The Other Side of Midnight. Sidney Sheldon

you’ll get your money’s worth.’

      ‘It’s a deal.’

      They turned to Noelle. She had vanished.

      

      Noelle walked the streets of Paris, hour after hour. She strolled along the Champs-Élysées, down one side and up the other, wandering through the Lido Arcade and stopping at every shop to gaze at the incredible cornucopia of jewellery and dresses and leather goods and perfumes, and she wondered what Paris was like when there were no shortages. The wares displayed in the windows were dazzling, and while one part of her felt like a country bumpkin, another part of her knew that one day these things would belong to her. She walked through the Bois and down the rue du Faubourg-St.-Honoré and along the avenue Victor-Hugo, until she began to feel tired and hungry. She had left her purse and suitcase at Madame Delys’, but she had no intention of going back there. She would send for her things.

      Noelle was neither shocked nor upset by what had happened. It was simply that she knew the difference between a courtesan and a whore. Whores did not change the course of history: courtesans did. Meanwhile she was without a cent. She had to find a way to survive until she could find a job the next day. Dusk was beginning to brush the sky, and the merchants and hotel doormen were busy putting up blackout curtains against possible air attacks. To solve her immediate problem, Noelle needed to find someone to buy her a good hot dinner. She asked directions from a gendarme and then headed for the Crillon Hotel. Outside, forbidding iron shutters covered the windows, but inside, the lobby was a masterpiece of subdued elegance, soft and understated. Noelle walked in confidently as if she belonged there and took a seat in a chair facing the elevator. She had never done this before, and she was a bit nervous. But she remembered how easy it had been to handle Auguste Lanchon. Men were really very uncomplicated. There was only one lesson a girl had to remember: A man was soft when he was hard and hard when he was soft. So it was only necessary to keep him hard until he gave you what you wanted. Now, looking around the lobby, Noelle decided that it would be a simple matter to catch the eye of an unattached male on his way, perhaps, to a lonely dinner.

      ‘Pardon, mademoiselle.’

      Noelle turned her head to look up at a large man in a dark suit. She had never seen a detective in her life, but there was no doubt whatever in her mind.

      ‘Is Mademoiselle waiting for someone?’

      ‘Yes,’ Noelle replied, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

      She was suddenly acutely aware of her wrinkled dress, and the fact that she carried no purse.

      ‘Is your friend a guest of this hotel?’

      She felt a surge of panic rising in her. ‘He – er – not exactly.’

      He studied Noelle a moment, then said in a hardened tone. ‘May I see your identification?’

      ‘I – I don’t have it with me,’ she stammered. ‘I lost it.’

      The detective said, ‘Perhaps Mademoiselle will come with me.’ He put a firm hand on her arm, and she rose to her feet.

      And at that moment someone took her other arm and said, ‘Sorry I’m late, cheri, but you know how those damned cocktail parties are. You have to blast your way out. Been waiting long?’

      Noelle swung around in astonishment to look at the speaker. He was a tall man, his body lean and hard-looking, and he wore a strange, unfamiliar uniform. He had blue-black hair with a widow’s peak and eyes the colour of a dark, stormy sea, with long, thick lashes. His features had the look of an old Florentine coin. It was an irregular face, the two profiles not quite matching, as though the minter’s hand had slipped for an instant. It was a face that was extraordinarily alive and mobile so that you felt it was ready to smile, to laugh, to frown. The only thing that saved it from being femininely beautiful was a strong, masculine chin with a deep cleft in it.

      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