The Other Side of Midnight (28 page)

Noelle kept all the reports and the clippings in a special leather bag to which she had the only key. The bag was kept inside a locked suitcase and stored at the back of her bedroom closet, not because she thought Demiris would pry into her things, but because she knew how much he loved intrigue. This was Noelle’s personal vendetta, and she wanted to be sure that Demiris remained unaware of it.

Constantin Demiris was going to play a part in her plan of vengeance, but he would never know about it. Noelle took a last look at the memorandum and locked it away, satisfied.

She was ready to begin.

It started with a phone call.

Catherine and Larry were having an uneasy silence-filled dinner at home. Larry had been home very little lately, and when he was home he was surly and rude. Catherine understood his unhappiness.

“It’s as though some demon is on my back,” he had told her when Global Airways had gone bankrupt. And it was true. He had had an incredible run of bad luck. Catherine tried to reassure Larry, to keep reminding him of what a wonderful pilot he was and how lucky anyone would be to have him. But it was like living with a wounded lion. Catherine never knew when he would lash out at her, and because she was afraid of letting him down, she tried to understand his wild rages and overlook them. The phone rang as she was serving dessert. She picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

There was an Englishman’s voice on the other end
of the line and it said, “Is Larry Douglas in, please? Ian Whitestone here.”

“Just a moment.” She held the receiver out to Larry. “It’s for you. Ian Whitestone.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Who?” Then his face cleared. “For Christ’s sake!” He walked over and took the receiver from Catherine. “Ian?” He gave a short laugh. “My God, it’s been almost seven years. How the hell did you ever track me down?”

Catherine watched Larry nodding and smiling as he listened. At the end of what seemed like five minutes, he said, “Well, that sounds interesting, old buddy. Sure I can. Where?” He listened. “Right. Half an hour. I’ll see you then.” Thoughtfully, he replaced the receiver.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Catherine asked.

Larry turned to face her. “No, not really. That’s what’s so funny. He’s a guy I flew with in the RAF. We never really got along all that well. But he says he has a proposition for me.”

“What kind of proposition?” Catherine asked.

Larry shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I get home.”

It was almost three o’clock in the morning when Larry returned to the apartment. Catherine was sitting up in bed reading. Larry appeared at the bedroom door.

“Hi.”

Something had happened to him. He radiated an excitement that Catherine had not seen in him for a long time. He walked over to the bed.

“How did your meeting go?”

“I think it went great,” Larry said, carefully. “In fact it went so great I still can’t believe it. I think I may have a job.”

“Working for Ian Whitestone?”

“No. Ian’s a pilot—like me. I told you we flew together.”

“Yes.”

“Well—after the war, a Greek buddy of his got him a job as a private pilot for Demiris.”

“The shipping tycoon?”

“Shipping, oil, gold—Demiris owns half the world. Whitestone had a beautiful setup over there.”

“What happened?”

Larry looked at her and grinned. “Whitestone’s quit his job. He’s going to Australia. Someone’s setting him up in his own business over there.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Catherine. “What does all this have to do with you?”

“Whitestone spoke to Demiris about my taking his place. He just quit, and Demiris hasn’t had a chance to look around for a replacement. Whitestone thinks I’m a cinch for the job.” He hesitated. “You don’t know what this could mean, Cathy.”

Catherine thought of the other times, the other jobs, and she remembered her father and his empty dreams, and she kept her voice noncommittal, not wishing to encourage any false hopes in Larry, and yet not wanting to dampen his enthusiasm.

“Didn’t you say you and Whitestone weren’t particularly good friends?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.” A small frown creased his forehead. The truth of the matter was that he and Ian Whitestone had never liked each other at all. The telephone call tonight had been a big surprise. At the meeting, Whitestone had seemed oddly ill at ease. When he had explained the situation and Larry had said, “I’m surprised that you thought of me,” there had been an awkward pause, and then Whitestone had said, “Demiris wants a great pilot, and that’s what you are.” It was almost as though Whitestone were pressing the job on him and that Larry would be doing him a favor. He had appeared very relieved when Larry said he was interested and then seemed anxious to leave. All in all it had been a strange meeting.

“This could be the chance of a lifetime,” Larry told Cathy. “Demiris was paying Whitestone fifteen thousand
drachmas a month. That’s five hundred dollars and he lived like a king over there.”

“But wouldn’t that mean you’d be living in Greece?”

“We’d
be living in Greece,” Larry corrected her. “With that kind of money, we could save enough to be independent in a year. I’ve got to take a shot at it.”

Catherine was hesitant, choosing her words carefully. “Larry, it’s so far away and you don’t even know Constantin Demiris. There must be a flying job here that…”

“No!” His tone was savage. “Nobody gives a shit here how good a pilot you are. All they care about is how long you’ve paid your goddam union dues. Over there, I’d be independent. It’s the kind of thing I’ve been dreaming of, Cathy. Demiris has a fleet of planes you wouldn’t believe, and I’ll be flying again, baby. The only one I’d have to please would be Demiris, and Whitestone says he’ll love me.”

