The Divided Child (32 page)

           
I
wrapped myself in the towel and said coldly, "I don't care what you found
or didn't find.
 
Someone was up
here watching me, and I'm still not convinced it wasn't you."

           
He
didn't argue.
 
"Your things
are still down at the beach?"

           
"Yes."

           
"I'll
get them for you; meanwhile, I think it would be best if you went back to the
house.
 
No one will bother you there."

           
"And
why shouldn’t I just stay here?"

           
He
looked back over his shoulder.
 
"I don't want you standing there dripping saltwater on my plants
and killing them."

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
Geoffrey
had said he might be back on Corfu as early as Monday, so when Maria knocked on
my door after lunch and said there was a man on the phone who wished to speak
to me, I ran to the telephone in the library and snatched up the receiver.

           
"Miss
Stewart?" inquired a voice I didn't know.

           
"Yes?"
I snapped, disappointed.

           
"Ah,
Thespinis, I am Yiannis Andriatsis, from the Hotel Kerkyra.
 
My grandmother asks that I telephone to
you and inform you that a letter has arrived to you from overseas."

           
"A
letter?
 
Can you tell me where it's
from?"
 
I knew, even as I said
the words, that it couldn't possibly be from Geoffrey.
 
A letter could never arrive so quickly.

           
"Yes,
of course.
 
One moment.
 
It is from the United States.
 
From California."

           
"I
see.
 
Well, thank you."

           
Wait,
Miss Stewart!
 
You would like the
letter to be sent to you at the house of your friend, or would you like to come
receive it yourself?"

           
"I
-- I'll come get it this afternoon."
 
The letter wasn't from Geoffrey, but at least it would give me an excuse
to go to town.
 
Perhaps I could
stop by the Corfu Palace, and see if they knew when he was expected back.

           
"That
will be excellent, Thespinis.
 
Goodbye."

           
"Goodbye,
Kyrie Andriatsis."

           
The
phone clicked as he hung up.
 
I
stood there for a moment with the receiver still absentmindedly pressed against
my ear, wondering how I was going to get a ride into town.
 
Then I heard a second, softer click,
and I was suddenly grateful the message had not been from Geoffrey after
all.
 
Someone had been listening in
on the conversation.
 
Someone in
the house.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
I
told Demetra about the letter waiting for me at the Hotel Kerkyra, and asked
her if it would be possible for Paul to drive me into town.
 
As luck would have it, she was already
sending Paul into Corfu on an errand, so I was given permission to ride along.

           
Paul
was a taciturn companion, but he drove smoothly and at a more relaxing pace
then Spiro, and I found myself enjoying the ride.
 
It was pleasant to let my gaze wander idly on the vistas
flashing by.
 
As the blue Fiat
pulled up before the cream-colored façade of the Hotel Kerkyra, Paul asked me
whether I’d be right out or whether he should start searching for a parking
space.

           
"Oh,
you can just drop me here, thank you.
 
You don't have to wait.
 
I
may do a few errands myself after I pick up the letter, and I can catch a taxi
back."

           
I
expected he would be glad to be rid of me, but instead he seemed dismayed by
this sudden change of plans.
 
"It will not be easy to find a taxi to drive so far without a
return fare."

           
"I've
already done it twice before."

           
His
face evinced disbelief.
 
"Then
you were lucky.
 
Anyway, it is no
trouble.
 
If you wish to go
someplace, I will take you."

           
"But
you have that errand to do for Mrs. Redfield."

           
"It
can be done in an instant, and at any time."
 
The determined set of his mouth and the slight gleam in his
eye made it clear he was not about to be bested in this test of wills.

           
"Oh,
very well, do what you want," I snapped irritably, opening the door and
climbing out.
 
"Stay or go, as
you please.
 
I may be a
while."
 
I slammed the door
shut and climbed the stairs.
 
The
Fiat suddenly slipped into gear and roared off down the street, but any hopes I
had that Paul had changed his mind faded when I saw him maneuver the Fiat
rapidly and deftly into a tiny gap between two parked cars.

           
Kyria
Andriatsis came bustling out to greet me as I entered the cool,

high-ceilinged lobby and led me
back behind the counter and down a corridor to the family's rooms.
 
There she sat me down, served me
baklava and coffee, and asked me whether I was enjoying the visit with my
friend.
 
I assured her I was, but
my assurances didn't seem to convince her; she kept darting troubled looks at
my face.
 
In an effort to shift her
attention, I thanked her for letting me know about the arrival of my letter.

           
She
took the hint, and went off to retrieve it for me.
 
To my surprise, she returned to the room not with one
envelope, but with two: an ordinary-looking airmail envelope with American
stamps and a small cardboard envelope with no stamps whatsoever, but numerous labels
and markings from some French express delivery firm.

           
"Why
do you not open them?" Kyria Andriatsis asked, watching me closely with
those dark raisin eyes.

           
"I’m
afraid I have to get going," I replied, slipping both envelopes into my
purse and rising to my feet.
 
