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,
