The Divided Child (16 page)

           
He
shrugged.
 
"It doesn't
matter.
 
You shouldn't be here in
the first place.
 
This is private
property.
 
You're
trespassing."

           
"I'm
sorry," I said curtly.
 
"I was just following the path.
 
I didn't realize I’d wandered off Redfield property."

           
He
stared at me in surprise.
 
"You haven't.
 
This is
all Redfield land.
 
I don't
understand.
 
You're a guest at the
Villa?"

           
"Yes,
I arrived today.
 
My name is
Christine Stewart."
 

           
Something
flickered in his eyes, as if he recognized the name.
 
"I am Paul."

           
"Well,
Paul, I guess I should thank you for rescuing me."

           
He
gave me an odd look.
 
"There
is no need.
 
Now, you will excuse
me?
 
I should be getting
back."
 
He turned and started
walking toward the pines.

           
"Wait!"
I called out.
 
"I think I'd
better go with you."

           
"If
you like.
 
But it is impossible to
become lost.
 
The path leads
directly to the house."

           
"Actually,
I don't want the house.
 
I'm trying
to find the garden.
 
You wouldn't
happen to know where it is, would you?"

           
His
mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile.
 
"I might be able to find it," he said drily.

           
"Have
I said something funny?"

           
"Yes,
a little.
 
You see, I am the
gardener."

           
I
smiled weakly.
 
So much for the
faithful old retainer with gnarled hands.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
It
turned out the garden was located in a small field to the south of the villa,
and that if I'd taken the path branching to the right instead of the left, I'd
have found it easily enough.
 
Not
that it was anything like what I'd imagined.
 
There weren't any flowers at all, except for a few bright
blossoms on the zucchini vines.
 
There were tomatoes and cucumbers, squash, eggplant, and green beans,
and a patch full of herbs.
 
There
were fig trees, and grape vines laden with fragrant purple fruit, and in one
corner, some round watermelons ripening in the sun.

           
Paul
watched me as I took it all in.
 
"You are disappointed?"

           
I
was, but not because flowers are prettier than vegetables.
 
Aside from us, the garden was
empty.
 
"Maria said I’d find
Michael here."

           
His
expression grew guarded.
 
"He
comes each morning to help, but today it's hot, so we stopped early."
 
He glanced at the sun, which was high
in the sky and beating down fiercely.
 
"It's cool in the house.
 
You'll probably find him there or at the beach."

           
"Yes,
well, I guess I'll be getting back then."

           
He
nodded, and reached down to pull a large clump of grapes off the vine.
 
"Here," he said, tossing it
to me, "they taste best hot from the sun."

           
"Thank
you," I said in surprise, cupping the warm grapes in my hand.
 
He didn't bother to answer, but turned
his back on me and began picking figs and dropping them into a basket.

           
As
I climbed up the patio steps and crossed to my room, I pinched off a few grapes
and popped them in my mouth.
 
I was
astonished at the sweet lusciousness of their flavor.

           
"Miss
Stewart!"

           
Distracted
by the fruit, I'd entered the room without noticing the small figure hunched in
the green armchair in the corner.
 
Now as I looked up, he wriggled out of the chair and came running.
 
I thought he was going to land on me in
a sort of flying tackle, but at the last moment he slowed and came to a
tottering and breathless stop just short of where I stood.

           
"You
came!"

           
"Didn't
you think I would?" I said with a smile.

           
He
was too tactful to answer.
 
Instead
he asked, a trace of

awe in his
voice, "However did you get Stepmama to invite you to stay?"

           
"Well,
to be truthful," I admitted, "I sort of invited myself, though your
Uncle Spiro originally extended the invitation a couple of days ago.
 
I'm not sure what he or your stepmother
really think of my being here, but as long as I behave myself, I don't think
they'll kick me out."

           
"How
long will you stay?"
 
His
voice was wistful.

           
"How
long would you like me to stay?
 
I
have about a week of vacation left.
 
If you like, I can spend the whole thing here."

           
"That'd
be smashing!
 
Only, I wouldn't want
to spoil your holiday . . ."

           
"What
do you mean 'spoil'?
 
It'll be nice
to have some company.
 
Now, why
don't you sit down while I look for something to put these grapes in."

           
I
ended up putting them in a ceramic bowl that had been holding a dozen bars of
elegantly wrapped soap.
 
After
rinsing the grapes, I returned to the room, wiping the dripping bottom of the
bowl with one of the luxuriously-thick towels Maria had set out for me.
 
"Michael, there's something I want
to ask you."

           
He
gazed up at me expectantly.

           
I
held out the fruit to him and he pinched off a handful of grapes and popped
them into his mouth with a grin.
 
"The other day," I began hesitantly, "you said something
to me at the Old Fort which I've just remembered and I’m kind of curious
about."

           
The
grin disappeared.
 
