The Divided Child (26 page)

           
"You
what
?"

           
"You
don't have to huff like that.
 
I
know it wasn't the most ethical thing to do, but --"

           
"Ethical
be damned!
 
It was dimwitted and
dangerous!
 
What if he'd caught you
at it?"

           
"But
he didn't.
 
Besides --"

           
"And
she promises to be careful!" he cried, bounding up from the bed and pacing
restlessly back and forth.
 
"Christine, what am I going to do with you?"

           
I
gazed around at the disaster area my room had become.
 
"Well, for now, you could help me clean all this
up."

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
I
woke Saturday morning with bright light beating at my tired eyelids.
 
I'd forgotten to close the curtains and
the morning sun was streaming in.
 
Cupping my hand over my eyes, I slowly opened them to find the brightly
illuminated room looking quite normal; the only reminder of the previous
night's misadventure was a bag in the corner containing my ruined dresses,
books, and purse.

           
I
reached a sleepy hand toward the bedside table, searching for my watch.
 
I brought it close to my bleary
eyes.
 
Eight-forty.
 
As I hadn't gotten to bed until after
three, it was much too early.
 
I
rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come.
 
A sudden nagging thought drove it away.

           
I
jerked upright and turned to stare at the bureau, suddenly remembering what I’d
forgotten the night before:
 
Demetra's purse.
 
When I'd
left for dinner, it had been propped up against the mirror.
 
Now it was gone.
 
Had someone taken it?
 
The someone who had ransacked my room?

           
I
picked up my wallet and peered behind my driver's license.
 
The piece of paper was still
there.
 
I stared down at the date
I'd written down, feeling a strange prickling along my arms.
 
What significance could a doctor's
appointment have, even a doctor's appointment on the very day of William
Redfield's death?
 
I shook my head,
resolving to ask Geoffrey about it.

           
Distracted,
I was rather slow about getting dressed and was just slipping on my sandals
when someone knocked loudly on the door.
 
Fumbling with the strap on my left sandal, I finally managed to buckle
it, but not before the knock had been repeated three or four times.
 
I stood up and started toward the door,
but before I could reach it, it was pushed open and Helen walked in.

           
She
stopped when she saw me, her eyes widening in surprise.

           
"Yes?"
I said, irritated at the intrusion.
 
"What is it?
 
If you're
looking for Michael, he's not here."

           
Her
disbelieving gaze swept the room.

           
"Perhaps
you'd like to search the closets?
 
Or under the bed?"

           
Slowly
she shook her head and then frowned.
 
"I am to ask you if you wish to take breakfast."

           
"Oh,"
I said, taken aback.
 
"I
see.
 
Uh, thank you."

           
She
turned and started walking down the hall.
 
Closing the door quickly behind me, I followed.

           
We
entered the dining room to find Spiro seated at the long table alone.
 
He motioned for me to sit down next to
him as Helen crossed to pick up a tray of food from the sideboard.

           
"Where
are your sister and Michael?
 
Have
they eaten already?"

           
"Demetra
takes only coffee in the mornings.
 
Michael will be eating breakfast in his room."

           
"Couldn't
he eat out here, with us?" I asked.

           
Spiro,
his eyes looking a little pained, turned to me, the corner of his mouth curving
up into a ragged smile.
 
"Of
course," he said reluctantly, "if you wish it.
 
Though I hope you will ask the boy to
speak softly.
 
I am not feeling my
best this morning."

           
I
tried not to smile.
 
"I'll see
he's as quiet as a mouse."

           
Spiro
acknowledged this with a slight lift of his brows that caused a look of
discomfort to flutter across his face.
 
"Helen," he said carefully, "leave the tray, and bring
the boy here to us."

           
She
set it down with a tight-lipped look of disapproval and left the room.
 
"She doesn't like me much," I
said.

           
Spiro
glanced at me in surprise.
 
"She can have no reason to like or dislike you.
 
She is merely a servant here."

           
"I
suppose servants don't have feelings like everyone else?"

           
He
winced and held his head.
 
"Of
course they have feelings," he replied in a low voice.
 
"But they save them for their
friends and family; they do not waste them on their employers, or their
employers' guests."

           
Maria
came bustling out of the kitchen carrying a platter of
tyropitas
and a
carafe of strong, aromatic coffee.
 
Aphrodite followed with a bowl of fresh grapes and a tower of
loukomathes
smothered in honey and cinnamon.
 
Maria began pouring the coffee.

           
"Please,"
said Spiro, "I do not wish to argue with you this morning.
 
I am anxious to make amends for my
behavior last night."

           
"Do
you even remember your behavior last night?" I asked,
 
causing Aphrodite's eyes to widen as
she placed a
tyropita
on my plate.

           
"You
need not sound so disapproving.
 
Perhaps I drank a little too much Ouzo --"

           
"A
little
too much?
 
