Memories of Midnight

“I don’t …”

“They were executed by the state, Catherine.”

“But … why?”

Careful. Danger. “Because they tried to murder you.”

Catherine frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would the state execute them? I’m alive …”

He broke in. “Catherine, Greek laws are very strict. And justice here is swift. They had a public trial. A number of witnesses testified that your husband and Noelle Page attempted to kill you. They were convicted, and sentenced to death.”

“It’s hard to believe,” Catherine sat there, dazed. “The trial …”

Constantin Demiris walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You must put the past out of your mind. They tried to do an evil thing to you, and they paid for it.” He struck a more buoyant tone. “I think you and I should discuss the future. Do you have any plans?”

She did not hear him. Larry, she thought. Larry’s handsome face, laughing. Larry’s arms, his voice …

“Catherine …”

She looked up. “I’m sorry?”

“Have you had any thoughts about your future?”

“No, I … I don’t know what I’m going to do. I suppose I could stay in Athens …”

“No,” Demiris said firmly. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. It would bring back too many unpleasant memories. I would suggest that you leave Greece.”

“But I have nowhere to go.”

“I’ve given it some thought,” Demiris told her. “I have offices in London. You once worked for a man named William Fraser in Washington. Do you remember that?”

“William … ?” And suddenly she did remember it. That had been one of the happiest times of her life.

“You were his administrative assistant, I believe.”

“Yes, I …”

“You could do the same job for me in London.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but …”

“I understand. I know everything seems to be happening very quickly,” Demiris said sympathetically. “You need some time to think about all this. Why don’t you have a nice quiet dinner in your room, and in the morning we’ll discuss it further.”

Asking her to have dinner in her room was a last-minute inspiration. He could not afford to have his wife run into her.

“You’re very thoughtful,” Catherine said. “And very generous. The clothes are …”

He patted her hand and held it a fraction longer than necessary. “It’s my pleasure.”

She sat in her bedroom watching the blazing sun set over the blue Aegean in an explosion of color. There is no point in reliving the past. There is the future to think about. Thank God for Constantin Demiris. He was her lifeline. Without him, she would have had no one to turn to. And he had offered her a job in London. Am I going to take it? Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “We’ve brought your dinner, miss.”

Long after Catherine had gone, Constantin Demiris sat in the library thinking about their conversation. Noelle. Only once in his life had Demiris permitted himself to lose control of his emotions. He had fallen deeply in love with Noelle Page, and she had become his mistress. He had never known a woman like her. She was knowledgeable about art, and music, and business, and she had become indispensable. Nothing about Noelle surprised him. Everything about Noelle surprised him. He was obsessed with her. She was the most beautiful, the most sensual woman Demiris had ever known. She had given up stardom to be at his side. Noelle had stirred emotions in him that he had never felt before. She was his lover, his confidante, his friend. Demiris had trusted her completely and she had betrayed him with Larry Douglas. It was a mistake Noelle had paid for with her life. Constantin Demiris had arranged with the authorities for her body to be buried on the grounds of the cemetery on Psara, his private island in the Aegean. Everyone had remarked on what a beautiful, sentimental gesture it was. In fact, Demiris had arranged for the burial plot to be there so that he could have the exquisite pleasure of walking over the bitch’s grave. At Demiris’s bedside in his own bedroom was a photograph of Noelle at her loveliest, looking up at him and smiling. Forever smiling, frozen in time.

Even now, more than a year later, Demiris was unable to stop thinking about her. She was an open wound that no doctor could ever heal.

Why, Noelle, why? I gave you everything. I loved you, you bitch. I loved you. I love you.

And then there was Larry Douglas. He had paid with his life. But that was not enough for Demiris. He had another vengeance in mind. A perfect one. He was going to take his pleasure with Douglas’s wife as Douglas had done with Noelle. Then he would send Catherine to join her husband.

“Costa …”

It was his wife’s voice.

Melina walked into the library.

Constantin Demiris was married to Melina Lambrou, an attractive woman from an old, aristocratic Greek family. She was tall and regal looking, with an innate dignity.

“Costa, who is the woman I saw in the hall?” Her voice was tense.

The question caught him off guard. “What? Oh. She’s a friend of a business associate,” Demiris said. “She’s going to work for me in London.”

“I caught a glimpse of her. She reminds me of someone.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Melina hesitated. “She reminds me of the wife of the pilot who used to work for you. But that’s impossible, of course. They murdered her.”

“Yes,” Constantin Demiris agreed. “They murdered her.”

He watched Melina as she walked away. He would have to be careful. Melina was no fool. I never should have married her, Demiris thought. It was a bad mistake. …

Ten years earlier, the wedding of Melina Lambrou and Constantin Demiris had sent shock waves through business and social circles from Athens to the Riviera to Newport. What had made it so titillating was that only one month before the wedding the bride had been engaged to marry another man.

As a child, Melina Lambrou had dismayed her family by her willfulness. When she was ten, she decided she wanted to be a sailor. The family chauffeur found her at the harbor, trying to sneak aboard a ship, and brought her home in disgrace. At twelve, she tried to run away with a traveling circus.

By the time Melina was seventeen, she was resigned to her fate—she was beautiful, fabulously wealthy, and the daughter of Mihalis Lambrou. The newspapers loved to write about her. She was a fairy-tale figure whose playmates were princesses and princes, and through it all, by some miracle, Melina had managed to remain unspoiled. Melina had one brother, Spyros, who was ten years older than she, and they adored each other. Their parents had died in a boating accident when Melina was thirteen, and it was Spyros who had reared her.

Spyros was extremely protective of her—too much so, Melina thought. As Melina reached her late teens, Spyros became even more wary about Melina’s suitors, and he carefully examined each candidate for his sister’s hand. Not one of them proved to be good enough.

“You have to be careful,” he constantly counseled Melina. “You’re a target for every fortune hunter in the world. You’re young and rich and beautiful, and you bear a famous name.”

“Bravo, my dear brother. That will be of immense comfort to me when I’m eighty years old and die an old maid.”

“Don’t worry, Melina. The right man will come along.”

His name was Count Vassilis Manos and he was in his middle forties, a successful businessman from an old and distinguished Greek family. The count had fallen in love instantly with the beautiful young Melina. His proposal came only a few weeks after they met.

“He’s perfect for you,” Spyros said happily. “Manos has his feet on the ground, and he’s crazy about you.”