The Divided Child (52 page)

           
He
searched my face for assurance I was telling the truth, and then, seemingly
satisfied, relaxed against his chair.
 
A moment later, however, he snapped upright, "You don't think he's
asking for me simply because he thinks he has to, do you?"

           
I
shook my head.
 
"Have you ever
known your uncle -- I mean your father -- to do
anything
simply because
he thought he
had
to?"

           
Michael
shook his head and flashed me a grin so wide the Cheshire Cat would have been
envious.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
By
the time Paul and Geoffrey appeared in the kitchen, they had decided I was to
return to Corfu with Paul, while Geoffrey and Michael went in search of a more
secure place to hide out.
 
Geoffrey
eyed me warily as he announced the plan, and then drew me out into the
hall.
 
"Well?"

           
"Well,
what?"

           
"Haven't
you something to say?"

           
"I
don't think so."

           
"You've
no objections to make?
 
You don't
mind being sent back to town with Paul?"

           
"I
agree he needs to see a doctor and that the only place he can do that without
having awkward questions asked is on the mainland.
 
With that injury to his shoulder he needs someone to drive
him to the ferry, and I can see I'm the obvious choice."

           
"And
you'll be careful?” he asked.
 
“Once you're back in town you'll go straight to your hotel and stay
there?"

           
"Will
it make you feel better if I say yes?"

           
He
made a face.
 
"It might, if I
actually thought you meant it.
 
As
it is, I suspect I'll be a nerve case by the time I see you again."

           
"And
when will that be?"

           
"I
don't know."

           
"Geoffrey,
you can't keep Michael on the run forever."
 
I stared down at my hands and added reluctantly,
"Elizabeth's here now.
 
Can't
she take Michael back to England?"

           
He
shook his head.
 
"I doubt he'd
be safe even there now.
 
Skouras is
getting desperate.
 
He's given up
trying to make these attacks look like accidents.
 
Michael won't be safe until we have enough proof to force
Skouras's arrest."

           
"What
about Lieutenant Mavros?” I said.
 
“I’m beginning to think he already suspects it was you who took Michael;
if you just disappear, he might think you murdered Helen, as well."

           
Geoffrey
shrugged.
 
"With luck, in a
few days I may be able to prove to him that Spiro’s the real killer.
 
I've been thinking about what you told
me this morning, and I have a theory I plan to pursue once I have Michael
properly settled."

           
"Theory?
 
What theory?"

           
"Let's
just say I have a notion as to what may have happened to Michael's
bicycle."

           
Paul,
looking pale, ducked his head out from the kitchen.
 
"Excuse the interruption, but I think we must be
leaving soon."

           
Geoffrey
nodded.
 
"Of course.
 
You're right."
 
Paul’s head disappeared again and
Geoffrey took my hands in his and said in a low voice, "Christine --"

           
I
stared at the pulse beating strongly in the hollow of his neck.
 
"Yes?"

           
"When
you get back to town -- you
will
be careful?"

           
I
nodded.

           
His
grip tightened.
 
"Because I
swear, if anything were to happen to you now --"
 
Suddenly his arms were around me and his mouth was pressed
possessively against mine.

           
I
surrendered to the kiss without thought.
 
I was incapable of thought.
 
My rational mind had fled, along with any sense I had of separateness
from this man who with a single touch could send me up in flames.
 
I twined my arms around his neck, ran
trembling fingers through his hair, shivered as his hands roamed over me and
his mouth trailed kisses along my neck and up to my ear into which he whispered
huskily, "My sweet, my darling --"

           
Darling
.
 
In one of those strange associations
the mind can make, the single word clanged in my ears, tolling a warning to my
passion-dulled brain.
 
I was not
his darling; Elizabeth, with her golden eyes and tawny skin, was the claimant
to that title.
 
I pulled free of
his embrace.

           
"Christine?"

           
"I
suppose that was to insure I do as I'm told?" I gasped.
 
"Make love to her and she'll drive
Paul to town, hide in her hotel, and keep her mouth shut whenever Mavros comes
calling?"

           
His
cheeks flushed red and the pulse in his throat pounded fiercely.
 
"Is that what you think this is
about?"

           
"I
don't know what this is about!" I cried.
 
"I don't know if this is just a tactic, or if you mistakenly
think you mean it, but I do know I'm not about to make the mistake of playing
second fiddle when you're already in love with someone else!"

           
"I
see," he said in a tightly controlled voice.
 
"And precisely whom am I supposed to be in love
with?"

           
"Elizabeth,
of course."

           
"Of
course!
 
A woman who threw me over,
married my brother, abandoned my son, and who, for years, I thought was
dead."

           
"Yes,
and look how you reacted when you found out she was alive!"

           
"I
was pleased -- for Michael's sake."

           
"Oh,
I see.
 
And yesterday at her
hotel?
 
The champagne and roses and
your late night together?
 
I
suppose that was for Michael's sake, too?"

           
"Champagne
and roses?
 
