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him, conscious of his uneasiness.
“It seems to me, Missy,” Jack continued. “He can work for me during the day and then he can work here in the evenings.”
He pompously straightened his posture before continuing.
“I can pay the beggar in cash and yur, because yur business needs to build up cash flow, can give him a roof over his head. Like the small room on the top floor.” he explained.
Grace’s eyes lit up, realising the breathtaking simplicity of Jack’s cunning plan.
“This way,” the Canadian added “yur get the help yur need at no cost. I get the help I need for the summer, off the books so to speak. In return, Matt gets a place to stay and a bit of cash to visit the rest of the world once we’re done with him.”
Like a proud peacock Jack thrust out his chest to underline the obvious attraction of his own ingenuity. He chortled loudly in triumph.
“That’s quite brilliant, Jack,” she said teasingly, “except for possibly one thing.”
It was like pricking an overblown balloon with a sharp pin, Jack’s pumped out chest deflated in an instant. Crestfallen, he muttered, almost to himself,
“What, what have I forgotten?”
“Matt!” said Grace playfully. “You’ve forgotten to ask Matt!”
“Oh!” he said, suddenly feeling slightly silly.
“Well, Matt,” said Grace. “It’s down to you. What do you think of Jack’s rather bold and brilliant idea?”
She looked at him through soft brown eyes and a wide smile bringing a surge of relief to his beleaguered soul.
“Tough choice,” he replied, “I could probably do with a job and I don’t have anywhere to stay, though this might be because I snore a lot.” he said, with a deadpan expression.
Grace, recognising the wit, burst into a hearty laugh whilst Jack looked bemused until he caught on. Jack knew he’d come up with a simple, brilliant plan. Somehow though, it had lost the feeling of being his special moment of triumph with which to impress the landlady.
Grace extended her slender arm and asked Matt to shake on it before either of them changed their mind. It was an offer no man in his right mind could possibly refuse he had replied, adding that as soon as they had finished coffee he’d park his gear and start on whatever needed doing to the room.
As the two new acquaintances continued to laugh and share jokes Jack sensed a bond had been forged, and regretted it immediately.
The gentle knock preceded Grace’s voice coming through the slightly ajar wooden door.
“Matt, I’ve brought you a coffee. You’ve been working non-stop for hours. I thought you English people believed in taking regular breaks,” she said mischievously.
“When in Rome,” he said. “I assumed you were expecting me to work North American hours.”
She laughed at his dry humour.
“It is half a sugar you take isn’t it?”
“Yes, thanks,” he said stepping down from the ladder.”
She watched as he descended to the floor, paintbrush in hand, his slim and naked upper torso dotted with spatters of white paint. She noticed the succession of dark marks on his forearms, almost tattoo like in their patterns.
“Oh Matt, what happened to your arms?”
It was too late to conceal them from view.
“They’re fine, honestly,” he blurted in hurried explanation.
“Let me see.”
“Grace, they’re really are okay.”
“Don’t be silly. Even I can recognise heavy bruising when I see it. Now let me have a look.”
Reluctantly, he surrendered up his limbs for inspection. She took several minutes to examine the injuries, noticing Matt wince when she pressed at the edges of the dark masses.
“How on earth did this happen?”
“Something heavy fell across them, shortly before I left the UK a few days ago,” he said somewhat defensively.
Grace looked into his face, shook her head in open disbelief and her face produced a worried frown.
“They need to be strapped,” she insisted.
“No, they’ll be fine in a couple more days.”
“Matt, this is very deep bruising. If you had been middle-aged, instead of a young man, then whatever was behind the force of this accident could easily have broken some bones. They need to be attended to or you won’t last long working for Jack. The work at the jetty is heavy and manual.”
She looked at him to imply she wasn’t prepared to argue the case, and he meekly nodded.
“Wait here,” she ordered, and disappeared from the room, returning laden with all manner of medical supplies.
Grace tended to each arm in turn, anointing the bruises with a soft cold liquid gel and then wrapping the bandages tightly around each injury. Her touch was soft and gentle, the lightest he had ever felt from a woman. Matt gazed upon her intently as she busied herself with the task at hand. Every now and then she would look up and smile in reassurance.
“How come you know about this stuff?” he asked.
“I did First Aid training a few years ago. It’s always come in handy from time to time, which is lucky for you,” she smiled warmly.
“Will you tell Jack?”
Grace shook her head and smiled again.
“Not as long as you let me keep on top of this. It will take more than a few days for them to properly heal.”
“Okay,” he said. “What’s the price of your silence?”
She laughed loudly.
“There’s no price, silly. We’re nice people in Victoria.”
And she was nice, very nice. Matt found himself warming to the small, porcelain coloured doll of a woman. When he first arrived this morning his immediate future was anything but certain. Now, by pure chance, he had a roof over his head and work to occupy his mind.
You do
move in mysterious ways, he thought, glancing through the window and up into the sky outside.
Chapter Eleven
A New Life