The Divided Child (27 page)

           
Dr.
Aristides read my expression and laughed.
 
"Don't worry, my dear.
 
The room and I are old, but this --" he pointed toward his head,
"is young.
 
Now let me see if
my work was as good as I think it was."
 
He removed the bandage with gentle fingers and, after
remarking that I was healing nicely, announced it was time to remove the
stitches.

           
Fixing
my attention on the roses, I told him to go ahead.

           
The
process wasn't painless, but it didn't hurt as much as I had expected, so
though I continued to gaze out at the garden, my body began to relax under the
doctor's careful ministrations.
 
He'd almost finished, when I suddenly jerked my head in surprise.

           
Dr.
Aristides suppressed an oath.
 
"What?
 
Did I hurt
you?"

           
I
quickly assured him that he hadn't.

           
"Then
please, do not move again!
 
I could
have cut you!"

           
I
promised to stay still.
 
After
watching me several seconds through narrowed eyes, he believed me enough to
continue.
 
When he'd finished
removing the stitches, he rebandaged my cheek and handed me a salve he claimed
would help it heal without leaving a scar.
 
"You will be as good as the new," he promised,
patting me on the back and helping me off the examination table.

           
"Thank
you," I replied absently, finally allowing myself another look out into
the garden.
 
I needn't have worried
about reacting again, however.
 
The
man I'd seen signaling to me from among the roses was gone.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
As
Spiro and I said our goodbyes to the doctor, I racked my brain for an excuse
not to accompany Spiro back to
Ithaki
.
 
In the end, all I could come up with was that I wanted to
visit several shops before they closed for the weekend.
 
To my relief, Spiro didn't question the
strange timing of my shopping urge and offered to meet me at a cafe in the
Esplanade in two hours.

           
He
headed off in the direction of the car.
 
I strolled off in the opposite direction, trying to look nonchalant as I
glanced over my shoulder every twenty or thirty feet to make sure he wasn't
following me.
 
When I was confident
he'd really gone, I backtracked to the alley bordering the doctor's
garden.
 
Geoffrey stepped in beside
me.

           
"I
was beginning to wonder if you were coming," he said.

           
"I
don't know why you worried.
 
I
mean, anyone seeing you wave wildly in that garden would have realized you were
trying to arrange a secret and confidential rendezvous, wouldn't they?"

           
"Believe
me, Christine, I felt every bit the fool you think I appeared, but I had to
find some way to speak with you before I left, and I didn't know how else to go
about it.

           
I
stumbled on the uneven pavement.
 
"You're leaving?"

           
"Yes,
this afternoon.
 
I have a
five-thirty flight."

           
We’d
arrived at the intersection of the alley with a wider street.
 
I stared up at the white, hand-painted
sign bearing its name, but couldn't seem to concentrate enough to read the
Greek letters.
 
"And what
about Michael?" I heard myself say.

           
"With
luck, he won't even know I've gone."

           
"Oh,
I see."
 
No longer caring
about the street's name, I quickly turned down it, driven by the sheer
necessity to move.

           
"Christine!"
he called out as he hurried to catch up with me.
 
"Christine, what's the matter?
 
Is something wrong?"

           
All
the churning, pent-up emotion of the past month seemed to ignite and blaze
inside me. "You're ready to give up, fly home, wash your hands of Michael,
and me, and this whole messy business, and you have the nerve to ask me what's
the matter?"

           
He
seized my arm and jerked me round to face him.
 
"Do you actually think I'd abandon him like that?
 
That I'd abandon you?"

           
I
realized with a sigh that my own anger had blown itself out.
 
I said wearily, "What am I
supposed to think when you say that you're leaving?"

           
His
tone softened.
 
"Why, that I'm
coming back, of course.”
 
He
reached up and cupped his hand over my bandaged cheek. “With luck, I might be
back to wave at you from another garden as early as Monday."
 
There was barely concealed excitement
in his voice.

           
"Geoffrey,
what's happened?"

           
He
grinned.
 
"Something
wonderful, something unbelievable, something that may slice through our own
particular Gordian knot and guarantee Michael's safety once and for all."

           
"Geoffrey!"
I exclaimed.
 
"Will you please
get to the point!"

           
"The
point, my dear, is that this blasted custody fight for Michael may be
over.
 
My solicitor rang from
London this morning with some remarkable news.
 
You know that we thought Michael's mother had been killed in
an aeroplane crash three years ago?"

           
Impatiently,
I nodded.

           
"Well,
it seems we may have been wrong."

           
I
stared at him.
 
"You mean
she's alive?"

           
He
nodded, his green eyes glittering.
 
"Alive, and well, and living -- of all places -- in Monaco."

Chapter Thirteen

           
Despite
Geoffrey's obvious excitement, or perhaps because of it, I had mixed feelings
about the news Elizabeth Redfield Conner was alive.
 
I was glad Michael was going to have his mother restored to
him, but I wondered about Geoffrey.
 
