Memories of Midnight

“I see. And that’s why I should marry you?”

“No. You’ll marry me because I’m going to make you the happiest woman who ever lived.”

“Mr. Demiris …”

He covered her hand with his. “Costa.”

She withdrew her hand. “Mr. Demiris, I came here today to tell you that I want you to stop sending me gifts. I don’t intend to see you again.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I’m sure you are not a cruel person.”

“I hope not.”

He smiled. “Good. Then you won’t want to break my heart.”

“I doubt if your heart is that easily broken. You have quite a reputation.”

“Ah, that was before I met you. I’ve dreamed about you for a long time.”

Melina laughed.

“I’m serious. When I was a very young man, I used to read about the Lambrou family. You were very rich and I was very poor. I had nothing. We lived from hand to mouth. My father was a stevedore who worked on the docks of Piraeus. I had fourteen brothers and sisters, and we had to fight for everything we wanted.”

In spite of herself, she was touched. “But now you are rich.”

“Yes. Not as rich as I am going to be.”

“What made you rich?”

“Hunger. I was always hungry. I’m still hungry.”

She could read the truth in his eyes. “How did you … how did you get started?”

“Do you really want to know?”

And Melina found herself saying, “I really want to know.”

“When I was seventeen, I went to work for a small oil company in the Middle East. I was not doing very well. One night I had dinner with a young geologist who worked for a large oil company. I ordered a steak that night, and he ordered only soup. I asked him why he didn’t have a steak, and he said it was because he had no back teeth and he couldn’t afford to buy dentures. I gave him fifty dollars to buy new teeth. A month later he telephoned me in the middle of the night to tell me he had just discovered a new oil deposit. He hadn’t told his employer about it yet. In the morning, I started borrowing every cent I could, and by evening I had bought options on all the land around the new discovery. It turned out to be one of the biggest oil deposits in the world.”

Melina was hanging on his every word, fascinated.

“That was the beginning. I needed tankers to ship my oil in, so in time I acquired a fleet. Then a refinery. Then an airline.” He shrugged. “It went on from there.”

It was not until long after they were married that Melina learned that the story about the steak was pure fiction.

Melina Lambrou had had no intention of seeing Constantin Demiris again. But, by a series of carefully arranged coincidences, Demiris invariably managed to appear at the same party, or theater, or charity event, that Melina was attending. And each time, she felt his overpowering magnetism. Beside him, Vassilis Manos seemed—she hated to admit it, even to herself—boring.

Melina Lambrou was fond of the Flemish painters, and when Bruegel’s “Hunters in the Snow” came on the market, before she could purchase it, Constantin Demiris sent it to her as a gift.

Melina was fascinated by his uncanny knowledge of her tastes. “I can’t accept such an expensive gift from you,” she protested.

“Ah, but it’s not a gift. You must pay for it. Dinner with me tonight.”

And she finally agreed. The man was irresistible.

A week later Melina broke off her engagement to Count Manos.

When Melina told her brother the news he was stunned.

“Why, in heaven’s name?” Spyros asked. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to marry Constantin Demiris.”

He was aghast. “You must be crazy. You can’t marry Demiris. He’s a monster. He’ll destroy you. If…”

“You’re wrong about him, Spyros. He’s wonderful. And we’re in love. It’s …”

“You’re in love,” he snapped. “I don’t know what he’s after, but it has nothing to do with love. Do you know what his reputation is with women? He …”

“That’s all in the past, Spyros. I’m going to be his wife.”

And there was nothing he could do to talk his sister out of the wedding.

A month later Melina Lambrou and Constantin Demiris were married.

In the beginning it seemed to be a perfect marriage. Constantin was amusing and attentive. He was an exciting and passionate lover, and he constantly surprised Melina with lavish gifts and trips to exotic places.

On the first night of their honeymoon, he said, “My first wife was never able to give me a child. Now we’ll have many sons.”

“No daughters?” Melina teased.

“If you wish. But a son first.”

The day Melina learned she was pregnant, Constantin was ecstatic.

