Authors: Ekaterine Nikas
"What
danger?" I demanded archly.
"According to you, I should be perfectly safe here.
After all, I'm working for Spiro and
his sister, aren't I?"
He
flashed me an exasperated look.
Lowering
my voice, I said, "Much as I'd love to spend the rest of the afternoon
arguing with you about this, I don’t think your being here is a good idea.
If Demetra or Spiro find out, I'll be
out on my ear."
Suddenly, as
if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
"
Hide!
" I hissed.
He
shook his head.
"If anyone
asks, I'll say you invited me."
"But
they'll throw me out!"
"Exactly."
I
hurled a furious look at him, and crossed to the door.
"Who is it?"
"It
is Maria, Thespinis.
I come to
bring your laundry."
I
let out a breath, and opened the door a crack.
She stood there with a stack of neatly folded clothes.
She looked past me, but I blocked
Geoffrey from view with my body.
"I was just about to get in the shower.
Could you come back later?"
I
was afraid the words sounded ungrateful and rude, but Maria simply nodded and
left.
After she’d gone, I closed
the door and turned angrily on Geoffrey.
"What was that all about?"
He
looked away.
"Your being here
is an unnecessary risk."
"Look,
all I plan to do is keep my eyes open and perhaps provide Michael with a little
company -- if I get the chance."
"See
reason!
Someone tried to kill him
and they may well try again.
I
don’t want you caught in the middle.”
“But
if I'm here keeping an eye on things,” I protested, “I may provide some degree
of protection for him."
He
seized my hands and brought them up to press against his chest.
"And if Spiro and his sister
are
responsible for the attempt on Michael's life?" he asked.
I could feel the tense rise and fall of
his chest through the fine linen of his shirt.
"Then
I'll be a whole lot safer if you're discreet about your visit."
He
sucked in his breath.
"Very
well," he said reluctantly.
"Does
that mean you accept my help?"
"It
means,” he said, “that though I’m sorely tempted to act the caveman and drag
you out of here by your mane of chestnut hair, I suspect it would do no good
and perhaps considerable harm.
In
any case, you may be right.
It
is
possible your being here will provide Michael with some degree of protection.”
I
smiled triumphantly.
He
released my hands and slid his arms around me, jerking my body tightly against
his own.
“Don’t get cocky,” he
whispered in my ear.
“I’m only
agreeing to this on condition you promise not to do anything to put yourself at
risk.
Listen and watch, but don't
play detective."
His
breath on my neck sent delicate tremors radiating down my throat.
"Don't worry.
I'm the world's biggest coward."
His
lips slid from my ear to press a light kiss above my bandaged cheek.
"Somehow, I doubt that."
"You'd
better get going," I said, pushing against his chest with unsteady
hands.
"You've been here much
too long already."
He
let me go and stepped back.
"Yes,” he agreed reluctantly,
“I suppose it would be unwise to seduce you in the enemy camp.
Very well, when can we meet again?
If we're to tackle this together,
there’s a great deal we need to discuss."
"I’d
say tonight, but Spiro’s planning to take me out to dinner.
How about tomorrow -- late, after
everyone is asleep?"
"Where?
Here?" he asked.
"No,
someone might hear us.
How about down
at the beach?
Say around
midnight?"
His
mouth curved into the ghost of a smile.
"At midnight then, Cinderella, and don't forget the glass
slipper."
*
*
*
An
hour later, as I wandered through the quiet and seemingly deserted villa, I
found myself wishing I hadn't been so quick to send Geoffrey on his way.
It was the middle of siesta, and the
melancholy afternoon sunlight slipping in through the shuttered windows left me
feeling lonely and slightly depressed.
Feeling
a need to escape the strange, artificial twilight of the house,
I slipped outside.
The heat of the day hit me like a slap,
and my mood seemed to clear.
What
I needed was to move, to act.
I
decided to explore the grounds of the villa.
I
started toward the garden.
From
there, the path curved down to
Ithaki's
private beach, but I'd already
been that way when I'd gone swimming, so I left the path and continued to the
right, up a winding hill, past a thicket of pines, and toward a wall of cypress
trees that towered overhead.
Passing through the verdant wall, I found myself half-way up
Ithaki's
long drive.
Surprised
to realize I'd come so far, I was about to turn back, when I heard the scrunch
of footsteps on gravel further up the drive.
Curious, I followed the sound, confining my own steps to a
narrow border of dirt I could tread noiselessly.
Unfortunately, the dirt verge was covered with the same
thistle-like weeds which seem to grow along every Greek road, and I was soon
debating whether a quiet approach was worth all the pricks and scratches I was
accumulating on my sandal-clad feet and bare ankles.
Turning
a curve in the drive, I decided it was, for suddenly I could see whom I was
following: Helen, dragon of the playroom.
