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  Spiro
inquired.   "I have brought
Miss Stewart her clothes and some dinner."   Geoffrey reluctantly moved out of the way, and Spiro crossed
to the table, setting the dishes down and laying my laundered clothes to one
side.   "I did not realize,
Redfield, that you and Christine were acquainted."  
                "We're
not,” Geoffrey replied in clipped tones.   “I simply dropped by to thank her for saving Michael's life."
                "Very
proper.   Though I wonder how you
knew where to find her."
                "Mmmm,"
I interrupted.   "That food
smells wonderful."
                "Yes,
I think you will enjoy it," Spiro replied without shifting his attention
from Geoffrey.   "Demetra
cooked several of the dishes herself, and she is an excellent cook."  
                "Well
then, we shouldn't let it get cold, should we?" I said, struggling to my
feet.   "There are only the two
chairs, but I can sit on the bed."
                "No,"
Geoffrey said sharply, "there's no need; I won't be staying.   I've taken up too much of your time as
it is."   He took my hand in
his, and the warmth of his fingers contrasted sharply with the coolness of his
voice as he said goodbye.   As he
strode out the door, I wondered if I would ever see him again.
     
    *                                   *                                   *
     
                After   Geoffrey had gone, Spiro said
little.   He busied himself getting
everything ready for us to eat.   It
wasn't until we were well into the second course, delicately seasoned chicken
with creamy pastitsio , that he finally brought up the subject of
Geoffrey's visit.
                "I
hope he did not bother you?" he asked.   "I wish I had been here when he first arrived."
                "It
was okay.   We just talked a
little."
                "What
did he want?"
                I
hesitated, unable to come up with a ready answer.   "I don't really know."
                Spiro
flashed me a skeptical look, but said nothing.   For a few minutes we ate in silence, then he asked,
"Did Redfield speak of the morning's events?"
                "He
mentioned them," I replied reluctantly.
                "What
did he say?"  
                "Spiro,
do you mind if we don't talk about him or what happened this morning
anymore?"
                His
dark brown eyes regarded me searchingly for a moment, then he said, "Of
course.   I understand.   You have had a frightening experience,
and now you wish to forget."
                I
wasn't sure which he considered the frightening experience: my near brush with
death or my encounter with Geoffrey, but I was grateful he seemed willing to
drop both subjects.
                "You
need something to take your mind from these things," he said, opening the
door that led out to the balcony.   "The night is beautiful.   Come, breathe some of the fresh air."   He took my hand and led me outside.
                It
was dark and the air was cool.   The
moon, large and full, spilled light onto the tile roofs of the town and into
the fuzzy darkness of the trees.   A
light breeze carried the tang of wild rosemary.   I leaned against the railing, enjoying the feel of the cold
metal against my skin.   "It's
a lovely view," I said.
                "Yes,"
he agreed, "the light from the moon makes many things
beautiful."   He smiled and ran
a hand up my arm.   "A
beautiful night . . ."   The hand
slipped back and stroked my hair.   ". . . a beautiful woman."   His voice was low, seductive, oddly mesmerizing.   He leaned forward to kiss me.   
                He
kissed well, he kissed very well.   He was, indeed, an expert.   Which is perhaps why it took him by surprise when I pulled away after