She thought again of Larry’s job at Pan Am and the hopes he had had for it and his failures with the small airlines.
My God
, she thought.
What am I getting myself into?
It would mean giving up the business she had built, going to live in a strange place with strangers, with a husband who was almost a stranger.

He was watching her. “Are you with me?”

She looked up at his eager face. This was her husband and if she wanted to keep her marriage, she would have to live where he lived. And how lovely it would be if it did work out. He would be the old Larry again. The charming, amusing, wonderful man she had married. She had to give it a chance.

“Of course I’m with you,” Catherine said. “Why don’t you fly over and see Demiris? If the job works out, then I’ll come over and join you.”

He smiled, that charming, boyish grin. “I knew I could count on you, baby.” He put his arms around her and held her close. “You’d better take off that nightgown,” Larry said, “or I’m going to poke holes in it.”

But as Catherine slowly took it off, she was thinking
about how she was going to tell Bill Fraser.

Early the next morning Larry flew to Athens to meet Constantin Demiris.

During the next few days Catherine heard nothing from her husband. As the week dragged by, she found herself hoping that things had not worked out in Greece and that Larry would be coming home. Even if he got the position with Demiris, there was no way of telling how long it would last. Surely he could find a job in the United States.

Six days after Larry had left, Catherine received an overseas phone call.

“Catherine?”

“Hello, darling.”

“Get packed. You’re talking to Constantin Demiris’ new personal pilot.”

Ten days later, Catherine was on her way to Greece.

Men mold some cities, some cities mold men. Athens is an anvil that has withstood the hammer of centuries. It has been captured and despoiled by the Saracens, the Anglos, the Turks, but each time it patiently survived. Athens lies toward the southern end of the great central plain of Attica, which slopes gently toward the Saronic Gulf on the southwest and is overlooked on the east by the majestic Mount Hymettus. Underneath the shiny patina of the city one still found a village filled with ancient ghosts and steeped in rich tradition of timeless glories, where its citizens lived as much in their past as in the present, a city of constant surprise, full of discovery, and in the end unknowable.

Larry was at the Hellenikon Airport to meet Catherine’s plane. She saw him hurrying toward the ramp, his face eager and excited as he ran toward her. He looked tanner and leaner than when she had last seen him, and he seemed to be free of strain.

“I’ve missed you, Cathy,” he said as he scooped her up in his arms.

“I’ve missed you too.” And as she said it, she realized how much she meant it. She kept forgetting the strong physical impact that Larry had on her until they met after an absence and each time it hit her anew.

“How did Bill Fraser take the news?” Larry asked as he helped her through Customs.

“He was very good about it.”

“He had no choice, had he?” Larry said, sardonically.

Catherine remembered her meeting with Bill Fraser. He had looked at her, shocked. “You’re going to go off to Greece to
live?
Why, for God’s sakes?”

“It’s in the fine print of my marriage contract,” she had replied lightly.

“I mean, why can’t Larry get a job here, Catherine?”

“I don’t know why, Bill. Something always seems to go wrong. But he has a job in Greece and he seems to feel that it’s going to work out.”

After his first impulsive protest Fraser had been wonderful. He had made everything easy for her and insisted that she keep her interest in the firm. “You’re not going to stay away forever,” he kept saying.

Catherine was thinking of his words now as she watched Larry arrange for a porter to carry her luggage to a limousine.

He spoke to the porter in Greek and Catherine marveled at Larry’s facility for language.

“Wait’ll you meet Constantin Demiris,” Larry said. “He’s like a goddamn king. All the moguls in Europe seem to spend their time figuring out what they can do to please him.”

“I’m glad you like him.”

“And he likes me.”

She had never heard him sound so happy and enthusiastic. It was a good omen.

On the way to the hotel Larry described his first meeting with Demiris. Larry had been met at the airport by a liveried chauffeur. Larry had asked to take a look at Demiris’ fleet of planes, and the chauffeur had driven him to an enormous hangar at the far end of the field. There were three planes, and Larry inspected each one with a critical eye. The Hawker Siddeley was a beauty, and he longed to get behind the wheel and fly it. The next ship was a six-place Piper in topnotch condition. He estimated that it could easily do three hundred
miles per hour. The third plane was a two-seater converted L-5, with a Lycoming engine, a wonderful plane for shorter flights. It was an impressive private fleet. When Larry had finished his inspection, he rejoined the watching chauffeur.

“They’ll do,” Larry said. “Let’s go.”

The chauffeur had driven him to a villa in Varkiza, the exclusive suburb twenty-five kilometers from Athens.

“You wouldn’t believe Demiris’ place,” Larry told Catherine.