There was something furtive in her manner; she kept looking behind her,
as if to make sure no one was following.
As her glance swept toward me, I slipped behind a cypress tree, trying
to disappear behind the narrow oblong of foliage.
I was sure I must be sticking out a mile, and began to
imagine the difficulty I'd have explaining this strange game of hide and seek
to Spiro or -- heaven forbid -- his sister Demetra.
I
was so immersed in this uncomfortable vision, I didn't notice the footsteps
continuing up the drive.
Peeking
out from behind my makeshift blind, I realized my quarry had disappeared.
Ignoring Geoffrey's admonition not to
play detective, I sprang to the chase.
There had to be something suspicious about Helen sneaking off this
way.
Where was she going?
What was she up to?
I
reached the stone pillars marking the entrance to the drive without seeing any
sign of her, so I turned out onto the road.
Off in the distance, I saw a small, receding figure and I
stared after it in amazement.
You
had to give the woman credit.
She
might have the personality of a warthog, but she could set a mean pace.
Sucking in a deep breath, I set after
her at a jog.
We
continued at this gasping pace for several miles, until we finally approached
the outskirts of a town.
Helen
slowed, no longer, it seemed, in any hurry.
I followed her at an almost sedate pace as the road curved
around the hillside, and the olive groves above and below gave way to graceful,
whitewashed buildings with heavy wooden doors and iron-railed balconies.
Koussaki,
as I later learned it was called, was a pretty town, sleepy and small, with few
of the excesses to be found in the resorts to the south.
Since it was siesta, the streets were
almost empty of cars, and the warm quiet was disturbed only occasionally by the
growl of an unmuffled moped roaring past.
Helen
turned down a narrow street and I followed, stretching the distance between us
as far as I could and still keep her in sight.
Luckily, as we walked the town began to wake.
Doors opened, window shutters were
thrown wide, and the narrow street began to fill with people.
Finding safety in numbers, I worked my
way closer to Helen, which was a good thing, for she made a sudden turn down a
small alley, and if I had been any further back I would have lost her.
As
she continued to weave her way through the back streets of the town, however, I
began to have misgivings.
Had she
seen me?
Was she leading me on a
wild goose chase, or did she have something more sinister in mind?
As we took more twists and turns, I
began to feel like Theseus without Ariadne's thread;
if there was something nasty at the center of this
labyrinth, how was I ever going to find my way out?
I was mulling over these uncomfortable thoughts when Helen
suddenly disappeared.
I
don't mean to say that she vanished into thin air, though in the mood I was in
that might not have surprised me.
No, what actually happened was that she made another quick turn down yet
another street, and this time when I followed her I found the street came to a
dead end.
And she was nowhere to
be seen.
The
street was really just a short alley.
It ended abruptly at the wall of a building which formed an
"L" around the right side of the cul-de-sac.
The backs of two smaller
buildings closed the "L" into an inescapable "U".
Only two doors -- one in the farther of
the two buildings, the other in the long end of the "L" -- could have
provided a possible exit for her.
I tried the door on the left.
Would I find the lady or the tiger?
Neither,
as it turned out.
The door was
locked.
The rusty knob turned
so far and no farther.
I crossed the street to the other door
and tried again.
This time the
door swung open with well-oiled ease, and I peered into the darkness, trying to
make out what was inside.
My eyes
were too accustomed to the
still-bright afternoon light.
I couldn't make out a thing.
Swallowing hard, I decided I’d have to
chance it.
I walked into the
darkened room and closed the door behind me.
I
stood still for a minute, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
As they did, I began to notice slivers
of light along the floor to my left.
As my eyes adjusted further, I realized that the light was coming from
under several doors.
I
felt along the nearest one for a knob to turn, but the surface of the door was
smooth and it swung back under the pressure of my hand.
I held it open a few inches and gazed
out into a large chamber dimly-lit by candlelight and sunlight filtered through
stained glass.
The walls were hung
with icons and lined with wooden seats; the main door was flanked by a large
candle-stand and an icon framed in silver and gold.
In disbelief, I pushed the door open further to illuminate
the room I was standing in.
I
stared at the cloth-draped altar in dismay; I was trespassing on the church's
sanctuary.
My
first instinct, as a well-raised Orthodox girl, was to leave immediately.
But as I glanced out into the nave to
make sure no one had noticed my intrusion, I saw Helen.
She stood near the candle-stand with
her back to me, and she was talking to a tall man hidden behind one of the two
columns which framed the doorway.
In the dim light of the church, all I could see was the back of his head
which was illuminated by the flickering candle-light.
The golden sheen of his hair seemed somehow familiar, as did
the shape of his head.
My breath
caught.
Geoffrey?
What was he doing meeting with Helen?