I forced myself
to continue.
 
"It was just
before the stone fell and everything got crazy."

           
His
gaze dropped to fix on his lap.

           
"Michael,
why did want money for a detective?"

           
Slowly,
he shook his head.

           
"You
don't remember?" I asked.

           
“I’d
rather not talk about it, please.”

           
"But,
it's important!"

           
His
cheeks grew flushed, and he shook his head again, this time more violently.

           
"All
right," I said soothingly, "all right.
 
I won't press you.
 
Just tell me this: is there something you're afraid of?
 
Because if there is --"

           
There
was a sharp rap on the door.
 
It
swung open and a woman entered.
 
At
first I didn't recognize her, then I remembered.
 
Her name was Helen, and I'd met her two days before in
Michael's room when I'd stopped by to say goodbye.
 
Spiro had introduced her as a maid, but I'd gotten the
distinct impression her role was more that of watchdog.

           
"Excuse
me," she said stiffly, "but I have come for the boy."
 
As her dark eyes fixed on Michael,
tight angry lines gathered round her mouth like shattered glass.
 
She strode across the room and grabbed
his arm.
 
"Are you a
kleftis
to slip away like that?" she demanded, giving him a shake.

           
"Stop
that!" I exclaimed.
 

           
Her
grip loosened, but she didn't let go.
 
"I am responsible for his safety.
 
I feared he had run away again and was lost."

           
Michael
pulled his arm free.
 
"You can
see I'm not lost!
 
I just wanted to
say hello to Miss Stewart."
 

           
"The
lady is the guest of your uncle, not of you," she snapped.
 
"Now we must go.
 
It is lunch time."
 
She put one hand on his back and gave
him a small push toward the door.
 
"I apologize for the intrusion," she said to me.

           
"Michael's
visit was no intrusion," I snapped, trying to keep my anger under
control.
 
"I expect I’ll see
him at lunch?"

           
"Today
he eats in his room -- alone."

           
"But
he's done nothing wrong!"

           
She
shook her head.
 
Michael
rebelliously twisted out of her reach long enough to bid me goodbye as she
tried to herd him out.

           
I
was in no mood to eat when Maria arrived a few minutes later to lead me to the
dining room, but for Michael’s sake I had to try to get on a better footing
with his stepmother.
 
Standing her
up for lunch probably wouldn’t serve that end.

           
The
meal was served by a pretty young woman named Aphrodite.
 
With quick, graceful movements she
poured dark red wine into our glasses and heaped our plates with salad, roast
lamb, and
tyropitas
, a cheese pie made with flaky filo pastry.
 
Demetra did not bother to speak to
me.
 
She merely signaled the meal
was to begin by spearing a piece of cucumber with her fork and slicing it into
small bits with a glitteringly sharp knife.
 
Watching her, I took a deep swig of wine, for I had the
unnerving feeling she was imagining the piece of cucumber was me.

           
We
ate for some minutes in silence.
 
Every once in a while she would cast a dark glance my way, and I would
smile back at her, determined to work my way into her good graces.
 
But her expression remained icy.
 
I complimented her on the food.

           
She
inclined her head stiffly.
 
"Maria is an excellent cook."

           
"You're
not bad yourself."

           
Her
voice was frigid, "I have a small talent for it, yes."

           
"The
dinner your brother brought me the other night was delicious.
 
Thank you for cooking all that
wonderful food for me."

           
"It
was not for you that I cooked.
 
I
often work in the kitchen when I am troubled.
 
It is soothing to the nerves.
 
That night I was very upset and I cooked much food.
 
Spiro took some for a friend.
 
He often does this, you see?
 
He has many friends -- many women -- he
likes to impress with his sister's cooking."
 

           
She
waited for my reaction.
 
I flashed
her a bright smile and said warmly, "I'm not surprised to hear he's got women
swarming all over him.
 
He's a very
attractive man, isn't he?"

           
Her
perfectly shaped eyebrows rose in surprise.
 
She looked as if she was about to say something, but just
then Maria entered with our dessert: thick slices of cold, juicy watermelon.

           
"This
looks wonderful," I commented, slicing myself off a piece.
 
"I suppose it comes straight from
your garden?"

           
Demetra
gazed at me oddly.
 
"You know
of our garden?"

           
"Yes,
I ran into Paul this morning, and he showed it to me.
 
It's quite impressive.
 
He's done a good job with it."
 

           
She
nodded faintly.
 
"It was
Maria's garden originally.
 
My
brother hired Paul when Michael and I arrived from England, so Maria would have
more time to cook and take proper care of the house.
 
But you are right.
 
He is a good gardener, and useful in other ways as well."

           
So
Paul was a relatively new member of
Ithaki
's household.
 
I pondered our initial encounter and
his amazing timing in catching me at the cliff.
 
Had it been simple good fortune, or had he, despite his
denials, been the one following me?