Authors: Ekaterine Nikas
I'd
had a faint hope that he wouldn’t bother following me inside, but apparently
he'd had orders to stick with me, and as I paused on the main staircase leading
up to the second floor I could see him buying his ticket.
Twenty minutes and dozens of display
cases later, he was still firmly on my heels and I was beginning to wonder if I
was ever going to give him the slip.
Then
I entered a room filled with Japanese screens placed so closely together they
formed a virtual wall.
The guard
had his back to me and was fully occupied watching a well-built blonde in the
next room.
Taking advantage of the
opportunity offered, I slipped past the looped chain barrier and hid behind the
screens.
Peeking out between two
of them, I saw Lieutenant Mavros's man stroll in casually a minute later.
Seeing me absent, he dropped the
lackadaisical pose and strode quickly toward the next room.
My
luck was holding.
The guard was
still turned away, so I slipped out and hurried back toward the exit.
Ten minutes later I was making my way
through quiet residential streets congratulating myself on the fact that I was
no longer being followed.
"And
what do you plan to do now," Geoffrey murmured in my ear, “now that you've
given that poor policeman the guy?
His arm slid through mine, capturing it in a grip that was anything but
casual.
"You
were following me, too?" I exclaimed in consternation.
"Since
you left the bookshop.
I noticed
your escort, so I hung back a bit.
When you turned into the Palace, I suspected what you were up to and
waited outside.
Which brings me
back to my original question."
He flashed me a look.
"What
do you plan to do now?"
I
took a deep breath and turned to meet his gaze.
"Actually, I'm on my way to find out how you managed to
convince a respected university professor to be your accomplice in
kidnapping."
His
grip on my arm tightened, and I felt a certain satisfaction at the shock I saw
displayed on his face.
"How
in the world did you find out?"
No
explanation.
No denial.
Just a simple inquiry.
I showed him the book held open to the
back flap and said bitterly, "It's a good likeness don't you think?"
He
grimaced.
"I'd forgotten
about that.
It's the first time
they've bothered with photographs.
This complicates things."
"Complicates
things!" I cried angrily.
"You kidnap your own nephew, lie to the police, leave me thinking
Michael's in the hands of some desperate killer, and all you can say is
this
complicates things
?"
"I'm
sorry, Christine, but I thought you'd be on your way home before Michael's
disappearance became widely known."
"You
couldn't trust me with the truth?"
"It
wasn't a matter of trust.
I simply
didn’t want you mired in this any deeper than you already were.
Abduction, even in the best of causes,
is a rather serious offense.
If
something went wrong, I didn’t want you charged as an accomplice."
"What
about Paul?"
"I
should never have involved Paul, but I was desperate to get Michael away, and
to get him away quickly, before another attempt on his life could be
made."
"So
you kidnapped him to keep him safe?
I suppose you came up with this idiotic plan when Elizabeth turned you
down?"
"After
she refused to take custody, I decided a more radical solution might be
required.
I returned to Corfu
early and began making arrangements, but then Michael was attacked again, and I
realized there was no time for careful planning.
Paul offered his help, and I took it.
I called the villa and gave them the
message about his mother.
Paul
talked with Mavros's man and discovered when he was due to go off duty, then he
slipped into Michael's room and gave him some clothes and a message to meet us
outside the hospital the next morning at
six-twenty-five.
We had a car waiting, and Michael left
with Paul while I returned to my hotel to await the inevitable visit from the
Lieutenant's men."
"So
that's why you lied about when you got back.
But where's Michael now?"
"He's
safe with Paul."
I
felt a prickling down the back of my neck.
"At the house in Pagi?" I asked sharply.
He
stared at me.
"How do you
know about that?"
Impatiently,
I slapped at the cover of the book.
"I called up his department at the University.
One of his colleagues gave me
directions to the place without a second thought."
Geoffrey
swore.
"It
gets worse.
She told me that
someone else, a man, had called earlier wanting to know the very same
thing.
Geoffrey, someone else
knows where Michael is."
"Come
along!" he exclaimed, setting off at a run.
*
*
*
We
veered through narrow alleyways and past countless streets before arriving,
breathless, at a small and almost deserted square lined with parked cars.
None of these, however, resembled
Geoffrey's rented Mercedes, and to my surprise he led the way to an old brown
and battered Renault with Italian plates.
"Is
this why you came back to Corfu by ferry?" I asked as he threw open the
door to let me in.
He
nodded.
"I purchased it in
Bari.
I thought it might prove
useful to have a car the good Lieutenant and his men knew nothing about."
