The Divided Child (21 page)

           
"You
have won, you have won!" exclaimed an elderly woman on my left.
 
She slapped my back in congratulations
and almost knocked me over onto the green baize table.
 
In stunned disbelief I watched the
croupier slide an enormous pile of chips my way.

           
"What
next will you bet?" demanded an avid young man on my right.

           
I
shook my head.
 
"That's enough
for me.
 
I've already pushed my
luck too far."
 
I opened my
borrowed purse and swept the pile of counters into it until it bulged.
 
The young man looked at me reprovingly,
but the elderly lady gave me a quick nod and a wink.

           
"Smart
girl," she murmured.

           
I
smiled at her and rose, glancing briefly toward the doorway, but Geoffrey and
Aspasia were gone.
 
Spiro and
Aspasia's husband had also disappeared from the baccarat table, so I wandered
down the terrace steps toward the gardens.
 
Leaning against a balustrade, I gazed out at the view.
 
Empress Elizabeth had chosen the site
well; from here one could see all the way to the moonlit sea.

           
"Do
you think it altogether wise wandering down here alone in the dark?
 
Especially dressed like that,"
said a deep voice directly behind me.
 
"Where's Prince Charming?"

           
I
didn't turn to look at him.
 
"As far as I know, Spiro's talking with an old friend of his.
 
Didn't the friend’s wife mention that,
or were the two of you too busy discussing me?"

           
"Wife?"
Geoffrey repeated, sounding curious.
 
"Don't tell me Skouras is off chatting with Panos Sminiotiou?"

           
"Why
so surprised?
 
As I said, they're
old friends."

           
"
Were
old friends," Geoffrey corrected.
 
"Panos is notoriously jealous, and he's quite aware of his wife's
interest in Skouras.
  
From
what I've heard, he and Spiro have scarcely exchanged a dozen words in three
years.
 
I wonder what the devil
they can be talking about now?"

           
I
shrugged.
 
"I don't know, and
I don't particularly care."

           
"Hmmm."
 
His voice grew soft and low.
 
"Have I mentioned how utterly
delectable you look this evening?"
 
I didn't answer, and he moved closer, sliding his arms around me and
pressing a kiss on my bare shoulder.
 
"We weren't really talking about you," he murmured, trailing
kisses up the side of my neck that made me shiver, "at least, not in the
way you think.
 
Are you cold?
 
Here.”
 
He draped his jacket over my shoulders.
 
“I looked over at you, and Aspasia
followed my glance and asked me what I knew about Spiro's new girlfriend.
 
I asked her which one, and that irritated
her enough she forgot the catty remark she'd been about to make."

           
I
still wouldn't look at him.
 
With
an impatient sigh, he turned me around.
 
"Don't you believe me?"

           
"That's
not why . . . I'm upset," I said, slipping off his jacket and stepping out
of the warm circle of his arms.

           
"Then
what?"
 
His face was swathed
in shadow, but his voice betrayed exasperation.

           
"Is
it true," I demanded in a low voice, "that you hated your
brother?
 
Hated him so much you
actually tried to kill him?"

           
Geoffrey
went absolutely still for a moment, then he let out a long breath and leaned
against the balustrade next to me.
 
"Skouras has a nasty little mouth on him, doesn't he?"

           
"Is
it true?"

           
"In
a way."
 
Geoffrey turned to
stare out at the darkness.

           
"What
happened?"

           
"Nothing
much really.
 
My brother and I
simply fell in love with the same woman."

           
I
stared at his darkened profile.
 
"Michael's mother?"

           
He
nodded.
 
"Her name was
Elizabeth.
 
I met her at
University, and when I graduated and obtained my first position, I asked her to
be my wife.
 
She said yes, and I
took her home to meet my family.
 
My father and William adored her.
 
My mother was less enthusiastic, but for my sake hid it well.
 
We set a date to be married.

           
"Then
I received a commission which took me out of the country for six weeks.
 
When I returned, Elizabeth had changed
her mind.
 
The wedding was
canceled.
 
I buried myself in my
work and consoled myself with the thought that she was simply suffering from
cold feet, and that -- given time -- she would reconsider.

           
"But
several months passed and I heard nothing from her.
 
Then one day I had a surprise visit from my brother.
 
He announced Elizabeth was going to
marry him.
 
He said he hoped I’d accept
the matter gracefully and pointed out that he had much more to offer a wife,
especially a wife like Elizabeth, who deserved only the best.
 
I told him to go to hell.”

           
Geoffrey's
voice was flat, emotionless, and yet somehow the whole scene seemed to rise up
hauntingly before my eyes.
 
I
reached out and gripped his hand, and he turned his head to look at me.
 
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness,
and I saw his expression change, soften.
 
"Do you always go about dispensing your sympathy so freely?"
he asked.

           
I
withdrew my hand and turned away.