“What did it look like?” Catherine asked, eagerly.

“It’s impossible to describe. It’s about ten acres with electric gates, guards, watchdogs, and the whole bit. The outside of the villa is a palace, and the inside is a museum. It has an indoor swimming pool, a full stage and a projection room. You’ll see it one day.”

“Was he nice?” Catherine asked.

“You bet he was,” Larry smiled. “I got the red-carpet treatment. I guess my reputation preceded me.”

In fact Larry had sat in a small anteroom for three hours waiting to see Constantin Demiris. In ordinary circumstances Larry would have been furious at the slight, but he knew how much depended on this meeting and he was too nervous to be angry. He had told Catherine how important this job was to him. But he had not told her how desperately he needed it. His one superb skill was flying and without it he felt lost. It was as though his life had sunk to some unexplored emotional depth and the pressures on him were too great to be borne.
Everything
depended on this job.

At the end of three hours a butler had come in and announced that Mr. Demiris was ready to see him. He had led Larry through a large reception hall that looked like it belonged at Versailles. The walls were delicate shades of gold, green and blue, and Beauvais tapestries hung on the walls, framed by panels of rosewood. A magnificent oval Savonnerie rug was on the floor, and above it an enormous chandelier of crystal
De Roche and bronze Doré.

At the entry to the library were a pair of green onyx columns with capitals of gold bronze. The library itself was exquisite, designed by a master artisan, and the walls were carved, paneled fruitwoods. In the center of one wall stood a white marble mantelpiece with gold gilt ornamentations. On it rested two beautiful bronze Chénets of Philippe Caffieri.

From mantel top to ceiling rose a heavily carved trumeau mirror with a painting by Jean Honoré Fragonard. Through an open French window Larry caught a glimpse of an enormous patio overlooking a private park filled with statues and fountains.

At the far end of the library was a great Bureau Plat desk and behind it a magnificent tall back chair covered in Aubusson tapestry. In front of the desk were two bergères with Gobelin upholstery.

Demiris was standing near the desk, studying a large Mercator map on the wall, dotted with dozens of colored pins. He turned as Larry entered and held out his hand.

“Constantin Demiris,” he said, with the faintest trace of an accent. Larry had seen photographs of him in news magazines throughout the years, but nothing had prepared him for the vital force of the man.

“I know,” Larry said, shaking his hand. “I’m Larry Douglas.”

Demiris saw Larry’s eyes go to the map on the wall. “My empire,” he said. “Sit down.”

Larry took a chair opposite the desk.

“I understand that you and Ian Whitestone flew together in the RAF?”

“Yes.”

Demiris leaned back in his chair and studied Larry. “Ian thinks very highly of you.”

Larry smiled. “I think highly of him. He’s a hell of a pilot.”

“That’s what he said about you, except he used the word ‘great.’”

Larry felt again that sense of surprise he had had when Whitestone had first spelled out the offer. He had obviously given Demiris a big buildup about him, far out of proportion to the relationship that he and Whitestone had had. “I’m good,” Larry said. “That’s my business.”

Demiris nodded. “I like men who are good at their business. Did you know that most of the people in the world are not?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought one way or the other,” Larry confessed.

“I have.” He gave Larry a wintry smile. “That’s
my
business—people. The great majority of people hate what they’re doing, Mr. Douglas. Instead of devising ways to get into something they like, they remain trapped all their lives, like brainless insects. It’s rare to find a man who loves his work. Almost invariably when you find such a man, he is a success.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Larry said modestly.

“You are
not
a success.”

Larry looked up at Demiris, suddenly wary. “That depends on what you mean by success, Mr. Demiris,” he said carefully.

“What I mean is,” Demiris said bluntly, “you did brilliantly in the war, but you are not doing very well in the peace.”

Larry felt the muscles of his jaw begin to tighten. He felt that he was being baited, and he tried to hold back his anger. His mind raced frantically, trying to figure out what he could say to salvage this job he needed so desperately. Demiris was watching him, his olive black eyes quietly studying him, missing nothing.

“What happened to your job with Pan American, Mr. Douglas?”

Larry found a grin he didn’t feel like. “I didn’t like the idea of sitting around for fifteen years waiting to become a co-pilot.”

“So you hit the man you worked for.”

Larry showed his surprise. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, come, Mr. Douglas,” Demiris said impatiently, “if you went to work for me, I would be putting my life in your hands every time I flew with you. My life happens to be worth a great deal to me. Did you really think I would hire you without knowing
everything
about you?”

“You were fired from two flying jobs after you were fired from Pan Am,” Demiris went on. “That’s a poor record.”

“It had nothing to do with my ability,” Larry retorted, anger beginning to rise in him again. “Business was slow with one company, and the other couldn’t get a bank loan and went bankrupt. I’m a damned good pilot.”

