The Divided Child (15 page)

           
"It
makes an odd sort of sense," said a deep, masculine voice behind me.
 
I spun around to find Spiro eyeing me
with curiosity.
 
"Maria said
you wished to see me?"

           
"I
wanted to know --"

           
He
gazed down at my luggage.
 
"If
my invitation to visit remains good?"

           
I
looked him in the eye.
 
"Yes."

           
"And
it is because of Geoffrey you have changed your mind?"
 
Was it my imagination, or was there
skepticism in his tone?

           
"In
a manner of speaking."

           
"Well,
then," he said, "I will have to thank him the next time I see him for
providing us with such charming company."
 
He flashed me a dazzling smile and bent to pick up my two
suitcases.
 
His sister started to
say something, but he cut her off with a single word spoken forcefully in
Greek: "
Argotera
."
 
Later
.

           
He
led the way to a small but attractive room decorated in a silvery shade of
green that reminded me of olive trees.
 
"I hope you will be comfortable here," he said, setting down
my suitcases and crossing to the French windows.
 
He opened them out onto a large patio.
 
"This room, like mine, faces the
sea.
 
There is a path leading down
to the beach."
 
He turned, and
came back in.
 
"The bathroom
is here."
 
He opened a door on
my right.
 
"It connects to my
room, but there are locks on both doors, so you can assure yourself of
privacy."
 
A look of amusement
suddenly flickered across his face.
 
"It is to your satisfaction?"

           
I
gazed about me. "It's wonderful, thank you."

           
He
nodded.
 
"And the location
pleases you?"

           
"The
location?"
 
I repeated,
puzzled.

           
"It
was a clever story you told my sister, Christine, but I find it difficult to
believe you are here only because you wish to escape Geoffrey's
company."
 
He lifted one
eyebrow inquiringly, and there was a mischievous look in his brown eyes that
reminded me of a cat playing with a mouse.
 
He said silkily, "Perhaps there is another reason you
have come?"

           
My
mouth suddenly felt dry.
 
"What would that be?"

           
For
a moment, the mischievous look vanished.
 
His gaze swept over me with a assessing intensity that set my heart
pounding.
 
Then his mouth relaxed
into a smile.
 
"Perhaps you
are here not to avoid a man's company but to seek it?"

           
I
forced myself to smile back at him, though his smug look irritated me no
end.
 
"You've found me
out," I murmurred.

           
His
dark eyebrows rose in wry agreement.
 
"Yes."

           
"You
understand why I told your sister what I did?"

           
"It
is none of her affair," he said.
 
He took a step closer.
 
Before I realized what was coming, he had me enfolded in his arms.

           
Luckily,
Maria chose that moment to bustle into the room with fresh sheets and
towels.
 
Spiro -- with an
adroitness born, I suspect, of much practice -- swiftly let me go and slipped
from my side without even seeming to do so.

           
"And
now," he said casually, "I fear I have business in town and must
leave you.
 
Maria, please see that
our guest has everything she needs and inform my sister that Miss Stewart and I
will be dining out tonight."
 
The housekeeper acknowledged the request with a silent nod.

           
"But
Spiro --" I began.

           
He
shook his head, flashed me a blinding smile, and was gone.
 
Maria set down the linen and began
making the bed.

           
In
the mood I was in, it would have felt good to join her.
 
It would have been a pleasure to fling,
tug, and chop the sheets into position with angry gusto.
 
But Maria silently refused my offer of
help, and I ended up sitting demurely in the corner while she made up the bed
by herself.

           
When
she had finished smoothing out the bedspread to her satisfaction, she picked up
the stack of green towels and disappeared into the bathroom.
 
Relieved of her inhibiting presence, I
crossed to my suitcases and opened them up.

           
I
had hung up my dresses and was starting on my blouses, when Maria emerged from
the bathroom and said disapprovingly.
 
"No, this is not good.
 
I help you."
 
With
quick, deft movements she proceeded to unpack, refold, and reorganize every
article of clothing I possessed, separating out with a practiced eye anything
I'd worn to be washed.
 
When my
suitcases were empty, she picked them up, and stowed them inside the large
mahogany wardrobe where my dresses hung limp and wrinkled.

           
The
sight was too much for her.
 
She
yanked the dresses out, saying she would iron them and bring them back
later.
 
"You go make swim
now," she said, sounding like a mother telling a child to go play.
 
She gathered up the clothes, and
motioned with her head at the bathing suit she'd left lying on the bed.
 
"You go to beach.
 
When you come back, all is
ready."
 
She turned to leave.

           
"Wait!
 
Please, before you go -- can you tell
me where Michael is?"

           
She
stared at me in surprise, and then slowly her expression softened.
 
"The young master?
 
He is -- how you say --
ston kypo
."

           
"In
the garden?"