I
understood his caution, but regretted the loss of power and speed which the
Mercedes would have offered.
Fear
was fluttering in my stomach, and I couldn't help feeling every minute counted.
"Don't
worry," he said, seeing my face.
"It may look a dilapidated piece of rubbish but under the bonnet
there's a motor that sings."
He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.
"It used to belong to a mechanic
who loved to tinker.
I presume you
don't mind a bit of speed?"
I
shook my head, and he sent the car catapulting from its parking space and
hurtling down the street.
Our
ride across the island was a streak of blurred scenery, rushing wind, and the
poignant fragrance of wild rosemary, which still culls remembrance of that
afternoon into a pungent bouquet of pure emotion.
To this day, I cannot remember the roads we took, the things
we said, or any other details of the time that passed in our race to reach the
house in Pagi, but one whiff of rosemary is enough to flood my mind with the
haunting apprehension I felt as we drove up the dirt driveway and stepped out
of the car to be greeted by absolute silence.
There
was no other car.
The small,
white-washed house stood in an open semi-circle surrounded by olive trees.
Green shutters on the windows were
thrown open and the front door stood ajar, but no one emerged to meet us.
Geoffrey called out a greeting, but no
one answered.
He started toward
the house, and I followed.
Inside,
the house was cool, quiet, and seemingly empty.
Geoffrey called out Paul's name, then Michael's, with no
result.
"I'm going to look
about outside.
Perhaps they've
gone off for a walk.
See what you
can find out in here."
I
did as I was told, though I had no idea what I was looking for.
As I went from room to room, everything
looked normal, until I reached the back of the house and the kitchen.
By
the look of the food that still sat untouched on the table, they had been about
to sit down for lunch.
A knife and
a half-sliced loaf of bread stood abandoned on the sideboard.
A bottle of wine had been dropped on
the floor leaving a pool of broken glass and red liquid puddling near the
sink.
A chair had toppled on its
side.
And something had shattered
a hole through the back window, something about the size of a bullet.
"
Geoffrey!
"
He
came bursting in the back door and ran straight for me, gathering me up in an
embrace so fierce it hurt.
"What's happened?
Are
you all right?"
"I'm
fine, but, Geoffrey, look!"
I
pointed toward the shattered window.
His
face went white.
His arms dropped
away and he crossed the room toward the toppled chair.
His gaze lowered to the floor where
smeared drops of blood traced a trail from the chair to a tall, thin cupboard
by the door.
He pulled the cupboard
open with a hand that shook.
It
was empty.
His
eyes closed in relief.
I fumbled
for a chair to sit down.
"Do
you think they're still alive?" I asked weakly.
"I
think there's a chance they may be.
One bullet is unlikely to have hit them both, and after that first shot
Paul would have gone for his rifle.
He usually kept it here, in this cabinet.
The fact that it's gone and that his car is missing as well,
gives me hope that he was able to get Michael away."
Despite the brave words, his voice was
bleak.
Startled
to realize just how deeply he cared, I said softly, "You love your nephew
very much, don't you?"
Violently,
he shook his head.
Fists clenched,
he wheeled around to face me.
"You don't understand, Christine.
Michael's not my nephew, he's my son!"
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Well?"
Geoffrey said heavily into the silence that ensued.
"Have I shocked you into speechlessness?"
Feeling
a bit dazed, I shook my head.
"Actually, when I first saw you, I was sure you must be Michael's father.
Then you said you weren't, and I
accepted that, but you and he are awfully alike, you know.”
I paused, then said,
“How did it happen?"
He
flushed, avoiding my eyes.
"Three months after my brother and Elizabeth were married, she
turned up at my flat one evening, weeping.
She told me that the marriage had been a mistake, that she
was dreadfully unhappy, that I was the only man she really cared for.
At first I was wary, but despite
everything, I was still very much in love with her.
When she asked me if she could stay the night, I said yes.
"By
morning, however, she’d had a change of heart.
I woke to find her gone, returned to William and her
marriage.
Michael was born nine
months later, so of course I wondered, but she was adamant William was the
father.
I suspected she might be
lying, but what could I do?
I knew
the truth would tear William apart, and I reasoned the child would be better
off with a family that was whole.
I kept silent and tried to forget.
"Time
passed.
As Michael grew older,
people sometimes remarked on how much he resembled me, but that sort of thing
happens in families, and I tried not to think too much about it.
I didn't see Michael all that
often, and I managed to dismiss the strong affinity I felt for him as merely an
uncle's affection.