The Other Side of Midnight (29 page)

At five
A.M.,
Noelle was up and dressed, sitting in her room looking out at the huge fireball rising over the Aegean. It reminded her of another morning in Paris when she had arisen early and dressed and waited for Larry—only this time he would be here. Because she had seen to it that he had to be. As Noelle needed him before, so Larry needed her now, even though he was still unaware of it.

Demiris sent a message up to Noelle’s suite that he would like her to have breakfast with him, but she was too excited, and she was afraid that her mood might arouse his curiosity. She had long ago learned that Demiris had the sensitivity of a cat: He missed nothing. Again, Noelle reminded herself that she must be careful. She wanted to take care of Larry herself in her
own way. She had thought long and hard about the fact that she was using Constantin Demiris as an unwitting tool. If he ever found out, he would not like it.

Noelle had a demitasse of thick Greek coffee and half a freshly baked roll. She had no appetite. Her mind was feverishly dwelling on the meeting that would take place in a few short hours. She had taken unusual care with her makeup and the selection of a dress, and she knew that she looked beautiful.

Shortly after eleven o’clock, Noelle heard the limousine pull up in front of the house. She took a deep breath to control her nervousness, then slowly walked over to the window. Larry Douglas was getting out of the car. Noelle watched as he moved toward the front door and it was as though the march of years had rolled away, and the two of them were back in Paris. Larry was a little more mature, and the fighting and the living had added new lines to his face, but they only served to make him handsomer than he had been. Looking at him through the window ten yards away Noelle could still feel the animal magnetism, still feel the old desire and it welled up in her, mixing with the hatred until she was filled with a sense of exhilaration that was almost like a climax. She took one last quick look at herself in the mirror and then went downstairs to meet the man she was about to destroy.

As she walked down the stairs, Noelle wondered what Larry’s reaction would be when he saw her. Had he bragged to his friends and perhaps even his wife that Noelle Page had once been in love with him? She wondered, as she had wondered a hundred times before, whether he ever relived the magic of those days and nights they had together in Paris and whether he regretted what he had done to her. How it must have eaten at his soul that Noelle had become internationally famous and that his own life consisted of a series of small failures! Noelle wanted to see some of that in Larry’s eyes now when they came face to face for the first time in almost seven years.

Noelle had reached the reception hall when the front door opened and the butler ushered him in. Larry was staring at the enormous foyer in awe when he turned and saw Noelle. He looked at her for a long moment, his face lighting up in appreciation at the sight of a beautiful woman. “Hello,” he said, politely. “I’m Larry Douglas. I have an appointment to see Mr. Demiris.”

And there was no sign of recognition on his face.

None at all.

Driving through the streets of Athens toward their hotel, Catherine was dazed by the succession of ruins and monuments that appeared all around them.

Ahead she saw the breathtaking spectacle of the white-marbled Parthenon rising high atop the Acropolis. Hotels and office buildings were everywhere, yet in an odd way it seemed to Catherine that the newer buildings appeared temporary and impermanent while the Parthenon loomed immortal and timeless in the chiseled clarity of the air.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Larry grinned. “The whole city is like that. One big beautiful ruin.”

They passed a large park in the center of the city with dancing fountains in the middle. Hundreds of tables with green and orange poles lined the park, and the air above them was carpeted with blue awnings.

“That’s Constipation Square,” Larry said.

“What?”

“Its real name is Constitution Square. People sit at those tables all day drinking Greek coffee and watching the world go by.”

On almost every block there were outdoor cafés, and on the corners men were selling freshly caught sponges. Everywhere flowers were sold by vendors, and their booths were a rage of violently colored blossoms.

“The city is so white,” Catherine said. “It’s dazzling.”

The hotel suite was large and charming, overlooking
Syntagma Square, the large square in the center of the city. In the room were beautiful flowers and an enormous bowl of fresh fruit.

“I love it, darling,” Catherine said, going around the suite.

The bellboy had put her suitcases down and Larry tipped him.
“Parapolee,”
the boy said.

“Parakalo,”
Larry replied.

The bellboy left, closing the door behind him.

