The Divided Child (8 page)

           
I
ducked to avoid an overhang of porous rock.
 
A large, cold drop of water splashed down the back of my
neck.
 
"But Michael and I
didn't come this way yesterday," I said.

           
"I
suspected you hadn't."
 
We
reached a point where the tunnel became quite dark, and he took my hand.
 
"Careful, we'll be rounding a
corner -- here."
 
He guided me
to the left.
 
Suddenly there was
more light, and in the distance I could see a small rectangle of sky.

           
"You
certainly know your way around this place," I said.
 
It wasn't a fact that made me altogether
easy.

           
"My
family used to summer on Corfu when I was a boy.
 
My brother was older, and preferred not to have me follow
him about, so whenever I could get away, I came here and explored.
 
It's changed a little over the years,
but not much."

           
"And
Michael?"

           
"I
used to tell him stories about the place when I visited him at school.
 
Then my brother decided to reinstate
the tradition last year and summer here with his family.
 
William was still too busy to be
bothered with little boys, so Michael spent a great deal of the summer here, by
himself, exploring."

           
"Well,”
I said, “he certainly knows it inside out.
  
He gave me quite a history lesson yesterday, though we
didn't come this far."
 
I
looked up, noticing a series of large, irregular holes in the stone overhead.
 
"What on earth are those
for?"

           
Geoffrey
grinned and shook his head.
 
"You won't like it."

           
"What’s
that supposed to mean?"

           
"Just
that I think you'd be happier not knowing."

           
His
amused tone set my hackles up.
 
"You certainly enjoy making snap judgments about people," I
said, pulling my arm free of his.
 
"And deciding what is and is not good for them.
 
No wonder you want custody of
Michael.
 
A lonely little boy you
can boss around.
 
Perfect.
 
Just ignore that a messy custody battle
will probably be pure hell for him."

           
"You're
quite right," Geoffrey said with steely politeness, "it's not my
place to decide what you should and should not know.
 
Those holes were part of the defenses of the fort.
 
If invaders managed to scale the walls
and storm the castle, the fort’s defenders would pour boiling oil and pitch
through those holes onto the intruders, burning them quite hideously."

           
I
looked up and shivered.
 
I felt
deflated after my tirade and suddenly wished I hadn't demanded to know.

           
"Regarding
your other point," he continued icily, "whether I choose to sue
Demetra for custody of Michael or not is none of your bloody business, and I
would appreciate it if, in future, you kept your views on the matter to
yourself."

           
I
could think of nothing sufficiently withering to reply, so I plunged forward,
scraping my arm on the sponge-like black rock that formed the walls of the
tunnel.
 
Continuing on with more
caution, I made my way out to the open air.

           
I
emerged on a high rampart.
 
I
crossed to the northern wall of it and stared out across the water at the town,
which looked bleached and unfamiliar in the brilliant sunlight.
 
Not unfamiliar enough, however.
 
Déjà vu sent a shiver through me.
 
I turned my back on the town and looked
out toward the stretch of sea that separates Corfu from the Greek
mainland.
 
Out of the corner of my
eye, I saw Geoffrey emerge from the tunnel, but I ignored him.

           
Instead,
I concentrated on a pair of birds soaring and swooping over the water in an intricately
choreographed dance.
 
Suddenly they
separated, flying up and away from each other before turning and hurtling at
each other with

single-minded abandon.
 
They locked in a mating embrace and
began tumbling toward the sea.
 
I
ran to the southern wall to see if they would part in time.

           
"No!"
cried Geoffrey, running after me.
 
He seized my arm, and I struggled to break free.
 
"I'm not trying to hurt you!"
he yelled as I kicked him in the shins.
 
I tried to twist away, but only managed to move a few steps
backward.
 
The rough stone of the
wall pressed into my back, and I leaned against it, hoping to gain enough
leverage to push him away with my feet.

           
He
shouted something and grabbed me around the waist.
 
There was a horrible grating sound, then the stone behind me
slid away with a sickening lurch.
 
I screamed, and Geoffrey pulled me toward him.
 
From somewhere below came a loud crash.
 
I turned in the safe circle of his arms
and looked back at the wall.
 
Two
large blocks were missing.
 
"Are they all loose?"
 
I demanded hoarsely.

           
"No,"
he replied, his voice ragged.
 
"Just the two."

           
"The
two?" I repeated, at a loss.
 
My head felt clogged, as if all my thoughts had tangled together in a
single mass, like a knotted ball of string.

           
"The
two over the bench.”
 
His arms fell
away and he took a step back.
 
“They were loosened beforehand -- with a tire iron, I think."
 

           
I
stared down at where he was pointing, and ran a hand across the newly exposed
stone.
 
There it was:
 
a long, thin groove running down the center.
 
I ran my fingertips across the place
where the second block had stood and found a twin groove there.
 
I moved to the left, past the gap, and
tested the wall.
 
It felt
solid.
 
Carefully, I leaned over to
take a look, and I didn't struggle when Geoffrey reached out to brace me.