           
She
nodded.
 
"Yes, in the garden,
with Paul."

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
If
I hadn't been in such a hurry, it might have occurred to me to ask her where
the garden was and how best to get there, but as it was, I was impatient to
find Michael and didn't want to waste time on unimportant details.
 
After all, it couldn't be that hard to
find a simple garden, could it?

           
It
could.

           
Part
of the problem was the mental picture which had sprung up full-blown in my head
when I'd heard the word 'garden'.
 
As I stood on the patio outside my room, I scanned the grounds for an
area of bright color, a profusion of blooming flowers devotedly tended, no
doubt, by some aged gardener with gnarled hands.

           
So
much for imagination.
 
What I
actually saw when I looked out from the patio was a picturesque but rather wild
landscape of pine and chaparral sloping down to a pebble beach far below.
 
Not sure what else to do, I descended
the patio's stone steps and started down the path, which appeared to curve away
from the villa towards the sea.
 
But I hadn't gone far when the path split.

           
Mentally
flipping a coin, I veered to the left, climbing a small incline towards a large
thicket of pine.
 
The path through
the trees was liberally covered with dried needles, which rasped under my feet
as I walked along.
 
There was the
twitter of birds and the thin trilling of insects, but I heard no voices, and
when I sniffed the air for the scent of flowers, all I smelled was the tang of
wild rosemary blending with the pine.
 
Suddenly I heard the rustle of needles behind me.
 

           
"Hello?"
I called out, turning.
 
There was
nobody there.
 
Just the wind
,
I told myself, though the air was still and warm.
 
No reason to be frightened
.

           
I
continued on.
 
I'd walked another
twenty yards or so when I heard the rustling again.
 
This time the sound was nearer and more clear: unmistakably
a foot crunching down on brittle needles.
 
I spun around and called out, but there was no answer and -- though my
gaze flicked nervously from point to point all around me -- no sign of the
person who was following me.
 

           
The
only direction I dared go was forward.
 
I began walking more quickly.
 
The footsteps behind me crackled and grew louder as my pursuer increased
his or her stride to match mine.
 
This time I didn't stop to turn.
 
Heart pounding, I began to run.

           
I
burst out of the thicket and kept running.
 
Then suddenly the ground beneath my feet seemed to slip
away.
 
Too late I realized the path
ended abruptly at the edge of a small cliff.
 
Waving my arms wildly in the air, I fought to reverse my
momentum, but it was too late.
 
A
desperate prayer burst to my lips.

           
And
was miraculously answered.

           
A
steely grip seized my arms and yanked me back to solid ground.
 
"What in hell do you think you are
doing?" a voice demanded roughly in Greek.

           
I
turned to see my rescuer.
 
He was
tall for a Greek, and slimly built, but the rolled-up sleeves of his white
shirt revealed well-muscled arms, and his olive skin was tanned dark from the
sun.
 

           
"Well,
can't you speak?"
 
he
snapped.
 
"Are you dumb as
well as crazy?"
 
The strong
grip, which moments earlier had saved me, was now painful.

           
"Hey,
that hurts!" I exclaimed in Greek.
 
"Let me go!"

           
He
released me, but didn't bother to apologize.
 
"Ah, so you do talk.
 
Good.
 
Then
perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you were about to throw yourself off
this cliff?"

           
"Don't
be ridiculous!
 
I wasn't trying to
throw myself off.
 
I was running
away from you, and I didn't realize that the path ended at a cliff.
 
It ought to be marked.
 
It's dangerous!"

           
His
deep-set blue eyes fixed on my face.
 
"Running away -- from me?"
 
His incredulous tone was exasperating.

           
“Well,
what did you expect when you kept hiding every time I turned around!
 
I didn’t know what you were up to.
 
You scared me!”

           
“You
really are crazy.
 
I first set eyes
on you when you burst from the trees headed straight for this cliff.
 
You’re lucky I was so close, or else
--”
 
He shrugged his shoulders and
motioned with his chin toward the pebbled beach beneath us.

           
I
felt a sudden wave of uncertainty and fear.
 
“Then you weren’t the one behind me?”
 
He flashed me a look that indicated his
doubts about my sanity were growing.
 
I hesitated a moment and then said, "But someone was following me
--" I jerked my head toward the trees, "-- in there."

           
"Who?"

           
"I
don't know."

           
"What
did he look like?"

           
"I
don't know."

           
His
mouth curled.
 
"You don't know
much, do you?"

           
"Look,
I didn't see the person!
 
I just
heard his or her footsteps."

           
"Footsteps?"
he repeated with raised brows.

           
I
said tightly, "The pine needles are dry and make a sound when someone
steps on them."

           
"So
the crackling of a few dead needles was enough to send you running as if the
Furies themselves were after you?"

           
"Someone
was following me, I tell you!"