It took
three grown men to --"

           
"Good
morning, Uncle Spiro!" Michael exclaimed, appearing suddenly at our
elbows.
 
"Miss
Stewart!"
 
He grinned widely,
obviously pleased by the change of venue for his breakfast.

           
Spiro
gave me a baleful look.
 
I took the
hint and cautioned, "Michael, we have to talk softly this morning and be
very quiet.
 
Your uncle has a
headache, and loud noises hurt his head."

           
"Sorry,"
Michael whispered solemnly.
 
"Is this better?"

           
I
grinned.
 
"That's fine."

           
Helen
pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and motioned for Michael
to sit down.
 
He studiously avoided
seeing her gesture, instead fixing his owlish gaze on me and solemnly seating
himself in the seat next to mine.
 
Helen sputtered, but Aphrodite -- taking things as settled -- began
laying a place for him there.
 
Helen stalked from the room.

           
The
meal passed pleasantly enough, and I noticed with surprise that Spiro and
Michael seemed to get along pretty well.
 
Spiro, despite his aching head, made an effort to include Michael in the
conversation, and Michael, for his part, did his best to keep his voice low and
his boyish energy under wraps.
 
The
two almost seemed of an age as Spiro told Michael an amusing if totally false
tale of our adventures in Ypsos the night before, and I found it suddenly
difficult, with the sun streaming down on their laughing faces, to imagine
Spiro cold-bloodedly climbing behind the wheel of a car and trying to run this
little boy down.

           
Then
Demetra Redfield glided into the room, and the laughter abruptly stopped.
 
She seated herself across the table
from us, in the chair Helen had held out for Michael, and motioned for
Aphrodite to pour her some coffee.

           
"
Kalimera
,
Stepmama," Michael said politely.

           
"Good
morning, Mrs. Redfield," I echoed.

           
She
inclined her head in acknowledgment of our greeting, and then turned to address
her brother in Greek.
 
"So," she said with a nod in my direction,
 
"she is still here?
 
I thought after last night she would be
gone."

           
Spiro
flashed his sister a warning look, "Mind your manners, Demetra, and speak
in English.
 
While it is true Miss
Stewart
speaks Greek fluently
, it is not polite to exclude the boy from
our conversation."

           
Her
eyes widened.
 
"You speak our
language, Miss Stewart?
 
I suppose
you did not inform us of this, because it made it easier to spy upon us?"

           
I
smiled at her and replied sweetly in Greek, "I didn't mention it, because
no one asked me.
 
But surely it
doesn’t matter?
 
For only a very
rude person would whisper in another language behind a guest’s back."

           
Her
cheeks went pink, and she tossed her head like a angry thoroughbred.
 
"Spiro!" she cried in a high
voice.
 
"I will not sit here
and be insulted at my own table!"

           
Spiro
flashed me an irritated look.
 
"I am sure Miss Stewart meant no insult."

           
"No,
of course not," I murmured.

           
"There,
you see?
 
Now drink your coffee and
be calm."

           
"I
will not."

           
"Then
perhaps you should leave us," he said coldly.

           
Demetra
surged to her feet.
 
"Need I
remind you that this is still my house?"

           
Spiro,
too, rose and addressed her across the table.
 
"Need I remind
you
,” he said softly, “of all
that I have done for you?"

           
Their
eyes met and locked.
 
Demetra was
the first to look away.
 
"Very
well," she said in a subdued voice.
 
"I will go -- this time.
 
Have Aphrodite bring my coffee to my room."

           
As
I watched her turn and make her regal way to the door, I wondered what
precisely Spiro
had
done to merit such unwilling but total obedience
from his sister.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
After
breakfast, Dr. Aristides telephoned to suggest I come by his office to have the
stitches in my cheek taken out.
 
Spiro offered to drive me.
 
As I couldn't think of any easier way to get to town, and as I thought
I'd insulted the Skouras family enough for one day, I accepted.

           
Dr.
Aristides's office was located in a quiet, residential section of Corfu
Town.
 
The street, barely wide
enough for three people to walk abreast, was too narrow for cars, so we left
the Lamborghini parked in a distant square and walked to the pretty building
which contained both the doctor's office and home.

           
Spiro
stopped in front of a black-painted door marked with a brass plate bearing Dr.
Aristides' name and profession.
 
He
lifted the knocker and gave the door several loud taps.
 
The door opened to reveal a tall,
grey-haired man wearing a white lab coat over a wrinkled blue suit.
 
His glance went from Spiro to me.
 
"And how is my pretty
patient?
 
How is the cheek?
 
It is healing well?"

           
I
told him that I thought it was, but that he was the expert.
 
He nodded agreement with an amused
look.
 
"Yes, but it is you who
must live with my handiwork.
 
Spiro, make yourself comfortable.
 
Young lady, come with me."
 
He led me down a long hallway to an old-fashioned examination room whose
one saving grace was a view looking out on a rose garden in glorious bloom.