The Divided Child (12 page)

           
I'm
not sure which of us looked away first.
 
Feeling a little breathless, I stared down at the tablecloth, fiddled
with my fork, and tried to recover my equilibrium.
 
When I finally looked up again, he was staring off into
space, his expression unreadable.

           
"Why
did you really come here tonight?" I asked.

           
The
question seemed to surprise him. "I thought my reason rather obvious,” he
said.
 
“Why do you
suppose?"
 
He regarded me
intently, his neatly brushed hair glowing golden in the candlelight.
 

           
I
hesitated, then said, "I suspect you want to know how my interview with
Lieutenant Mavros went."

           
His
expression changed.
 
"I wasn't
even aware you'd been to see him.”

           
"You
expect me to believe that?"

           
"Obviously,
you don't.
 
But it's true,
nonetheless."

           
I
said, "You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble, you know, and just
called me.
 
I'd have been happy to
make my report over the phone."

           
"And
what precisely is that supposed to mean?"

           
"It
means I don't think you went to this much trouble simply to have dinner with
me.
 
This morning you told me to
forget everything and stay out of your way.
 
Now you're sitting there looking at me as if --"

           
His
green eyes darkened.
 
"As
if?"

           
I
drew a ragged breath.
 
"It
doesn't matter.
 
Why don't I just
tell you what you want to know so you can go?"

           
"I'll
leave now, if that's what you want."
 
He rose from the table.
 
"Forgive me for intruding on your dinner."
 
He opened his wallet and laid a stack
of fifty-euro notes on the table.
 
"That should cover the bill."

           
"Don't
you want to hear what the Lieutenant said?"

           
"No."
 
He turned and left.

           
For
some moments I just sat there, immobilized by surprise and a rather potent
sense of regret.
 
Then the
paralysis wore off.
 
I grabbed my
purse and books and ran after him, hitting my shin twice on people's chairs in
my haste to catch up.

           
Outside,
the sky was dark and moonlight provided the only illumination, but I could see
he was already halfway down the street.
 
"Geoffrey, wait!" I called.
 
He stopped and turned, but made no move to come back.
 
I realized the mountain had no
intention of coming to Mohammed, so, ignoring the painful throb of my bruised
shin, I started down the street.

           
"What's
wrong with your leg?" he demanded.
 
I ignored the question and continued hobbling toward him.
 
With a sound of irritation, he strode
forward.
 
"All right, I'm
here.
 
Why did you call after
me?"

           
"I
didn't want you to leave like that."

           
The
moonlit planes of his face softened a fraction.
 
"Really?
 
I
thought that was precisely what you did want."

           
I
shook my head.
 
"I'm
sorry.
 
I know I was rude.
 
It's just -- well, I never seem to know
if I'm coming or going with you."

           
"The
feeling's entirely mutual, I assure you."
 
His lips relaxed into something almost approaching a
smile.
 
“What now?”

           
"Perhaps
we can start the evening over again?" I suggested.
 

           
“I’m
willing, if you are,” he said.
 
“Shall we go back in?"

           
I
shook my head.
 
"I'd rather
not."

           
He
frowned, and I quickly explained, "I was in such a hurry to catch up with
you that I ran into a few chairs, and unfortunately some of them still had
people in them at the time."

           
His
mouth twitched.
 
"So that's
what happened to your leg.
 
Well, I
see how the place might hold painful memories for you --"

           
"Very
funny."

           
"--
so perhaps we should return to town.
 
We could have dinner at my hotel."

           
"All
right," I agreed.
 
"It
will serve you right to pay for two meals.
 
But how do we get there?"
 
I gazed up and down the quiet street.
 
"I suppose there must be a taxi
somewhere . . ."

           
"No
need, I've hired a car."
 
He
pointed to a black Mercedes coupe parked across the street, then slid an arm
around me to take some weight off my sore leg.

           
"Step
this way, my accident-prone miss."

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
The
Corfu Palace was a large, sprawling hotel located slightly south of the
Esplanade overlooking Garitsa Bay.
 
It had obviously seen better days, but it was still impressive, with an
air that was more than a little romantic.
 
As the Mercedes slid into the last empty parking space in the Palace's
small lot, I gazed up at the hotel's imposing façade and tried to ignore this
last fact.
 
Even if Geoffrey's
protestations were true, and he wasn't after information, he still had plenty
to gain just by being friendly, by assuring I was on his side, especially if
there was any chance Lieutenant Mavros might begin an investigation.

           
So
I studiously tried to ignore the atmosphere.
 
What did it matter if lights fountained up around the
hotel's entrance?
 
If the soothing
sound of lapping water blended with the trill of cicadas?
 
If the tangy smell of pine wafted in
through the coupe's rolled-down windows?
 
If Geoffrey's nearness in the dark and silent car was as unnerving as a
touch?

           
I
swung open the door and got out.
 
