The Divided Child (7 page)

           
The
food looked and smelled heavenly, but I was certain it was meant for someone
else.
 
"Kyria, I'm afraid
there must be some mistake --"

           
"No
mistake.
 
Your young man thought
you could use a good breakfast, and I have cooked you a
very
good
breakfast.”

           
"My
young man?"

           
She
nodded, then eyed me up and down, her dark eyes reminding me of the raisin eyes
of gingerbread men.
 
“I have just
the lotion for those scrapes.”

           
“But
Kyria --

           
She
smiled and shook her head.
 
"Enough talk, you must eat.
 
While the food is hot.
 
Ella
,"
she said, reaching out a brown hand to guide me.
 
"Come, sit down."

           
I
did as I was told.
 
She arranged
the chair at the small table so I faced the sliding glass door that opened out
on the balcony.
 
Then she drew back
the curtains and slid open the door, revealing a view that was remarkably
different in the daylight.
 
The
tile roofs, which had appeared a cold beige in the moonlight, now glowed a warm
red in the sun.
 
The trees, no
longer nebulous pools of darkness, unfurled like green flags against the
turquoise sky.
 
Suddenly, the air
was filled with the peal of church bells.

           
"Saint
Spiridon's," she said in answer to my questioning look.

           
I
nodded.
 
I had visited the church
honoring the island's patron saint my first day on Corfu.

           
"Now
eat, before it gets cold!" she chided, heading for the door.
 
"I'll come back for the dishes
later."

           
It
was a delicious omelette, filled with feta cheese and sweet onions.
 
The eggs tasted hen-fresh, and the
bread was still warm from the oven.
 
There was sugar for the coffee, and even -- miracle of miracles --
cream, and a bowl of delicious goat milk yogurt topped with dark honey.

           
When
I'd finished eating, I sat back in my chair, patted my full but happy stomach,
and looked out at the beautiful day.
 
My mood was definitely improving, and my sore arms, stiff neck, and
aching cheek receded to the background.
 
Even the finicky shower seemed to cooperate to keep my spirits
high.
 
The hot water was actually
hot, and the pressure remained strong, helping to massage out the nastier kinks
in my neck and shoulders.

           
The
only check to my improved spirits was the shock of removing the wet bandage
from my cheek and staring at the ragged wound and small black stitches in the
mirror.
 
It looked terrible, but I
resolutely told myself that it would look better soon.

           
I
had thought Kyria Andriatsis might come to pick up the breakfast dishes while I
was in the shower, but they were still sitting on the table when I got
out.
 
I was not surprised, then,
when I heard a knock at the door.
 
I dropped my towel on the bed, pulled on my robe, and went to open it
for her.

           
"Oh,
it's you!" I exclaimed foolishly, as I saw who was standing there.
 
My robe started slipping open, and I
clutched it closed.
 
"I was
expecting --"

           
"I
can imagine who you were expecting," Geoffrey interrupted coolly,
"dressed like that.
 
Didn't he
stay to breakfast?"

           
Irritated
now, I asked, "Did you have some reason for coming by, or were you just in
the mood to be rude to someone?"

           
He
didn't answer, but stood there staring at my face.
 
I'd forgotten the bandage was gone.
 
"Your cheek!" he exclaimed.

           
I
clapped my hand over it and turned away.
 
“Sorry.
 
I wasn't expecting
visitors.
 
I haven't had time to
bandage it up again yet."

           
He
circled around me and gently pulled my hand down from my face.
 
"I hadn't realized how badly you
were hurt, that’s all."

           
"Why
are you here?" I demanded, unnerved by his touch.

           
He
let go of my hand and stepped back.
 
"I was hoping I might take you sightseeing.
 
There's something important I think you
ought to see."

           
"Thank
you, but I don't feel like playing tourist today."

           
He
started to say something, then seemed to change his mind.
 
Finally he said incongruously, "I
suppose you plan to see Spiro Skouras again?"

           
The
sudden switch of subject caught me off balance.
 
"I -- I don't know.
 
What business is it of yours, anyway?"

           
"Skouras
can be --"
 
he stopped,
frowned, and began again.
 
"Some women find him attractive --"

           
"Most
women, I would think."

           
His
mouth tightened.
 
"I thought you
intelligent enough not to judge solely by outward appearances."

           
I
had no real interest in Spiro, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him.
 
"Oh, he’s not just a pretty
face.
 
He’s also charming, and has
treated me with courtesy and consideration, which is more than I can say for
you."

           
"I
understand you have a thoroughly low opinion of me," he snapped.
 
"You've made that abundantly
clear.
 
However, I feel an
obligation to warn you of the danger you're in."

           
"Danger?"
I exclaimed.
 
"What are you
talking about?"

           
His
gaze fixed on my cheek.
 
"Your
accident yesterday was no accident."

           
I
stared at him.
 
"That's
crazy."

