Memories of Midnight. Сидни Шелдон
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“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.”
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