“He will take over my empire,” he declared happily.

In her third month, Melina miscarried. Constantin Demiris was out of the country when it happened. When he returned and heard the news he reacted like a madman.

“What did you do?” he screamed. “How could it happen?”

“Costa, I …”

“You were careless!”

“No, I swear ”

He took a deep breath. “All right. What’s done is done. We’ll have another son.”

“I … I can’t.” She could not meet his eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“They had to perform an operation. I can’t have another child.”

He stood there, frozen, then turned and stalked out without a word.

From that moment on, Melina’s life became a hell. Constantin Demiris carried on as though his wife had deliberately killed his son. He ignored her, and began to see other women.

Melina could have borne that, but what made the humiliation so painful was the pleasure he took in publicly flaunting his liaisons. He openly had affairs with movie stars, opera singers, and the wives of some of his friends. He took his lovers to Psara, and on cruises on his yacht, and to public functions. The press gleefully chronicled Constantin Demiris’s romantic adventures.

They were at a dinner party at the house of a prominent banker.

“You and Melina must come,” the banker had said. “I have a new Oriental chef who makes the best Chinese food in the world.”

The guest list was prestigious. At the dinner table was a fascinating collection of artists, politicians, and industrialists. The food was indeed wonderful. The chef had prepared shark fin soup, shrimp rolls, mu shu pork, Peking duck, spareribs, Canton noodles, and a dozen other dishes.

Melina was seated near the host at one end of the table, her husband next to the hostess at the other end. To Demiris’s right was a pretty, young film star. Demiris was concentrating on her, ignoring everyone else at the table. Melina could hear snatches of his conversation.

“When you finish your picture, you must come on my yacht. It will be a lovely vacation for you. We’ll cruise along the Dalmatian coast …”

Melina tried not to listen, but it was impossible. Demiris made no effort to keep his voice down. “You’ve never been to Psara, have you? It’s a lovely little island, completely isolated. You’ll enjoy it.” Melina wanted to crawl under the table. But the worst was yet to come.

They had just finished the sparerib course, and the butlers were bringing silver finger bowls.

As a finger bowl was placed in front of the young star, Demiris said, “You won’t need that.” And, grinning, he lifted her hands in his and began slowly to lick the sauce from her fingers, one by one. The other guests averted their eyes.

Melina rose to her feet and turned to her host. “If you’ll excuse me, I—I have a headache.”

The guests watched as she fled from the room. Demiris did not come home that night, or the next.

When Spyros heard about the incident, he was livid. “Just give me the word,” Melina’s brother fumed, “and I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

“He can’t help it,” Melina defended him. “It’s his nature.”

“His nature? He’s an animal! He should be put away. Why don’t you divorce him?”

It was a question Melina Demiris had asked herself often in the still of the long, lonely nights she spent by herself. And it always came down to the same answer: I love him.

At five-thirty in the morning, Catherine was awakened by an apologetic maid.

“Good morning, miss …”

Catherine opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. Instead of her tiny cell at the convent, she was in a beautiful bedroom in … Her memory came flooding back. The trip into Athens. … You’re Catherine Douglas. … They were executed by the state …

“Miss …”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Demiris asked if you would join him for breakfast on the terrace.”

Catherine stared up at her sleepily. She had been awake until four o’clock, her mind in a turmoil.

“Thank you. Tell Mr. Demiris I’ll be right there.”

Twenty minutes later a butler escorted Catherine to an enormous terrace facing the sea. There was a low stone wall that overlooked the gardens twenty feet below. Constantin Demiris was seated at a table, waiting. He studied Catherine as she walked toward him. There was an exciting innocence about her. He was going to take it, possess it, make it his. He imagined her naked in his bed, helping him punish Noelle and Larry again. Demiris rose.

“Good morning. Forgive me for awakening you so early, but I must leave for my office in a few minutes, and I wanted the opportunity for us to have a little chat first.”

“Yes, of course,” Catherine said.

She sat down at the large marble table opposite him, facing the sea. The sun was just rising, showering the sea with a thousand sparkles.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Some coffee perhaps?”