Demiris studied him a moment, then smiled. “I know you are,” he said. “You don’t respond well to discipline, do you?”

“I don’t like being given orders by idiots who know less than I do.”

“I trust I will not fall into that category,” Demiris said dryly.

“Not unless you’re planning to tell me how to fly your planes, Mr. Demiris.”

“No, that would be your job. It would also be your job to see that I got where I was going efficiently, comfortably and safely.”

Larry nodded. “I’d do my best, Mr. Demiris.”

“I believe that,” Demiris said. “You’ve been out to look at my planes.”

Larry tried to keep the surprise out of his face. “Yes, sir.”

“How did you like them?”

Larry could not conceal his enthusiasm. “They’re beauties.”

Demiris responded to the look on Larry’s face. “Have you ever flown a Hawker Siddeley?”

Larry hesitated a moment, tempted to lie. “No, sir.”

Demiris nodded. “Think you could learn?”

Larry grinned. “If you’ve got someone who can spare ten minutes.”

Demiris leaned forward in his chair and pressed his long, slender fingers together. “I could choose a pilot who is familiar with all my planes.”

“But you won’t,” Larry said, “because you’ll keep getting new planes, and you want someone who can adapt to anything you buy.”

Demiris nodded his head. “You are correct,” he said. “What I am looking for is a pilot—a pure pilot—a man who is at his happiest when he is flying.”

That was the moment when Larry knew the job was his.

Larry was never aware of how close he had come to not being hired. A great deal of Constantin Demiris’ success was due to a highly developed instinct for trouble, and it had served him often enough so that he seldom disregarded it. When Ian Whitestone had come to inform him that he was quitting, a silent alarm went off in Demiris’ mind. It was partly because of Whitestone’s manner. He was acting unnaturally and seemed uneasy. It wasn’t a question of money, he assured Demiris. He had a chance to go into business for himself with his brother-in-law in Sydney and he had to try it. Then he had recommended another pilot.

“He’s an American, but we flew together in the RAF. He’s not just good, he’s great, Mr. Demiris. I don’t know a better flyer.”

Demiris quietly listened as Ian Whitestone went on extolling the virtue of his friend, trying to find the false note that jarred him. He finally recognized it. Whitestone was overselling, but possibly that was because of his embarrassment at quitting his job so abruptly.

Because Demiris was a man who left not even the smallest detail to chance, he made several phone calls to various countries after Whitestone left. Before the afternoon was over Demiris had ascertained that some-one
had indeed put up money to finance Whitestone in a small electronics business in Australia, with his brother-in-law. He had spoken to a friend in the British Air Ministry and two hours later had been given a verbal report on Larry Douglas. “He was a bit erratic on the ground,” his friend had said, “but he was a superb flyer.” Demiris had then made telephone calls to Washington and New York and had been quickly brought up-to-date on Larry Douglas’ current status.

Everything on the surface appeared to be just as it ought to be. And yet Constantin Demiris still felt that vague sense of unease, a presentiment of trouble. He had discussed the matter with Noelle, suggesting that perhaps he might offer Ian Whitestone more money to stay on. Noelle had listened attentively and then said, “No. Let him go, Costa. And if he recommends this American flyer so highly, then I would certainly try him.”

And that finally had decided him.

From the moment Noelle knew that Larry Douglas was on his way to Athens she was able to think of nothing else. She thought of all the years it had taken, the careful, patient laying of plans, the slow, inexorable tightening of the web, and she was sure that Constantin Demiris would have been proud of her if he had known. It was ironic, Noelle reflected. If she had never met Larry, she could have been happy with Demiris. They complemented each other perfectly. They both loved power and knew how to use it. They were above ordinary people. They were gods, meant to rule. In the end they could never lose, because they had a deep, almost mystic patience. They could wait forever. And now, for Noelle, the waiting was over.

Noelle spent the day in the garden lying in a hammock, going over her plan; and by the time the sun began to sink toward the western sky, she was satisfied.
In a way, she thought, it was a pity that so much of the last six years had been filled with her plans for vengeance. It had motivated almost every waking moment, given her life a vitality and drive and excitement, and now in a few short weeks the quest would have come to an end.

At that moment, lying under the dying Grecian sun with the late afternoon breezes beginning to cool the quiet green garden, Noelle had no idea that it was just beginning.

The night before Larry was to arrive, Noelle was unable to sleep. She lay awake all night, remembering Paris and the man who had given her the gift of laughter and taken it away from her again…feeling Larry’s baby in her womb, possessing her body as its father had possessed her mind. She remembered that afternoon in the dreary Paris flat and the agony of the pointed metal coat hanger ripping into her flesh deeper and deeper until it tore into the baby with the sweet, unbearable pain driving her into a frenzy of hysteria and the endless river of blood pouring from her. She remembered all these things and relived them again…the pain, the agony and the hatred…