Garden of Lies(70)

He paused, examining his motives and desires. And then, very deliberately, he put a little weight on the spot in front of her door that he knew would betray his presence—assuming she was awake.

He did not stop again. He moved on toward the staircase, wondering if Ursula had heard the faint groan of the floorboard. If she had, would she bother to open the door to see who was up and around at that hour? Would she care? And even if she did go so far as to peek out into the hall, what would she do if she saw him on the stairs? She might simply close the door and go back to bed.

He was on the third step when he heard her door open. A thrill of anticipation excited his senses. He stopped and turned to look back along the hallway.

Ursula emerged from the room, one hand tight on the lapels of the chintz wrapper. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark with mystery and anxiety.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “I’m not in a mood to sleep so I decided to take a walk.”

“Outside?” Her eyes widened. “In the garden? At this hour?”

“No, downstairs in my basement—where I conduct those exotic rituals on assorted unsuspecting females.”

She relaxed, smiling a little. “Now you are teasing me.” She started to edge back into the bedroom. “I understand that you wish to be alone.”

“No,” he said. He held out his hand the way he had once reached for the climbing rope that brought him up out of the temple caves. “Come with me.”

She hesitated. “This is something two people can do together?”

“We will no doubt arrive at different truths but there is no reason that we can’t make the journey in harmony.”

She walked toward him, smiling. “Did you talk in such a philosophical fashion before you went to Fever Island?”

“I’ve been told that I have always been difficult to understand. The experience on Fever Island probably did not improve my conversational talents.”

She came down the stairs.

“As it happens, I have had some experience transcribing and interpreting coded language,” she said.

His spirits lightened as if by magic. He gripped her hand very tightly.

At the bottom of the stairs they turned and went along the corridor to the basement door. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door to his private realm. At the top of the stone steps he paused to light the lantern. Without a word he gave it to her. She held it aloft.

He started down the steps, drawing her with him.

“I would be very grateful if you would refrain from making any remarks about Hades leading Persephone into the darkness,” he said.

“Never crossed my mind,” she assured him.

“It certainly crossed mine.”

“There are times, sir, when I suspect that you take satisfaction in your reputation for eccentricity. I expect you get your melodramatic tendencies from your mother.”

He smiled. “Now there’s an unnerving thought.”

He stopped in front of the door of the labyrinth chamber and selected the key on the iron ring. When he got the door open, he stood back to allow her to enter the room.

She walked a few steps into the chamber and set the lantern on the small table. He watched her study the intricate pattern of blue tiles on the floor.

“It’s an elaborate labyrinth,” she said after a moment. “Not a maze.”

“Walking the path helps me clarify my thoughts. I find that if I begin with a question, the answer is sometimes waiting at the end.”

“This is what you learned on Fever Island?” she asked.

“An aspect of what I learned, yes.”

“How do you perform this walking meditation?”

“There’s no trick to it,” he said. “You compose a question and then you just start walking. Concentrate on each step. Don’t think too far ahead and don’t think about where you have been. But consider closely how one step leads to another. Contemplate connections and links. Immerse yourself in the pattern.”

She took a tentative step forward and stopped on the first blue tile. “You said something about starting with a question.”

“Do you have one?”

She thought about that, a faint, secretive smile edging her lips. “Yes, I do have a question.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

She glanced at him, tilted her head slightly as though contemplating her answer. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

“Will you tell me if you find the answer at the other end of the path?”

“Perhaps.” She started walking the labyrinth, concentrating intently. “One step at a time, correct?”

“Yes.”

He was so fascinated by her aura of seriousness that it was a moment or two before he realized that he was still standing at the entrance—just standing there, watching her. He could watch her all night. Forever, if necessary.

A question whispered through his mind.

He followed Ursula into the labyrinth.

They walked the path in silence. He was careful to keep a few paces behind. If he got any closer he would be able to touch her and that would shatter the meditative trance. If he touched her again he would kiss her and if he kissed her he would want to sweep her out of the pattern and take her upstairs to bed.