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“What can I … ?” She stopped, peering into Catherine’s face. Her eyes opened wide. “I knew you once but your face …” She gasped. “You’ve come back!”
“You know who I am?” Catherine asked eagerly.
The woman was staring, her eyes filled with horror. “No! You’re dead! Get out!”
Catherine moaned faintly and felt the hair on her scalp begin to rise. “Please—I just…”
“Go, Mrs. Douglas!”
“I have to know …”
The old woman made the sign of the cross, turned, and fled.
Catherine sat there for a moment, trembling, then rushed out into the street. The voice in her head followed her. Mrs. Douglas!
And it was as though a floodgate opened up. Dozens of brightly lighted scenes suddenly poured into her head, a brilliant series of kaleidoscopes out of control. I’m Mrs. Larry Douglas. She could see her husband’s handsome face. She had been madly in love with him, but something had gone wrong. Something…
The next image was of herself trying to commit suicide, and waking up in a hospital.
Catherine stood in the street, afraid her legs would not carry her, letting the pictures come tumbling into her mind.
She had been drinking a lot, because she had lost Larry. But then he had come back to her. They were in her apartment, and Larry was saying, “I know how badly I’ve behaved. I’d like to make it up to you, Cathy. I love you. I’ve never really loved anyone else. I want another chance. How would you like to go away on a second honeymoon? I know a wonderful little place we can go. It’s called Ioannina.”
And then the horror had begun.
The pictures that came into her mind now were terrifying.
She was on a mountaintop with Larry, lost in a swirling gray mist, and he was moving toward her, his arms outstretched, ready to push her off the edge. At that moment, some tourists arrived and saved her.
And then the caves.
“The hotel clerk told me about some caves near here. All the honeymooners go there.”
And they had gone to the caves, and Larry had taken her deep into the bowels of them, and left her there to die.
She put her hands over her ears as if to shut out the terrible thoughts that were rushing at her.
She had been rescued and taken back to the hotel, and a doctor had given her a sedative. But in the middle of the night she had awakened and heard Larry and his mistress in the kitchen, planning her murder, the wind whipping away their words.
—no one will ever—
—I told you I’d take care of—
—went wrong. There’s nothing they can—
—now, while she’s asleep.
And she remembered running away in that terrible storm—being pursued by them—getting into the rowboat, the wind lashing the boat into the middle of the stormy lake. The boat had started to sink, and she had lost consciousness.
Catherine sank onto a street bench, too exhausted to move. So her nightmares had been real. Her husband and his mistress had tried to kill her.
She thought again about the stranger who had come to visit her at the convent shortly after her rescue. He had handed her an exquisitely made golden bird, its wings poised for flight. “No one will harm you now. The wicked people are dead.” She could still not see his face clearly.
Catherine’s head began to throb.
Finally, she rose and slowly walked toward the street where she was to meet the driver who would take her back to Constantin Demiris, where she would be safe.
Chapter Four (#ulink_4a0c1d77-101b-534e-a5b4-068cbd22be73)
“Why did you let her leave the house?” Constantin Demiris demanded.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the butler replied. “You didn’t say anything about her not leaving, so …”
Demiris forced himself to appear calm. “It’s not important. She’ll probably be back soon.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“No.”
He watched the butler go. Demiris walked over to a window and stared out at the impeccably manicured garden. It was dangerous for Catherine Alexander to appear in the streets of Athens, where someone might recognize her. It’s too bad I can’t afford to let her live. But first—my vengeance. She’ll stay alive until I take my revenge. I’m going to enjoy myself with her. I’ll send her away from here, somewhere where no one will know her. London will be safe. We can keep an eye on her. I’ll give her a job at my offices there.
An hour later, when Catherine returned to the house, Constantin Demiris could sense instantly the change in her. It was as though some dark curtain had been lifted and Catherine had suddenly come alive. She was wearing an attractive white silk suit, with a white blouse—and Demiris was taken aback by how much her appearance had changed. Nostimi, he thought. Sexy.
“Mr. Demiris …”
“Costa.”
“I … I know who I am, and—and what happened.”
His face revealed nothing. “Really? Sit down, my dear, and tell me.”
Catherine was too excited to sit. She began to pace jerkily on the carpet, back and forth, the words tumbling out of her. “My husband and his—his mistress, Noelle, tried to kill me.” She stopped, looking at him anxiously. “Does that sound crazy? I—I don’t know. Maybe it is.”
“Go on, my dear,” he said soothingly.
“Some nuns from the convent saved me. My husband worked for you, didn’t he?” she blurted out.
Demiris hesitated, carefully weighing his answer. “Yes.” How much should he tell her? “He was one of my pilots. I felt a sense of responsibility toward you. That’s only …”
She faced him. “But you knew who I was. Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”
“I was afraid of the shock,” Demiris said smoothly. “I thought it better to let you discover things for yourself.”
“Do you know what happened to my husband and that—that woman? Where are they?”
Demiris looked into Catherine’s eyes. “They were executed.”
He watched the blood drain from her face. She made a small sound. She suddenly felt too weak to stand and sank into a chair.
“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.”