"Thanks for the ride into town, but you don't really have to treat
me to another dinner, you know.
 
I
can catch a taxi back to my hotel --"

           
He
came round the car, took my arm, and turned me towards him.
 
"Is that what you'd prefer?"

           
What
was it about him that made it so hard to lie?
 
"No," I admitted.
 
"I just thought it might be best."

           
"You
still doubt my motives."

           
I
nodded.

           
He
reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair back off my bandaged cheek.
 
"And if I told you that I want to
have dinner with you very much, what would you say then?"

           
"That
it’s hardly surprising," I replied, trying to keep my voice light.
 
"After all, you must be starving
by now."

           
He
frowned, shook his head, and then laughed.
 
"You are the most unpredictable woman!"

           
"You're
not exactly like clockwork yourself."

           
He
seemed surprised.
 
"No, I
suppose I haven't been lately."
 
For a moment our eyes met, and I was startled by the anguish -- or was
it anger? -- I saw there.
 
Then he
looked away.
 
"Odd part of it
is, I fancy if you asked friends back home, they'd tell you I used to be quite
a predictable fellow."

           
"Sometimes
it feels good to shake free of people's expectations."

           
His
mouth curved bitterly.
 
"And
sometimes one hasn't any choice."

           
I
thought of my own life, of the disastrous encounter with my father that had
driven me to Greece.
 
"I
know," I said softly.

           
For
a moment he stared down at my face.
 
Then his arms slid round me and he pulled me so close I could feel his
heart beating.
 
"Do you?"
he whispered against my hair.

           
"Yes."
 
The word came out a sigh.
 
I tilted my head up and breathed in the
scent of his skin, all rational thought lost in the anticipation of his kiss.

           
"Geoffrey?"
a voice called out behind us.

           
I
opened my eyes to find Geoffrey’s lips only a hairsbreadth from my own.
 
He cast one long, lingering look at my
mouth, then straightened reluctantly and turned to face the man who had hailed
him.
 
To my surprise and chagrin,
it was Robert Humphreys.

           
"So
sorry to interrupt, Geoffrey," he apologized, “but I’ve been looking for
you all over and --"
 
He
stopped abruptly as he recognized me.
 
The look of startled speculation on his face vanished almost immediately,
replaced by a lawyer's veneer of imperturbability, but I could well imagine
what he was thinking.

           
"Robert!"
Geoffrey exclaimed with a sudden smile.
 
"I didn’t know you were on Corfu.
 
When did you arrive?"

           
"Just
this morning.
 
I had some papers to
deliver to Demetra.”

           
Feeling
like an embarassed schoolgirl, I wished myself anywhere but under Robert
Humphreys’s hazel-eyed gaze, but to my relief his tone was friendly, even
faintly teasing, as he said, “Why, Miss Stewart, we meet again.
 
What a pleasure."

           
Geoffrey's
arm tightened around me.
 
"You
two have met?"

           
"Yes,”
Robert replied lightly, “I had the pleasure of making Christine's acquaintance
at the constabulary this afternoon.”
 
His expression sobered.
 
“Which brings me to the reason for my untimely interruption,
Geoffrey.
 
I think you and I need
to discuss yesterday's events without delay."

           
"Surely
it can wait until tomorrow?
 
Christine and I were about to have dinner."

           
I
realized my mouth had dropped open.
 
I snapped it shut.

           
Robert
shook his head.
 
"I’m
scheduled for an early flight
 
tomorrow, and I don’t want to leave the island until I’ve talked things
over with you.
 
Christine, I’m
sorry for stealing your dinner partner, but you understand the necessity?”

           
Reluctantly,
I nodded.

           
Geoffrey,
however, was not so amenable.
 
“We
can talk
after
Christine and I have eaten.”
 

           
Robert
shrugged.
 
“Very well.
 
Shall I meet you in the hotel bar at
eleven?”

           
"Eleven-thirty,"
Geoffrey countered.
 
"It's
nearly ten now."

           
“Eleven-thirty,
then,” Robert agreed with a grimace.
 
He turned to me.
 
“I always
said he was the one who should have been a lawyer; his bull-headedness would
have made for some extremely interesting litigation.”

           
“Feel
free to hurry along,” Geoffrey urged.

           
"Very
well.
 
I take the hint.
 
Geoffrey, until later.
 
Christine, it’s been a pleasure"
 
And with that, he strode up the marble
steps and disappeared into the lobby.

           
I
turned back from watching him go, to find Geoffrey eyeing me warily.
 
"You two seem to have become well
acquainted this afternoon."

           
"Not
really."

           
"What
did the two of you talk about?”

           
"Do
we have to discuss it now?
 
I
thought we were just about to go in and have a delicious meal."

           
Geoffrey
cocked an eyebrow at me and said in a low voice, "What we were about to do
had nothing whatsoever to do with food."