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the window again, and this time he went to it
and sat down.
                "Where
would you like me to begin?"
                I
stared at his face: the straight nose, the well-shaped mouth, the grave, green
eyes so like Michael's.   It was a
strong face, an attractive face.   Too bad it belonged to a man who saw his nephew as nothing but a meal
ticket.
                "Why
do you want custody of Michael?" I asked.
                The
question seemed to catch him by surprise.   The taut arc of his jaw tightened to fierce angles.   "Does it matter?"
                "I
think it does.   Michael is a very
wealthy boy."
                His
green eyes darkened.   "You
think I'm after his money?"
                "I
don't know."
                "Affording
me the benefit of the doubt?"
                "Trying
to decide how low you'd stoop," I corrected.
                His
mouth tightened to a white-lipped line, then his gaze went to the letter on my
lap and his anger seemed to drain away.   "I suppose I deserve that,” he said.   I waited for him to say more, to protest his innocence, to
tell me he wanted custody of Michael because he cared for the boy and wanted to
make sure he was happy and loved.   I waited, but in vain.   He
turned and looked out the window.   "How much have you told Demetra?"
                "About
your little visit?   Nothing."
                He
turned back and flashed me a searching look.   "Thank you."
                I
shook my head.   "No need to
thank me.   Your sister-in-law's
just as suspicious of me as you are.   I didn't want to get caught in the middle any more than I already was,
that’s all."
                "I
see."
                Silence
stretched uncomfortably between us.   Finally I asked, "Why did you think someone had paid me to follow
Michael?"
                He
hesitated for a moment, then said, "Challenging Demetra's custody is
extremely difficult while Michael is here in Greece.   If he were in England, it would be a different matter."
                "So
that's why Michael went off without a word,” I said.   “He went to the Old Fort to meet you."
                He
nodded.   "I wanted an
opportunity to speak with him, to make sure he was being treated decently.   At the villa, I'm never allowed to see
him alone."
                "With
good reason, it sounds like."
                "No,
you're wrong.   I simply wanted to
speak with him.   As it turned out,
I never got the chance."   He
looked down at his hands, which were steepled together in his lap.   Unwillingly, I found my gaze following
his.
                He
had nice hands, with long, tapering fingers and well-shaped wrists.   The cuffs of his shirt were folded
back.   His tanned forearms were
covered with soft, golden hairs that curled down to the band of his watch.    Fighting a sudden desire to brush
my fingers along those silky hairs, I focused on the watch instead.    It was a simple but
expensive-looking timepiece, and it suddenly reminded me of Michael’s boyish
one.   “Of course!” I
exclaimed.   “Ten o’clock!   That's why he wanted to get rid of
me.   That's when you were supposed
to meet him, wasn’t it?"
                He
was watching me now -- intently.   “You really didn’t know, did you?" he said softly, a smile
beginning to play at the edges of his lips.   “Yes."
                It
irked me that just when I thought I’d come up with something to put him on the
defensive, he acted as if I were the one who had passed some test.   "So why didn't you show up?"
I demanded.
                "I
was late.   I arrived just in time
to see you and Michael climbing into a taxi together.   The taxi pulled away as I ran up, and by the time I'd
managed to hail another, you'd