The Divided Child (29 page)

           
He
chuckled and held out the box.
 
"You had best take one now, before they disappear, as they have
been known to do around that one."
 
He gestured at Michael with his chin.

           
They
all looked the same, so I selected one from the end.
 
I held it in my hand for a moment inhaling the lovely scent,
then bit deep.
 
Sadly, though the
chocolate was heavenly, the hazelnut cream inside was a disappointment.
 
It tasted chalky and a little bitter
compared to the lusciously sweet shell.
 
Spiro was watching me expectantly, however, so I smiled and said how
much I liked it.

           
He
nodded and pushed the box over to Michael.
 
"All right, you may have some now, but try not to eat
the whole box.
 
Christine may wish
another.
 
Now, if you two will
excuse me?
 
The butler must clean
and put away the dishes."
 
He
made a wry face and departed for the kitchen.

           
After
he'd gone, Michael made no move to take a chocolate.
 
Watching him, I said, "I gather you don't care for
those quite as much as your uncle thinks you do."

           
He
looked sheepish.
 
"Actually,
they're my favorites, but last week I had Paul buy me a large box of them and
I'm afraid I ate them all and got quite sick.
 
Now just the smell of them makes me feel a bit queer."

           
I
grinned.
 
"I see."

           
His
brow wrinkled-up in concern.
 
"What do you think I should do?
 
Uncle Spiro will be insulted if I don't have some."

           
"You
could tell him the truth."

           
He
shook his head.
 
"It might get
Paul in trouble."
 
He turned a
pleading face toward me whose angelic quality was marred by the mischievous
grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
 
"I don't suppose you'd like to eat four or five more -- for
me?"
 

           
I
shook my head.
 
"No, I've had
quite enough, thank you, but if you're really desperate you could toss a few
off the balcony.
 
I doubt anyone
will notice them at the bottom of the cliff."

           
"What
a smashing idea!" he said, grabbing up a handful of chocolates and
crossing to the balcony railing.
 
He lobbed them over the edge with the vigor of a soldier disposing of
live grenades, then trotted back to the table and plunked down next to me.
 
"I say, I like the way you
think.
 
I'll have to remember that
trick next time Maria serves eggplant!"

           
"Just
so you don't blame it on me when you get caught."

           
"No
fear," he said with a grin.
 
"I'm good at keeping secrets."

           
I
felt the smile fade from my face.
 
"Michael, sometimes secrets can be dangerous."

           
He
avoided my eyes.
 
"Spy
secrets, you mean.
 
James
Bond.
 
MI-6.
 
That kind of thing."

           
"Other
kinds of secrets, as well," I said, reaching out and touching his
arm.
 
"Michael, won't you tell
me?
 
Why did you say you wanted a
detective that day at the Old Fort?"

           
"I'd
rather not talk about it."

           
"But
Michael --"

           
"It's
nothing like what you were saying, I promise.
 
It's not a dangerous secret.
 
It's just . . . a secret."
 
His cheeks grew red, and he jerked to his feet.
 
"I'd best go change now."
 
He hurried away into the house, leaving
me alone.

           
We
headed for the beach shortly after four.
 
It was pleasant to be on sand again, and as I waded into the amazingly
clear water, I reveled in the soft feel of the sand squishing through my toes
and eddying around my feet in small, dark clouds.

           
Despite
the hot sun, the water was cold, so I decided to speed my entry and run for
deeper water.
 
Michael, laughing,
followed, and so did Spiro, but though we waded and waded farther and farther
out, the water refused to rise above our shoulders, and only Michael managed to
lose touch of the bottom.

           
Spiro
smiled at my expression.
 
"It
remains shallow for another hundred meters, I am afraid."

           
"You
might have told me."

           
"But
then you would have stopped, and it was very pleasant watching you race ahead
of me."

           
"Oh,
was it?" I said, splashing him hard in the face.
 
I dove into the shallow water and started swimming toward
where Michael was standing on tiptoe, twirling slowly in a circle like a
lighthouse beacon.

           
"Shall
we race?" I called to him.
 
He
nodded and flashed me a grin, then launched himself off with a quick arching
dive followed by smooth, curving strokes that gave him an immediate lead.
 

           
"He's
not a boy, he's a fish," I exclaimed, diving after him.
 
I hadn't gone twenty feet, however,
before something grabbed my ankles and pulled me under the water.

           
"Hey,
let go!" I burbled, spitting out water and wrestling with my captor.

           
"I
am merely trying to insure the boy has a fair chance," Spiro said calmly.

           
I
stopped struggling, and Spiro loosened his hold.
 
"You're showing uncommon concern in his welfare
today,"
 
I snapped.
 
"Why the sudden change of
heart?
 
You must have had a devil
of a time getting your sister to agree to your bringing him on this outing,
especially with me along."

           
"Devil
of a time?
 
Ah, you mean it was
difficult.
 