Larry walked over and put his arms around Catherine. “Welcome to Greece.” He kissed her hungrily, and she felt the hardness of his body pressing into the softness of hers and she knew how much he had missed her and she was glad. He led her into the bedroom.

On the dressing table was a small package. “Open it,” Larry told her.

Her fingers tore the wrapping apart and in a small box inside was a tiny bird carved in jade. As busy as he was, Larry had remembered, and Catherine was touched. Somehow the bird was a talisman, an omen that everything was going to be all right, that the problems of the past were finished.

As they made love, Catherine said a little prayer of gratitude, thankful to be in the arms of the husband whom she loved so much, in one of the most exciting cities in the world, starting out on a new life. This was the old Larry, and all their problems had only made their marriage stronger.

Nothing could hurt them now.

The next morning Larry arranged for a real-estate agent to show Catherine some apartments. The agent turned out to be a short, dark, heavily moustached man named Dimitropolous who spoke in a rapid tongue that he sincerely believed was perfect English but which consisted of Greek words interlaced with an occasional undecipherable English phrase.

By throwing herself on his mercy—a trick that Catherine was to use often in the months to come—she
persuaded him to speak very slowly so that she was able to sift out some of the English words and try to make a wild stab at what he was trying to say.

The fourth place he showed her was a bright and sunny four-room apartment in what she later learned was the Kolonaki section, the fashionable suburb of Athens, lined with beautiful residential buildings and smart shops.

When Larry returned to the hotel that evening, Catherine told him about the apartment, and two days later they moved in.

Larry was away during the day but he tried to be home to have dinner with Catherine. Dinner in Athens was any time between nine and twelve o’clock. Between two and five in the afternoon, everyone had a siesta, and the shops opened again until late evening. Catherine found herself completely absorbed in the city. On her third night in Athens Larry brought home a friend, Count George Pappas, an attractive Greek about forty-five, tall and slim with dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples. There was a curious old-fashioned dignity about him that Catherine liked. He took them to dinner at a small taverna in the Plaka, the ancient section of the city. The Plaka comprised a few steep acres carelessly flung together in the heart of downtown Athens, with twisting alleys and crumbling, worn-down staircases that led to tiny houses built under Turkish rule when Athens was a mere village. The Plaka was a place of whitewashed, rambling structures, fresh fruit and flower stalls, the marvelous aroma of coffee roasting in the open, howling cats and vociferous street fights. The effect was enchanting. In any other city, Catherine thought, a section like this would be the slums. Here, it’s a monument.

The taverna that Count Pappas took them to was outdoors on top of a roof overlooking the city; the waiters were dressed in colorful costumes.

“What would you like to eat?” the Count asked Catherine.

She studied the alien menu helplessly. “Would you mind ordering for me? I’m afraid I might order the proprietor.”

Count Pappas ordered a sumptuous banquet, choosing a variety of dishes so Catherine would get a chance to taste everything. They had
dolmades
, meatballs wrapped in vine leaves;
mousaka
, a succulent meat and eggplant pie;
stiffado
, stewed hare with onions—Catherine wasn’t told what it was until she had eaten half of it, and she was unable to eat another bite of it—and
taramosalata
, the Greek salad of caviar with olive oil and lemon. The Count ordered a bottle of retsina.

“This is our national wine,” he explained. He watched Catherine with amusement as she tasted it. It had a piney, resonated taste, and Catherine struggled gamely to down it.

“Whatever I had,” she gasped, “I think this just cured it.”

As they ate, three musicians began to play Bozoukia music. It was lively and gay and infectious and, as the group watched, customers began to get to their feet and move out onto the dance floor to dance to the music. What amazed Catherine was that the dancers were all male, and they were magnificent. She was enjoying herself tremendously.

They did not leave the café until after three
A.M.
The Count drove them back to their new apartment. “Have you done any sightseeing yet?” he asked Catherine.

“Not really,” she confessed. “I’m waiting for Larry to get some time off.”

The Count turned to Larry. “Perhaps I could show Catherine some of the sights until you are able to join us.”