           
In
a voice devoid of all the tender nuance it had possessed a moment earlier,
Geoffrey continued, "They were married three months later.
 
I avoided the wedding, and spent much
of the day getting thoroughly drunk.
 
I arrived at the reception just as the happy couple were setting off for
the honeymoon.
 
My brother and I
got into a shattering row.
 
Our
argument soon turned physical, and without realizing it we fought our way out
toward the main staircase.
 
Landing
me a particularly humiliating blow, William barked at me that it was obvious
Elizabeth had picked the better man, so why didn’t I just crawl home and sleep
it off?”

           
Geoffrey
paused and turned, meeting my gaze squarely.
 
"Needless to say, I didn’t take kindly to the
words.
 
In what I can only describe
as a blind rage, I lunged at him, almost sending us both crashing down the
stairs.
 
Fortunately, he was more
sober than I was and grabbed at the banister at the last minute.
 
He managed to stop our fall, but hit
his head in the process.
 
As it
turned out, it was only a glancing blow, but William considered, perhaps
rightly, that I’d almost killed him.”

           
I
moved closer, reaching down to slip my hand in his once more.
 
“Did the two of you ever make it up?”

           
Geoffrey
gave my hand a squeeze and then shook his head.
 
"After Elizabeth left William, he and I reached a sort
of wary truce, but no, things were never the same between us."

           
"That
must have made it harder when he died."

           
“When
he was killed,” Geoffrey corrected harshly. "And yes, it did make it
harder.
 
Much harder."

           
I
understood now why Robert wondered at Geoffrey’s objectivity.
 
I asked gently, “It was two months
ago?”

           
He
gave a small, stiff nod.
 
“March
15th, to be precise."

           
I
murmured uncomfortably, "The Ides of March."

           
Geoffrey
grimaced.
 
"Yes.
 
William was a bit like Caesar in the
financial world.
 
Empires fell
before him."

           
"He
must have made a lot of enemies," I said.

           
"Perhaps.
 
But he also kept a phalanx of servants
and employees about him to fend them off."

           
"Then
how could somebody have tampered with his car -- if they did?" I asked.

           
"That
particular day William gave all his servants the day off.
 
He was alone in the house, and the
garage was deserted.
 
It would have
been an easy enough thing to manage."

           
"Did
your brother do that often?"

           
"What?"

           
"Give
all the servants the day off."

           
"No,"
Geoffrey replied tensely.
 
"As
far as I know it was the first time he'd ever done it."

           
"That's
interesting."

           
"He
didn't send them off because he was thinking of doing away with himself, if
that's what you're thinking."

           
"Is
that the police theory?"

           
"One
of them."
 
His tone was
bitter.

           
I
shook my head.
 
"If he was
planning to drive himself off a cliff, I don't see that there'd be much point
in getting rid of the servants.
 
He
was going to be miles away anyway.
 
On the other hand, I don't see how anyone else could have known he was
going to give his staff a holiday, unless --” I bit my lip.
 
“You said your brother was alone in the
house.
 
Where was Demetra?"

           
"In
London.
 
Shopping."

           
"So
she has an alibi, of sorts."

           
"Of
sorts," he agreed.
 
"Though I would hardly call it ironclad.
 
Unfortunately, Skouras's is a bit more solid.
 
He didn't arrive in the country until
the following morning."

           
"Spiro
was in England?" I exclaimed in surprise.

           
Geoffrey
nodded.
 
"He made a habit of
visiting my brother and Demetra from time to time -- usually when he needed
money."

           
"Was
that the reason this time?"

           
"I
haven't been able to find out one way or the other.”

           
“He
doesn't give the appearance of being short of cash,” I said.
 
“But wait!
 
I've just thought of something.
 
Remember what you were saying about how odd it was for Spiro
to be talking to Panos Sminiotiou?
 
Well, isn't Sminiotiou a banker?"

           
Geoffrey
stared at me and then said slowly,
 
"He is indeed."

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
When
I returned to the terrace, Panos Sminiotiou was back at the baccarat table and
Aspasia was holding court at the bar, but Spiro was nowhere to be seen.
 
I searched for him for a long time, then
gave up and went to cash in my chips.
 
I finally discovered him a good while later, standing near a row of
stone nymphs, scanning the tables for me.
 
His expression was grim, and I wondered if the meeting with his banker
friend had gone badly.
 
When he saw
me approach, the tense planes of his face smoothed into a look of neutral
inquiry.
 
"You tired of the
roulette?"

           
I
gave a small laugh.
 
"On the
contrary, I was afraid it might tire of me."

           
"I
don't understand."

           
"I
had a streak of luck and decided I’d better stop while I was ahead.
 
I won quite a bit.
 
See?"
 
I opened his sister's purse and showed him a formidable
stack of hundred euro notes.

           
His
eyebrows rose.
 
"So, at least
one of us has had a profitable evening.
 
Good.
 
You will not mind if
we leave early?"