           
"Is
it?"

           
"Yes!"

           
"Then
why did that stone block fall when it did?" he asked.

           
"Who
knows?
 
The whole place is
crumbling to pieces.
 
Probably the
thing's been ready to fall for years and it just happened to go at the wrong
time."

           
He
shook his head.
 
"No, it was
the right time -- for someone.
 
If
you hadn't looked up when you did . . ."
 
He allowed the implication to sink in.

           
"That's
crazy," I repeated, but this time I felt a shiver of doubt.

           
"Come
with me, and I'll show you it's not."

           
"I
think I'd rather stay here."

           
He
regarded me intently.
 
"Very
well, but promise me you'll steer clear of Skouras --
and
Michael."

           
A
sudden suspicion filled me.
 
"Is that what this is all about: my keeping away from your
nephew?
 
What are you afraid
of?
 
That I might somehow get in
the way of your lovely custody battle?"

           
"What
I’m afraid of,” he retorted angrily, “is that in your stubborn ignorance you
may plunge into a situation you don’t understand and get yourself hurt or even
killed."

           
I
turned my back on him.
 
Pulling my
robe more tightly about me, I retreated toward the window and the reassuringly
picturesque view of Corfu Town.
 
"I can take care of myself.”

           
He
followed me and swung me around to face him.
 
"Can you?” he demanded.
 
“This time it was only a cut cheek.
 
What if you're not so lucky next
time?"

           
"If
I'm in some kind of danger, why should I trust you?"

           
"Perhaps
the safest thing would be for you not to trust any of us, to leave Corfu and
this whole business behind you."

           
I
thought about it.
 
He was
right.
 
If there was any risk, the
sensible thing to do was to stay out of the whole thing, go on with my life as
if nothing had happened, pretend I'd never met these people, and forget them as
soon as I could.
 

           
The
only problem was: some of them I didn't want to forget.

           
"I'm
probably going to regret this," I said, "but all right, you've piqued
my interest.
 
I'll look at what you
have to show me."

           
"Good,"
he said.
 
But his expression was
unreadable, and I couldn't tell if he was pleased with my decision or
disappointed.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
I
warned Geoffrey that it would take me some time to get dressed.
 
He told me he'd be back in an hour.

           
It
took me almost the entire time to ease my sore body into clothes, rebandage my
cheek with some gauze I'd been foresighted enough to include in my makeshift
first-aid kit, and comb and dry my unruly hair.
 
I surveyed the results of my labors in the long, narrow
mirror on the wall with mixed feelings.

           
I
had decided to wear a sky blue halter dress I'd bought in Athens, partially
because the color cheered me, but mostly because it was the only dress I had
that I could wear without a bra (sore as I was, maneuvering on a bra was
impossible.)
 
As I looked in the
mirror, I was pleased with how the dress looked on me, but neither the dress
nor my hair, which for once was cooperating and drying in symmetric waves
around my face, could make the large white bandage on my cheek look less
obvious.
 
I thought about the scar
I might have and contemplated a career as a lady pirate.
 
Perhaps it was time to go shopping for
a parrot.

           
Such
musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.
 
I went to answer it half-expecting, after my recent
experiences, to find some new and unexpected visitor on my doorstep, but it was
only Geoffrey.
 
Perhaps he was
expecting someone else, too, for he stared at me with such a look of surprise
that I nervously looked down.
 
"What is it?"
 
I
said.
 
"Is something wrong
with my dress?"

           
"Quite
the contrary," he said, and for a moment the gleam was back in his
eyes.
 
Then he looked away.
 
"Shall we be going?"

           
I
grabbed my purse and key.
 
"I
don't suppose you want to tell me where we're going?"

           
"I
thought you might already have guessed."

           
"The
Old Fort?"

           
He
nodded.
 
"As I said, there's
something there I think you ought to see."

           
"That's
what I thought yesterday," I quipped, closing the door, "and look
where it got me."

           
Geoffrey
was in a pensive mood during the taxi ride over.
 
He spoke only a few words of instruction to the driver and
to me not at all.
 
He paid the
driver silently, but apparently tipped him well, for as Geoffrey helped me out
of the car, the driver wished us happiness and many sons.

           
Geoffrey
flushed and strode quickly away.
 
I
struggled to catch up, and reluctantly he slowed his long stride to match mine
as we crossed the Contrafossa and wound our way up the hill.
 
We climbed to the lighthouse and the
remnants of the old castle that had been converted to a school for Greek army
officers during World War II.
 
It
was empty now, abandoned to tourists.
 
We passed through deteriorating rooms with mustard-colored walls built
upon ruins seven hundred years old. We turned down a hallway decorated with
murals depicting the martial virtues, and then the mustard colored walls gave
way to a damp stone tunnel.

           
"Where
are we going?" I asked my silent companion.

           
"I
told you I had something to show you -- watch your head!"