"Someone is waiting for me outside, and he's probably getting
impatient."
 
I thanked her for
the coffee and baklava as she walked me out.

           
She
smiled, but the anxious lines remained around her eyes.
 
"Remember,
koritsi
, there
is a room for you here -- anytime."

           
"Thank
you, Kyria," I said, touched by her concern.

           
Paul
was waiting across the street in the narrow strip of shade provided by the
buildings.
 
He was leaning
carelessly against a wall, his muscular arms crossed, his head cocked to one
side.
 
When he saw me emerge from
the hotel he crossed to meet me.
 
"Where do we go now?"

           
"
We're
going nowhere.
 
I'm
going
for a walk."

           
"As
you like," he said, falling into step beside me.
 
"Perhaps the new saying should be, '
Mad dogs and
Englishmen and young ladies from California
'?"

           
"It's
not midday, it's nearly two."

           
He
made a harrumphing sound.

           
"If
it's too hot for you, you're welcome to go back to your car and drive
away.
 
I'm perfectly capable of
getting back to
Ithaki
on my own."
 
He didn't answer or even seem to hear me.
 
"Why are you so determined to make
a pest of yourself?” I demanded.
 
“Haven't I made it clear?
 
I
prefer to be alone."

           
"You
return soon to America?" he asked in a conversational tone.

           
"Yes,
Wednesday," I replied meaningfully.
 
"And there's still a great deal I haven't yet had a chance to
see."

           
"That
is a pity."

           
I
scowled at him, but it had no effect; no doubt Demetra had given him orders to
stick with me.
 
I pulled out a street
map of Corfu Town and stared at it, trying to see if there was some way to lose
him in the streets and alleyways.
 
Then I noticed something on the map and came up with a somewhat simpler
plan.

           
"I
hadn't realized it was quite so far away," I murmured, allowing my
shoulders to droop, "and it is awfully hot."
 
He said nothing, merely waited, and I
let out a long sigh.
 
"Oh, all
right.
 
Let's go back to the car
and you can drive me there."

           
"Where?"

           
"The
Archaeological Museum.
 
I still
haven't seen it, and this might be my last chance.
 
After all, how can I leave Corfu without seeing the . . .
"
 
I struggled to remember
what I'd read in my guidebook about the museum, ". . . the Gorgon
pediment."
 
It sounded
unconvincing to my ears, but Paul merely nodded.

           
Climbing
into the Fiat after it had been closed-up in the hot sun was a bit like
climbing into an overheated pizza oven, but as Paul maneuvered us out of the
maze of small streets and onto the main road circling the town at the water’s
edge, sea air blew in through the rolled-down windows and cooled the car
down.
 
I was enjoying the feel of
the wind against my heated skin, when the car came to an abrupt halt at the
corner of a small side street.

           
"The
museum is up there, on the right," Paul said, pointing.
 
He reached across me to unlatch the
door and push it open.

           
I
quickly climbed out, relieved he hadn’t insisted on going to the museum with
me.
 
I headed in the direction he’d
pointed, watching out of the corner of my eye as the Fiat zipped away, circling
around a small traffic roundabout to head back downtown.

           
Pulling
out my map, I turned the opposite direction, back toward the long, wide avenue
called Dimokratias which curves in a panoramic arc around Garitsa bay.
 
If the map was right, I was only three
or four long blocks from Geoffrey's hotel.

           
After
the heat of the walk, the outflung terraces of the Corfu Palace were a welcome
sight.
 
I entered the cool and
subdued lobby and for a moment just enjoyed being out of the hot sun, then I
crossed to the reception desk and asked the desk clerk if Geoffrey had returned
yet.
 
He reached down and flicked
through his files, then gave the faintest shake of his head.

           
"No,
he has not."

           
"When
do you expect him back then?"

           
He
glanced down at the white card in his hand.
 
"I cannot say.
 
When he left, he was unsure of the precise day of his return.
 
He continues to pay for the room, so
there was no need for him to give us an exact date."

           
I
sighed with frustration.
 
"Did
he leave an address he could be reached at?
 
Or a telephone number?"

           
His
expression grew slightly more sympathetic.
 
"I am sorry, no.
 
It is important?
 
You are
anxious to speak with him?"

           
"Yes."

           
"Then
perhaps you wish to leave a message?
 
It is possible he may telephone, and if so, he would know to contact
you."

           
It
was a good suggestion, and I was about to take him up on it, when someone
behind me called my name.
 
I spun
around guiltily.

           
It
was Robert Humphreys.
 
“Oh, hello!”
I said in relief.

           
“Hello,”
he echoed with a friendly smile.
 
"I suppose you’re here looking for Geoffrey, too?”
 
I nodded.
 
“Pity,” he said.
 
“I was hoping you might know where he’s made off to."
 

           
I
was sorely tempted to tell him where Geoffrey had gone, but I didn’t feel it
was my place to break the big news about Elizabeth.
 
“Sorry,” I said with an apologetic shrug.