What did her reappearance mean to him?
 
He'd loved her once.
 
Did he still?

           
It's
none of your business whether he does or not
, I reminded myself.
 
In four days, I’d be flying home.
 
I looked around, trying to remind
myself I was just a tourist on vacation.

           
"Geoffrey,”
I said, striving to keep my tone matter-of-fact, “I remember the news about
Jesse Conner's jet crashing in the Rockies.
 
All the news reports said there were no survivors."

           
"There
were none," he said.

           
"You
mean Elizabeth missed the flight?
 
Her husband was really travelling alone?"

           
“Yes
-- and no.
 
Conner boarded the
flight with his wife.”
””

           
"But
Elizabeth got off before the crash?"

           
Geoffrey
shook his head.
 
“It’s a bit more
complicated than that.
 
Elizabeth
was never on the plane."

           
I
grimaced at him.
 
"Is this
some kind of riddle?"

           
"It’s
rather like one, isn't it?" he agreed.
 
“It took my solicitor a great deal of investigation to make
any sense of it, but he wanted to be sure of the facts before he contacted
me."

           
"And
what did he find out?" I asked.

           
"The
story goes something like this: some months before the accident, Elizabeth and
her second husband had a falling out.
 
He was in love with a showgirl and wanted a divorce.
 
Elizabeth had signed an agreement
before their marriage and would get no money, but threatened to go to the newspapers.
 
Conner was in the midst of delicate
financial negotiations and was anxious to avoid public scandal.
 
He offered Elizabeth two million
dollars to give him a quiet divorce, if she agreed to leave the country and
keep the details of the divorce secret for a year."

           
"Elizabeth
accepted and went to live in Monte Carlo.
 
Conner, his delicate business deal completed, married his showgirl and
boarded the ill-fated flight with his new bride, not his old."

           
"Why
didn't any of this come out at the time?" I asked.

           
"Very
few people knew about it, and the truth was carefully suppressed by Conner's
family.
 
His new wife was an
orphan, with no relatives to raise a fuss, so his family felt justified in glossing
over the poor girl's death to avoid untoward publicity."

           
"And
Elizabeth?” I said.
 
“Why didn't
she speak out?
 
Why didn't she
protest being reported dead?"

           
"Conner's
family threatened to cut off the payments of the settlement if she said a word about
it to anyone."

           
"Even
you and your brother?" I exclaimed in disbelief.
 
“She didn’t think you deserved the truth?”

           
"I
doubt she felt she owed anything to William -- or to me."

           
"What
about Michael?" I demanded.

           
He
avoided my eyes.
 
“You don’t understand,
Christine.
 
When William and
Elizabeth divorced it was . . . messy.
 
William kept Michael, and Elizabeth -- well, she wanted to marry Conner
and Conner was in America.
 
She and
Michael lost touch.”

           
"I
see.
 
So she figured why risk a
cushy settlement for a son she’d already written off?"

           
"You’re
very quick to judge a woman you don't even know."

           
He
was right.
 
I didn't know her, yet
I thoroughly disliked her.
 
It was
hardly fair.
 
But truth was, I
didn't feel like being fair.
 
"Why didn't she contact Michael after your brother's death?"

           
"She
probably doesn’t know William
is
dead.
 
There was little news of the accident outside of England,
and Robert and my brother's other lawyers didn’t know to contact her."

           
"So
that’s where you're going?
 
To see
her and break the news?"

           
"And
to ask her to take Michael," he said.

           
"Do
you think she'll be willing to do that?" I asked.

           
He
stared at me.
 
"Once she
realizes the danger Michael’s in?
 
Of course!
 
She'll be eager
to take custody from Demetra."

           
I
wasn't so certain, but said nothing.
 
We walked along in uneasy silence.
 
Then Geoffrey turned down a small alley.

           
"Why
are we turning here?" I asked.

           
"Didn't
you tell Skouras you intended to do some shopping?"

           
"Weren’t
there plenty of stores on that street?"

           
He
made a dismissive sound.
 
"Lumber for poor tourists who don't know better.
 
Wouldn't you rather have something
useful?
 
A new handbag,
perhaps?
 
There's a good leather
shop down this way."

           
“I
guess I do need a replacement," I admitted, patting the ungainly bulges in
my skirt.
 
“Pockets just don’t cut
it.”

           
He
flashed me a sudden smile that dissolved the tension between us.
 
"We men make do, but then we
aren't expected to carry about the odds and ends you women are."

           
I
would have liked to have floated along in the warmth of that smile
indefinitely, but he was leaving, and there were things we had to discuss.
 
Reluctantly I said, "Speaking of
odds and ends, Geoffrey, there's something I need to tell you.
 
The night Spiro and I went to the
Achilleon, he lent me his sister’s purse.
 
There was an old doctor's appointment card in it.”
 
I paused, and then added, “It was for
the day your brother died.”