What are you talking
about?"

           
"Don't,
Geoffrey!
 
I was there.
 
I know."
 
My breath caught painfully in my chest, but the words
tumbled out all too easily.
 
"I wanted to find you, to tell you about Spiro's passport.
 
When you weren't at your hotel, I thought
you must still be with Elizabeth, so I went by her room at the Hilton.
 
I went up to the door to

knock . . . . I
heard . . . voices inside the room, a man and a woman.
 
I started to leave, but a room-service
waiter arrived with champagne and roses.
 
Elizabeth came to the door in an apricot peignoir to collect it, and she
called out to the man in the room -- to you -- that it had arrived.
 
She called you 'darling'."

           
He
stared at me for a moment in silence.
 
"I drove Elizabeth back to her hotel yesterday," he said
quietly, "because I wanted to tell her that Michael wasn't truly missing,
but was actually safe with Paul.
 
She
did
invite me up to her room, but I didn't stay long, and she
was fully clothed the entire time I was there."

           
“But
what about your 'late night'?” I said.
 
“What about the note I slipped under your door yesterday afternoon?
 
Why didn't you get it until this
morning?"

           
"After
I left the Hilton, I drove here to see for myself that Michael was safe, and
once I'd arrived, I found it hard to leave him.
 
As a result, I spent most of the night here.
 
I didn't return to my hotel until early
this morning, and it was then I found your note."
 
He tipped my chin up so I had to meet
his gaze.
 
"Now then, my
jealous darling, have I set your mind at ease?"

           
Slowly,
I nodded, though a part of me was still filled with doubt.
 
I couldn’t help remembering Elizabeth’s
possessive grip on his arm in Lieutenant Mavros’s office.

           
“Christine,
I recognize that look.
 
What’s
wrong?
 
Don’t you believe me?”

           
“I
do,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.
 
“But if you weren't the man in Elizabeth's hotel room, who
was?"

           
"How
the devil should I know?" he snapped irritably.
 
Too irritably?
 
Despite his protestations of indifference, was he jealous of Elizabeth's
mysterious visitor?
 
"What
does it matter?” he said.
 
“It's no
business of ours."

           
"Perhaps
not," I said, "but I keep wondering just how Spiro found out where
Michael was hidden."

           
"You
said yourself someone rang up the University asking for Paul's address.
 
Skouras must have discovered Paul's
real identity and guessed, as you did, that he had a house here on the
island."

           
"Maybe,
but how did he know Michael was with Paul in the first place, unless somebody
told him?"

           
"Somebody
meaning Elizabeth.
 
Dammit,
Christine!
 
Do you really believe
she'd conspire against her own son?"

           
"She
does stand to inherit millions," I retorted, irritated by his
vehemence.
 
I was tempted to say
more, but common sense reasserted itself.
 
"Look, I don't think she’d do anything to purposely hurt
Michael.
 
I just think she might
have told Spiro about Paul, mistakenly thinking it was safe to do so."

           
"How
would she know Skouras?" Geoffrey demanded.

           
"Judging
from his passport,” I said, “he travels a lot.
 
He might have met her on one of his trips.
 
Also, he was pretty late returning from
town yesterday and something Demetra said might make sense if Spiro and
Elizabeth were involved with each other."

           
Geoffrey’s
hands clenched into fists, and I felt another pang of uncertainty.
 
Was he being honest with me about his
feelings for Elizabeth?
 
For that
matter, was he being honest with himself?

           
I
opened my mouth to ask him point-blank that very question, but I never got the
chance.
 
Michael came bursting out
into the hallway, white-faced.

           
Geoffrey’s
own face paled.
 
"What’s the
matter?” he demanded anxiously.
 
“Are you hurt?”

           
Michael
shook his head.
 
"It's
Paul.
 
I think he's fainted."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

           
Paul's
Fiat was not a powerful car, but I pushed it to the max and managed to get us
back to Corfu Town slightly before five.
 
Struggling to get tickets for the five-fifteen ferry, I was grateful for
my Greek.
 
Fortified with it, I was
able to elbow my way through the chattering crowd of tourists and push my way
to the front of the line like a native.

           
The
next hurdle was getting the car onto the ferry.
 
Paul waited on the upper deck while I backed the car up the
gangplank.
 
Three impatient sailors
yelled and gestured conflicting instructions at me as I attempted to wedge the
Fiat into a ridiculously narrow crevice between a large, canvas-covered truck
and the bulwark.
 
By the time I'd
parked it to their satisfaction, I had only moments to squeeze out the door and
scramble across the deck before the next car came roaring up the gangplank.

           
Peering
down at me from above, Paul flipped his thumb up and grinned.
 
"Not bad for a woman."
 
I was too anxious about his pale face
and listing posture to retort.
 

           
When
I joined him on the upper deck he was still on his feet, but his grip on the
railing was so fierce his knuckles had gone white.
 
"Don't you think we should sit down somewhere?" I
asked, motioning to the numerous benches still empty.