           
Several
hundred feet below us was the Chapel of St. George.
 
To its left, and directly beneath the gap in the wall, was
an area temporarily roped off from visitors.
 
In the center of the roped off area was a splintered bench covered
with broken stone.

           
"I'm
sorry," I murmured as I stepped back.
 
"I guess I owe you an apology -- and a thank-you for
saving my life."

           
"No
need," he said, bending over and gingerly rubbing his leg.
 
"I was partially to blame.
 
I should have warned you that the block
was loose."
 
He grimaced as he
straightened up.

           
"Why
didn't you warn me?" I demanded.

           
His
eyes locked with mine.
 
"I had
to find out how much you knew."

           
"Oh,
I see.
 
If I fell over the wall and
was killed, then you would know you could trust me?"

           
"I
didn't let you fall over, did I?” he exclaimed.
 
“Despite, I might add, being pummeled and kicked by the
closest thing to a she-donkey I ever hope to meet."
 
He pointedly massaged his left arm
where I'd punched him.

           
"Well,
it was your own fault,” I said
 
“If
you hadn't jumped on me like some kind of maniac --"

           
"If
you hadn’t hurled yourself at that wall like a crazy fool --"

           
We
glared at each other for about ten seconds.
 
Then the edge of my mouth started to quiver.
 
I thought I saw his lower lip give an
answering tremor, but he quickly tightened his mouth to cover it.
 
I tried to do the same, but the
ridiculous image of myself as a donkey kicking wildly in all directions while
Geoffrey jumped nimbly back and forth across my back filled my mind and
sabotaged my best efforts to stay angry.

           
Giggles
rushed up my throat like bubbling champagne, but it wasn’t my laughter that
suddenly erupted like fireworks in my ear.
 
Startled, I gazed up at Geoffrey’s grinning face and all the
tension of the last twenty-four hours seemed to evaporate.
 
Without thought I stepped into his
arms.
 
Just as naturally, he drew
me close and rocked me to the rhythm of our shared laughter.

           
Then,
just as quickly as it had come, the laughter subsided, and I realized I was
standing there with my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against his chest.
 
I thought I felt his lips brush against
my hair, but I must have imagined it, for when I finally found the courage to
look up, he was gazing pensively into the distance.
 
He looked like a man waiting patiently to be released.
 
Mortified to realize how tightly I was
clinging to him, I jerked backwards and turned away so I wouldn’t have to meet
his gaze.

           
“Perhaps
we should start back down,” he said quietly behind me.

           
“Sure,”
I agreed, hoping my voice didn’t sound as shaken as I felt.

           
As
we descended, I noticed we were taking a different route than we had taken
up.
 
So I wasn't all that surprised
when we turned a bend and came out onto a rather overgrown portico overlooking St.
George's.
 
As we climbed down some
mossy steps and rounded the church, I hesitated.
 
I wasn't sure I wanted to see this.
 
Geoffrey took my hand and led me up to
the ropes.
 
Then all I could do was
stare.

           
The
second block had fallen slightly to the right of what remained of the broken
bench.
 
It hadn't split apart into
as many pieces as the first one had, but instead had embedded itself into the
hard earth almost six inches deep.

           
"I
don't understand," I murmured.
 
"Why?"

           
Geoffrey
was silent.

           
My
mind rebelled against the implications. "I don't suppose it could have
been a mistake, or the result of some stupid prank?"

           
"A
rather deadly lark, wouldn't you say?"

           
"You’re
right.
 
Someone would have to be
crazy --"
 
I looked up in
sudden hope.
 
"Wait, that
could be it!
 
Some nutcase --"

           
"What?
 
Was wandering about the place with a
tire iron ready to hand just in case he came upon an opportunity for
mischief?"

           
"All
right,” I said.
 
“What's your
explanation?"

           
"I
think the blocks were loosened ahead of time, perhaps after dark.
 
There's a Sound and Light show held
here in the evenings.
 
He could
have come the night before --"

           
"Or
she," I added.

           
"I
doubt a woman could have done it," he said.

           
"Why
not?
 
Granted, she'd have to be
strong, but not that strong.
 
That
mortar crumbles to the touch.
 
She
could have loosened the blocks beforehand, left the crowbar hidden somewhere
nearby, and then -- when the time was right -- used it to lever the block from
the wall."

           
"You
paint a very clear picture of how it was done," he said.

           
"Of
how it
might
have been done.
 
You don't have to look at me that way.
 
In case you've forgotten, I was the target of that rather
heavy gift from the sky!"

           
"I
hadn't forgotten," he assured me gravely.

           
I
frowned.
 
"The thing that
still doesn't make sense to me is how anyone, man or woman, could have known
that Michael and I were going to be sitting on that bench yesterday
morning."

           
Geoffrey
stared up at the rampart high above us.
 
"I don't know how anyone could have known you were going to be
there, but at least two people knew Michael would be."

           
"But
that's impossible!
 
It was pure
chance Michael and I sat down there."