Yes, that's true,
though perhaps not as difficult as it might have been had Mr. Humphreys not
given my sister a lecture last night about the proper treatment of energetic
young boys.
 
It was also of help
that my sister had no notion you were to join us on this excursion; she thinks
you are spending the afternoon in town."

           
"But
Maria --"

           
"I
instructed her to say nothing until after we had left."
 
He paused and looked at Michael's
distant figure.
 
"I think the
boy has a sufficient start.
 
You
can go."

           
"Are
you kidding?
 
I'll never catch up
with him now!"

           
"No?
 
Well, then perhaps I shall go in your
place."
 
And without another
word he shot through the water, and with long, sure strokes began rapidly
closing the distance between them.
 
A vague sense of uneasiness gripped me as I watched Michael's graceful
motions and Spiro's determined ones, and I scrambled to catch up to them,
kicking and slicing through the clear water faster than I had ever swum in my
life.

           
But
it wasn't fast enough.
 
I was still
almost thirty feet away when the long, dark form caught up with the small, fair
one.
 
My breath caught in my throat
when both suddenly disappeared.
 
"No!" I yelled frantically.

           
And
then suddenly nightmare dissolved into farce.
 
Spiro, Michael in his arms, burst to the surface and tossed
the giggling boy up into the air.
 
Michael, landing with a splash, disappeared beneath the surface, and
Spiro suddenly lost his footing and with an incredulous expression collapsed
into the water as if someone had just pulled a chair out from under him.

           
As
the tension poured out of me, I was left feeling like a deflated balloon.
 
Weakly, I turned and began stroking
slowly toward shore.
 
The water was
shallow enough to have waded out, but I wasn't sure my shaking knees would hold
me.

           
"Miss
Stewart!"

           
Michael
swam over to ask if something was wrong.
 
I told him I was just feeling tired and wanted to lie on the beach
awhile.

           
The
air was warm, the sand soft.
 
I
unrolled my mat and collapsed onto it, feeling a bit dizzy.
 
I closed my eyes and the queasy waves
receded.
 
The sun beat down,
wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth, and I felt as if I was still floating in the
warm Ionian sea . . .

           
I
woke with a start to find Spiro standing over me, shaking me.
 
"At last!" he exclaimed as I
opened my eyes.
 
"You sleep
like a stone.
 
I was beginning to
wonder if I would ever wake you."

           
I
tried to bring his face into focus.
 
"Where's Michael?"

           
His
eyebrows rose at the urgency of my voice.
 
"There," he said, gesturing toward a small, splashing figure
cavorting in the sea with two other boys.
 
He frowned.
 
"Those two
came along almost as soon as you left the water."

           
I
closed my eyes in relief.
 
"Sorry," I murmured weakly.
 
"I didn't mean to leave you alone to play nursemaid.

           
"You
intend to sleep again?"

           
"Of
course not."
 
I forced my eyes
open and rose unsteadily to my feet.
 
Drowsiness consumed me, so I stumbled down to the sea's edge and
splashed water on my face.
 
The
salt stung my eyes.

           
Spiro
came up and took my arm.
 
"I
see I am not the only one who should be drinking lemonade," he said.
 
"Obviously, I served too much wine
at lunch."

           
I
pulled my arm away and frowned at the lowered position of the sun.
 
"What time is it?"

           
"Almost
seven.
 
We should be going
soon."

           
"Seven!
 
You mean I've been asleep nearly three
hours?"

           
He
nodded, his face studiously bland.

           
"I
don't understand," I said.
 
"I don't even remember falling asleep, and now I feel so groggy I
can barely keep my eyes open.
 
The
only time I ever felt like this before was when I had a brief bout of insomnia
and my doctor gave me

double-strength sleeping pills by
mistake . . ."

           
My
voice trailed off.
 
Sleeping
pills?
 
No, it couldn't be. But why
had the filling of the chocolates tasted so bitter?
 
I cast a sidelong glance at Spiro.
 
He was watching me intently.

           
I
forced myself to smile, and gave a little shrug.
 
"Well, I guess you're right.
 
No more wine at lunch."

           
He
nodded, his gaze still fixed on me.
 
"We should be going.
 
If you would call the boy?”
 
I said I would, and he turned away.
 
“I will fetch an extra towel from the car so that he may dry
himself properly.
 
I do not wish
him dripping on my leather seats all the way back to town."
 
He started toward the road where the
Lamborghini was parked.

           
I
called out after him.
 
"Wait,
Spiro, I'll come with you.
 
I've got
a hankering for one of those chocolates."

           
He
stopped and turned.
 
His expression
was unreadable.
 
"I am sorry,
Christine.
 
I do not have any to
give you."

           
"But
there were six still in the box when I went to change."

           
"True,
but I threw the box in the dustbin before we left."

           
"May
I ask why?"

           
He
shrugged, as if the answer was obvious.
 
"In this heat?
 
The
chocolates would have melted and made a mess in my car."