“That would be great,” Larry said. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the Count replied. He turned to Catherine. “Would you mind having me as your guide?”

She looked at him and thought of Dimitropolous, the little real-estate man who spoke fluent gibberish.

“I’d love it,” she replied sincerely.

The next few weeks were fascinating. Catherine would spend mornings fixing up the apartment, and in the afternoon, if Larry was away, the Count would pick her up and take her sightseeing.

They drove out to Olympia. “This is the site of the first Olympic Games,” the Count told her. “They were held here every year for a thousand years in spite of wars, plagues and famines.”

Catherine stood looking in awe at the ruins of the great arena, thinking of the grandeur of the contests that had been held there through the centuries, the triumphs, the defeats.

“Talk about the playing fields of Eton,” Catherine said. “
This
is where the spirit of sportsmanship really started, isn’t it?”

The Count laughed. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “The truth is a little embarrassing.”

Catherine looked up, interested. “Why?”

“The first chariot race ever held here was fixed.”

“Fixed?”

“I’m afraid so,” Count Pappas confessed. “You see, there was a rich prince named Pelops who was feuding with a rival. They decided to hold a chariot race here to see who was the better man. The night before the race Pelops tampered with the wheel of his rival’s chariot. When the race began, the whole countryside was here to cheer on their favorite. At the first turn the wheel of the rival’s chariot flew off, and his chariot overturned. Pelop’s rival was entangled in the reins and dragged to his death. Pelops drove on to victory.”

“That’s terrible,” Catherine said. “What did they do to him?”

“That’s really the disgraceful part of the story,” the Count replied. “By now the whole populace was aware of what Pelops had done. It made him such a big hero that a huge pediment was raised in his honor at Olympia’s Temple of Zeus. It is still there.” He smiled wryly. “I’m afraid that our villain prospered and lived happily ever after. As a matter of fact,” he added, “the whole region south of Corinth is called the Peloponnesus after him.”

“Who said crime doesn’t pay?” marveled Catherine.

Whenever Larry was free, he and Catherine would explore the city together. They found wonderful shops where they would spend hours haggling over prices, and out-of-the-way little restaurants that they made their own. Larry was a gay and charming companion, and Catherine was grateful that she had given up her job in the States to be with her husband.

Larry Douglas had never been happier in his life. The job with Demiris was the dream of a lifetime.

The money was good, but Larry was not interested in that. He was interested only in the magnificent machines he flew. It took him exactly one hour to learn to fly the Hawker Siddeley and five more flights to master it. Most of the time Larry flew with Paul Metaxas, Demiris’ happy-go-lucky little Greek copilot. Metaxas had been surprised by the sudden departure of Ian Whitestone, and he had been apprehensive about Whitestone’s replacement. He had heard stories about Larry Douglas, and he was not sure he liked what he heard. Douglas, however, seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his new job and the first time Metaxas flew with him, he knew that Douglas was a superb pilot.

Little by little Metaxas relaxed his guard and the two men became friends.

Whenever he was not flying, Larry spent time learning every idiosyncrasy of Demiris’ fleet of planes. Before he was through, he was able to fly them all better than anyone had ever flown them before.

The variety in his job fascinated Larry. He would fly members of Demiris’ staff on business trips to Brindisi and Corfu and Rome, or pick up guests and fly them to Demiris’ island for a party or to his chalet in Switzerland for skiing. He became used to flying people whose photographs he was constantly seeing on the front pages of newspapers and magazines, and he would regale Catherine with stories about them. He flew the president of a Balkan country, a British prime minister, an Arabian oil chieftain and his entire harem. He flew opera singers and a ballet company and the cast of a Broadway play that was staging a single performance in London for Demiris’ birthday. He piloted Justices of the Supreme Court, a congressman and a former President of the United States. During the flights Larry spent most of the time in the cockpit, but from time to time he would wander back to the cabin to make sure the passengers were comfortable. Sometimes he would hear bits of discussion between tycoons about impending mergers or stock deals. Larry could have made a fortune from the information he gleaned but he was simply not interested. What concerned him was the airplane he flew, powerful and alive and in his control.