“Thank you.”

The butler was pouring hot coffee into a Belleek cup.

“Well, Catherine,” Demiris began. “Have you thought about our conversation?”

Catherine had thought of nothing else all night. There was nothing left for her in Athens, and she had nowhere else to go. I won’t go back to the convent, she vowed. The invitation to work for Constantin Demiris in London sounded intriguing. In fact, Catherine admitted to herself, it sounds exciting. It could be the beginning of a new life.

“Yes,” Catherine said, “I have.”

“And?”

“I—I think I would like to try it.”

Constantin Demiris managed to conceal his relief. “I’m delighted. Have you ever been to London?”

“No. That is—I don’t think so.” Why don’t I know for sure? There were still so many frightening gaps in her memory. How many more surprises am I going to get?

“It’s one of the few civilized cities left in the world. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it very much.”

Catherine hesitated. “Mr. Demiris, why are you going to all this trouble for me?”

“Let’s just say it’s because I feel a sense of responsibility.” He paused. “I introduced your husband to Noelle Page.”

“Ah,” Catherine said slowly. Noelle Page. The name sent a small shiver through her. The two of them had died for each other. Larry must have loved her so much.

Catherine forced herself to ask a question that had been tormenting her all night long. “How … how were they executed?”

There was a small pause. “They were shot by a firing squad.”

“Oh.” She could feel the bullets tearing into Larry’s flesh, ripping apart the body of the man she had once loved so much. She was sorry she had asked.

“Let me give you some advice. Don’t think about the past. It can only be hurtful. You must put all that behind you.”

Catherine said slowly, “You’re right. I’ll try.”

“Good. I happen to have a plane flying to London this morning, Catherine. Can you be ready to leave in a little while?”

Catherine thought of all the trips she had taken with Larry, the excited preparations, the packing, the anticipation.

This time, there would be no one to go with, little to pack, and nothing to prepare for. “Yes. I can be ready.”

“Excellent. By the way,” Demiris said casually, “now that your memory has returned, perhaps there’s someone you’d like to get in touch with, someone from your past whom you would like to let know that you’re all right.”

The name that instantly sprang to her mind was William Fraser. He was the only one in the world who remained from her past. But she knew she was not ready to face him yet. When I get settled, Catherine thought. When I start working again, I’ll get in touch with him.

Constantin Demiris was watching her, waiting for her answer.

“No,” Catherine said finally. “There’s no one.”

She had no idea that she had just saved William Fraser’s life.

“I’ll arrange a passport for you.” He handed her an envelope. “This is an advance on your salary. You won’t have to worry about a place to live. The company has a flat in London. You’ll stay there.”

It was overwhelming. “You’re much too generous.”

He took her hand in his. “You’ll find that I’m …” He changed what he was going to say. Handle her carefully, he thought. Slowly. You don’t want to scare her away. “… that I can be a very good friend.”

“You are a very good friend.”

Demiris smiled. Wait.

Two hours later, Constantin Demiris helped Catherine into the back seat of the Rolls-Royce that was to take her to the airport.

“Enjoy London,” he said. “I’ll be in touch with you.”

Five minutes after the car departed, Demiris was on the telephone to London. “She’s on her way.”

Chapter Five

The plane was scheduled to leave from Hellenikon Airport at 9:00 a.m. It was a Hawker Siddeley, and, to Catherine’s surprise, she was the only passenger. The pilot, a pleasant-faced middle-aged Greek named Pantelis, saw to it that Catherine was comfortably seated and buckled in.

“We’ll be taking off in just a few minutes,” he informed her.

“Thank you.”

Catherine watched him walk into the cockpit to join the co-pilot, and her heart suddenly began to beat faster. This is the plane that Larry flew. Had Noelle Page sat in the seat I am now sitting in? Catherine suddenly felt as though she were going to faint; the walls began to close in on her. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. That’s all over, she thought. Demiris is right. That’s the past and nothing can change it.

