Memories of Midnight

He turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I must object to…"

The judge was taking off his robe. "It’s too hot in here," he said.

It is hot in here. And noisy.

Napoleon Chotas opened his eyes. Flames were licking at the bedroom door and smoke was pouring into the room.

Napoleon sat up, instantly wide awake.

The house is on fire. Why didn’t the alarm go off?

The door was beginning to buckle from the intense heat. Chotas hurried to the window, choking on the smoke. He tried to force the window open but it was jammed shut. The smoke was getting thicker, and it was becoming more difficult to breathe. There was no escape.

Burning embers started to drop from the ceiling. A wall collapsed and a sheet of flames engulfed him. He screamed. His hair and pajamas were on fire. Blindly, he threw himself at the closed window and crashed through it, his blazing body hurtling to the ground sixteen feet below.

Early the following morning, state prosecutor Peter Demonides was ushered into Constantin Demiris’s study by a maid.

"Kalimehra, Peter," Demiris said. "Thank you for coming. Have you brought it?"

"Yes, sir." He handed Demiris the sealed envelope that Napoleon Chotas had given him. "I thought you might like to keep this here."

"That’s thoughtful of you, Peter. Would you care for some breakfast?"

"Efharisto. That’s very kind of you, Mr. Demiris."

"Costa. Call me Costa. I’ve had my eye on you for some time, Peter. I think you have an important future. I’d like to find a suitable position for you in my organization. Would you be interested?"

Peter Demonides smiled. "Yes, Costa. I would be very interested."

"Good. We’ll have a nice chat about it over breakfast."

Chapter Nine

London

Catherine spoke to Constantin Demiris at least once a week and it became a pattern. He kept sending gifts, and when she protested he assured her that they were merely small tokens of his appreciation. "Evelyn told me how well you handled the Baxter situation." Or, "I heard from Evelyn that your idea is saving us a lot of money in shipping charges."

As a matter of fact, Catherine was proud of how well she was doing. She had found half a dozen things in the office that could be improved. Her old skills had come back, and she knew that the efficiency of the office had increased a great deal because of her.

"I’m very proud of you," Constantin Demiris told her.

And Catherine felt a glow. He was such a wonderful, caring man.

It’s almost time to make my move, Demiris decided. With Stavros and Chotas safely out of the way, the only person who could link him with what had happened was Catherine. The danger of that was slight but, as Napoleon Chotas had found out, Demiris was not a man to take chances. It’s a pity, Demiris thought, that she has to go. She’s so beautiful. But first, the villa in Rafina.

He had bought the villa. He would take Catherine there and make love to her just as Larry Douglas had made love to Noelle. After that…

From time to time, Catherine was reminded of the past. She read in the London Times the news of the deaths of Frederick Stavros and Napoleon Chotas, and the names would have meant nothing to her except for the mention that they had been the attorneys for Larry Douglas and Noelle Page.

That night she had the dream again.

One morning, Catherine saw a newspaper item that jolted her:

William Fraser, Assistant to U.S. President Harry Truman, has arrived in London to work out a new trade agreement with the British Prime Minister.

She put down the paper, feeling foolishly vulnerable. William Fraser. He had been such an important part of her life. What would have happened if I hadn’t left him?

Catherine sat at her desk, smiling tremulously, staring at the item in the newspaper. William Fraser was one of the dearest men she had ever known. Just the memory of him made her feel warm and loved. And he was here in London. I have to see him, she thought. According to the newspaper, he was staying at Claridge’s.

Catherine dialed the number of the hotel, and her fingers were trembling. She had a feeling that the past was about to become the present. She found herself thrilled at the thought of seeing Fraser. What will he say when he hears my voice? When he sees me again?

The operator was saying, "Good morning, Claridge’s."

Catherine took a deep breath. "Mr. William Fraser, please."

"I’m sorry, Madam. Did you say Mr. or Mrs. William Fraser?"

Catherine felt as though she had been struck. What a fool I am. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course he could be married by now.

"Madam…"

"I…Never mind. Thank you." She slowly replaced the receiver.

I’m too late. It’s over. Costa was right. Let the past remain the past.

Loneliness can be a corrosive, eating away at the spirit. Everyone needs to share joy and glory and pain. Catherine was living in a world full of strangers, watching the happiness of other couples, hearing the echo of the laughter of lovers. But she refused to feel sorry for herself.

I’m not the only woman in the world who’s alone. I’m alive! I’m alive!

There was never a shortage of things to do in London. The London cinemas were filled with American films and Catherine enjoyed going to them. She saw The Razor’s Edge and Anna and the King of Siam. Gentleman’s Agreement was a disturbing film, and Cary Grant was wonderful in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer.

Catherine went to concerts at Albert Hall and attended the ballet at Sadler’s Wells. She went to Stratford-upon-Avon to see Anthony Quayle in The Taming of the Shrew, and to see Sir Laurence Olivier in Richard III. But it was no fun going alone.

And then Kirk Reynolds came along.