The Other Side of Midnight

He gestured towards the detective. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ His voice was deep, and he spoke French with a very slight accent.

‘N-no,’ Noelle said, in a bewildered voice.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ the hotel detective was saying. ‘I misunderstood. We have been having a problem here lately with …’ He turned to Noelle. ‘Please accept my apologies, Mademoiselle.’

The stranger turned to Noelle. ‘Well now, I don’t know. What do you think?’

Noelle swallowed and nodded quickly.

The man turned to the detective. ‘Mademoiselle’s being generous. Just watch yourself in the future.’ He took Noelle’s arm and they headed for the door.

When they reached the street, Noelle said, ‘I–I don’t know how to thank you, Monsieur.’

‘I’ve always hated policemen.’ The stranger grinned. ‘Do you want me to get you a taxi?’

Noelle stared at him, the panic beginning to rise in her again, as she remembered her situation. ‘No.’

‘Right. Good night.’ He walked over to the stand and started to get into a taxi, turned around and saw that she was standing there, rooted, staring after him. In the doorway of the hotel was the detective watching. The stranger hesitated, then walked back to Noelle. ‘You’d better get out of here,’ he advised. ‘Our friend’s still interested in you.’

‘I have nowhere to go,’ she replied.

He nodded and reached into his pocket.

‘I don’t want your money,’ she said quickly.

He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘To have dinner with you.’

He smiled and said, ‘Sorry. I have a date, and I’m late already.’

‘Then go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

He shoved the bills back into his pocket. ‘Suit yourself, honey,’ he said. ‘Au ’voir.’ He turned and began walking towards the taxi again. Noelle looked after him, wondering what was wrong with her. She knew she had behaved stupidly, but she also knew that she could not have done anything else. From the first moment she had looked at him she had experienced a reaction that she had never felt before, a wave of emotion so strong that she could almost reach out and touch it. She did not even know his name, and would probably never see him again. Noelle glanced towards the hotel and saw the detective moving purposefully towards her. It was her own fault. This time she would not be able to talk her way out of it. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, the stranger took her arm and propelled her towards the taxi, quickly opened the door and climbed in beside her. He gave the driver an address. The taxi pulled away, leaving the detective at the kerb, staring after them. ‘What about your date?’ Noelle asked.

‘It’s a party,’ he shrugged. ‘One more won’t make any difference. I’m Larry Douglas. What’s your name?’

‘Noelle Page.’

‘Where are you from, Noelle?’

She turned and looked into his brilliant dark eyes and said, ‘Antibes. I am the daughter of a Prince.’

He laughed, showing even, white teeth.

‘Good for you, Princess,’ he said.

‘Are you English?’

‘American.’

She looked at his uniform. ‘America is not at war.’

‘I’m in the British RAF,’ he explained. ‘They’ve just formed a group of American flyers. It’s called the Eagle Squadron.’

‘But why should you fight for England?’

‘Because England’s fighting for us,’ he said. ‘Only we don’t know it yet.’

Noelle shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that. Hitler is a Boche clown.’

‘Maybe. But he’s a clown who knows what the Germans want: to rule the world.’

Noelle listened, fascinated, as Larry discussed Hitler’s military strategy, the sudden withdrawal from the League of Nations, the mutual defence pact with Japan and Italy, not because of what he was saying but because she enjoyed watching his face as he talked. His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke, blazing with an overpowering, irresistible vitality.

Noelle had never met anyone like him. He was – that rarity of rarities – a spendthrift with himself. He was open and warm and alive, sharing himself, enjoying life, making sure that everyone around him enjoyed it. He was like a magnet pulling into his orbit everyone who approached.

They arrived at the party, which was being given in a small flat on the rue Chemin Vert. The apartment was filled with a group of laughing, shouting people, most of them young. Larry introduced Noelle to the hostess, a predatory, sexy-looking redhead, and then was swallowed by the crowd. Noelle caught glimpses of him during the evening, surrounded by eager young girls, each trying to capture his attention. And yet there was no ego about him, Noelle thought. It was as though he were totally unaware of how attractive he was. Someone found a drink for Noelle and someone else offered to bring her a plate of food from the buffet, but she was suddenly not hungry. She wanted to be with the American, wanted him away from the girls who crowded around him. Men were coming up to her and trying to start conversations, but Noelle’s mind was elsewhere. From the moment they had walked in, the American had completely ignored her, had acted as though she did not exist. Why not? Noelle thought. Why should he bother with her when he could have any girl at the party? Two men were trying to engage her in conversation, but she could not concentrate. The room had suddenly become unbearably hot. She looked around for a means of escape.

A voice said in her ear, ‘Let’s go,’ and a few moments later she and the American were out on the street, in the cool night air. The city was dark and quiet against the invisible Germans in the sky, and the cars glided through the streets like silent fish in a black sea.

They could not find a taxi, so they walked, had dinner in a little bistro on the place des Victoires and Noelle found that she was starved. She studied the American sitting across from her, and she wondered what it was that had happened to her. It was as though he had touched some wellspring deep within her that she had never even known existed. She had never felt happiness like this before. They talked about everything. She told him about her background, and he told her that he came from South Boston and was Boston Irish. His mother had been born in Kerry County.

‘Where did you learn to speak French so well?’ Noelle asked.

‘I used to spend my summers at Cap D’Antibes when I was a kid. My old man was a stock-market tycoon until the bears got him.’

‘Bears?’

So Larry had to explain to her about the arcane ways of the stock market in America. Noelle did not care what he talked about, so long as he kept talking.

‘Where are you living?’

‘Nowhere.’ She told him about the taxi driver and Madame Delys and the fat man believing she was a Princess and offering to pay forty francs for her, and Larry laughed aloud.

‘Do you remember where the house is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on, Princess.’

When they arrived at the house on the rue de Provence, the door was opened by the same uniformed maid. Her eyes lit up as she saw the handsome young American, then darkened when she saw who was with him.

‘We want to see Madame Delys,’ Larry said. He and Noelle walked into the reception hall. There were several girls in the drawing room beyond. The maid left and a few minutes later Madame Delys entered. ‘Good evening, Monsieur,’ she said to Larry. She turned to Noelle, ‘Ah, I hope you have changed your mind.’

‘She hasn’t,’ said Larry, pleasantly. ‘You have something that belongs to the Princess.’

Madame Delys looked at him questioningly.