She heard the roar of the engines, and opened her eyes. The plane was lifting off, heading northwest toward London. How many times had Larry made this flight? Larry. She was shaken by the mixture of emotions that his name brought. And the memories. The wonderful, terrible memories …

It was the summer of 1940, the year before America got into the war. She had been fresh out of Northwestern University, and had gone from Chicago to Washington, D.C., for her first job.

Her roommate had said: “Hey, I heard about a job opening that might interest you. One of the girls at the party said she’s quitting to go back to Texas. She works for Bill Fraser. He’s in charge of public relations for the State Department. I just heard about it last night, so if you get over there now, you should beat all the other girls to it.”

Catherine had raced over, only to find Fraser’s reception office already packed with dozens of applicants for the job. I haven’t a chance, Catherine thought. The door to the inner office opened and William Fraser emerged. He was a tall, attractive man, with curly blond hair graying at the temples, bright blue eyes, and a strong, rather forbidding jawline.

He said to the receptionist, “I need a copy of Life. The issue that came out three or four weeks ago. It has a picture of Stalin on the cover.”

“I’ll order it, Mr. Fraser,” the receptionist said.

“Sally, I have Senator Borah on the line. I want to read him a paragraph from that issue. You have two minutes to find a copy for me.” He went into his office and closed the door.

The applicants looked at one another and shrugged.

Catherine stood there, thinking hard. She turned and pushed her way out of the office. She heard one of the women say, “Good. That’s one down.”

Three minutes later, Catherine returned to the office with the old copy of Life with a picture of Stalin on the cover. She handed it to the receptionist. Five minutes later Catherine found herself seated in William Fraser’s office.

“Sally tells me that you came up with the Life magazine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume you didn’t just happen to have a three-week-old issue in your purse.”

“No, sir.”

“How did you find it so quickly?”

“I went down to the barber shop. Barber shops and dentists’ offices always have old issues lying around.”

“Are you that bright about everything?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll find out,” William Fraser said. She was hired.

Catherine enjoyed the excitement of working for Fraser. He was a bachelor, wealthy and social, and he seemed to know everyone in Washington. Time magazine had called him “The most eligible bachelor of the year.”

Six months after Catherine started to work for William Fraser, they fell in love.

In his bedroom, Catherine said, “I have to tell you something. I’m a virgin.”

Fraser shook his head in wonder. “That’s incredible. How did I wind up with the only virgin in the city of Washington?”

One day William Fraser said to Catherine, “They’ve asked our office to supervise an Army Air Corps recruiting film they’re shooting at MGM studios in Hollywood. I’d like you to handle the picture while I’m in London.”

“Me? Bill, I can’t even load a Brownie. What do I know about making a training film?”

Fraser grinned. “About as much as anyone else. You don’t have to worry. They have a director. His name is Allan Benjamin. The army plans to use actors in the film.”

“Why?”

“I guess they feel that soldiers won’t be convincing enough to play soldiers.”

“That sounds like the army.”

And Catherine had flown to Hollywood to supervise the training film.

The soundstage was filled with extras, most of them in ill-fitting army uniforms.

“Excuse me,” Catherine said to a man passing by. “Is Mr. Allan Benjamin here?”

“The little corporal?” He pointed. “Over there.”

Catherine turned and saw a slight, frail-looking man in uniform with corporal’s stripes. He was screaming at a man wearing a general’s stars.

“Fuck what the casting director said. I’m up to my ass in generals. I need non-coms.” He raised his hands in despair. “Everybody wants to be a chief, nobody wants to be an Indian.”

“Excuse me,” Catherine said. “I’m Catherine Alexander.”

“Thank God!” the little man said. “You take over. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I had a thirty-five-hundred-dollar-a-year job in Dearborn editing a furniture trade magazine, and I was drafted into the Signal Corps and sent to write training films. What do I know about producing or directing? This is all yours.” He turned and hurried toward the exit, leaving Catherine standing there.

A lean, gray-haired man in a sweater moved toward her, an amused smile on his face. “Need any help?”

