Memories of Midnight

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.