“I need a miracle,” Catherine said. “I’m in charge of this, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

He grinned at her. “Welcome to Hollywood. I’m Tom O’Brien, the assistant director.”

“Do you think you could direct this?”

She saw the corner of his lips twist. “I could try. I’ve done six pictures with Willie Wyler. The situation isn’t as bad as it looks. All it needs is a little organization. The script’s written, and the set’s ready.”

Catherine looked around the soundstage. “Some of these uniforms look terrible. Let’s see if we can’t do better.”

O’Brien nodded approvingly. “Right.”

Catherine and O’Brien walked over to the group of extras. The din of conversation on the enormous stage was deafening.

“Let’s hold it down, boys,” O’Brien yelled. “This is Miss Alexander. She’s going to be in charge here.”

Catherine said, “Let’s line up, so we can take a good look at you, please.”

O’Brien formed the men into a ragged line. Catherine heard laughter and voices nearby and turned in annoyance. One of the men in uniform stood in a corner, paying no attention, talking to some girls who were hanging on his every word and giggling. The man’s manner irritated Catherine.

“Excuse me. Would you mind joining the rest of us?”

He turned and asked, lazily, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes. We’d like to go to work.”

He was extraordinarily handsome, tall and wiry, with blue-black hair and stormy dark eyes. His uniform fitted perfectly. On his shoulders were the bars of a captain, and across his breast he had pinned on a splash of brightly colored ribbons. Catherine stared at them. “Those medals … ?”

“Are they impressive enough, boss?” His voice was deep and filled with insolent amusement.

“Take them off.”

“Why? I thought I’d give this film a little color.”

“There’s one little thing you forgot. America’s not at war yet. You would have had to have won those at a carnival.”

“You’re right,” he admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t think of that. I’ll take some of them off.”

“Take them all off,” Catherine snapped.

After the morning’s shooting, while Catherine was having lunch at the commissary, he walked up to her table. “I wanted to ask you how I did this morning? Was I convincing?”

His manner infuriated her. “You enjoy wearing that uniform and strutting around the girls, but have you thought about enlisting?”

He looked shocked. “And get shot at? That’s for suckers.”

Catherine was ready to explode. “I think you’re contemptible.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t know why, I could never explain it to you.”

“Why don’t you try? At dinner tonight. Your place. Do you cook?”

“Don’t bother coming back to the set,” Catherine snapped. “I’ll tell Mr. O’Brien to send you your check for this morning’s work. What’s your name?”

“Douglas. Larry Douglas.”

The experience with the arrogant young actor rankled Catherine, and she was determined to put it out of her mind. For some reason, she found it difficult to forget him.

When Catherine returned to Washington, William Fraser said, “I missed you. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you. Do you love me?”

“Very much, Bill.”

“I love you too. Why don’t we go out tonight and celebrate?”

Catherine knew that that was the night he was going to propose.

They went to the exclusive Jefferson Club. In the middle of dinner, Larry Douglas walked in, still wearing his Army Air Corps uniform with all the medals. Catherine watched unbelievingly as he walked over to their table and greeted not her but Fraser.

Bill Fraser rose. “Cathy, this is Captain Lawrence Douglas. Larry, this is Miss Alexander—Catherine. Larry’s been flying with the RAF. He was the leader of the American squadron over there. They talked him into heading up a fighter base in Virginia to get some of our boys ready for combat.”

Like the rerun of an old movie, Catherine remembered how she had ordered him to take off his bars and his medals, and how he had cheerfully obliged. She had been smug, overbearing—and she had called him a coward! She wanted to crawl under the table.

The next day, Larry Douglas telephoned Catherine at her office. She refused to take his calls. When she finished work he was outside, waiting for her. He had taken off his medals and ribbons and was wearing the bars of a second lieutenant.

He smiled and walked up to her. “Is this better?”

Catherine stared at him. “Isn’t—isn’t wearing the wrong insignia against regulations?”

“I don’t know. I thought you were in charge of all that.”

She looked into his eyes and knew that she was lost. There was a magnetic force about him that was irresistible.