Memories of Midnight. Сидни Шелдон

long moment. “Sit down.”

      Catherine sat on the hard chair across from the ancient, scarred desk.

      Sister Theresa said quietly: “My dear, God is your doctor. In due time He will let you know what He wishes you to know. Besides, no outsiders are ever permitted within these walls.”

      Catherine had a sudden flash of memory … a vague image of a man talking to her in the garden of the convent, handing her something … but then it was gone.

      “I don’t belong here.”

      “Where do you belong?”

      And that was the problem. “I’m not sure. I’m searching for something. Forgive me, Sister Theresa, but I know it isn’t here.”

      Sister Theresa was studying her, her face thoughtful. “I see. If you left here, where would you go?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Let me think about this, child. We will talk again soon.”

      “Thank you, Sister.”

      When Catherine left, Sister Theresa sat at her desk for a long time, staring at nothing. It was a difficult decision that she had to make. Finally she reached for a piece of paper and a pen and began to write.

      “Dear Sir,” she began. “Something has happened that I feel I should call to your attention. Our mutual friend has informed me that she wishes to leave the convent. Please advise me what to do.”

      He read the note once, and then sat back in his chair, analyzing the consequences of the message. So! Catherine Alexander wants to come back from the dead. Too bad. I’ll have to get rid of her. Carefully. Very carefully.

      The first step was to remove her from the convent. Demiris decided it was time to pay Sister Theresa a visit.

      The following morning, Demiris had his chauffeur take him to Ioannina. Driving through the countryside, Constantin Demiris thought about Catherine Alexander. He remembered how beautiful she had been when he had first met her. She had been bright and funny and high-spirited, excited about being in Greece. She had had everything, Demiris thought. And then the gods had taken their vengeance. Catherine had been married to one of his pilots, and their marriage had become a living hell. Almost overnight, she had aged ten years and become a fat, blowsy drunk. Demiris sighed. What a waste.

      Demiris was seated in Sister Theresa’s office.

      “I hated to bother you about this,” Sister Theresa apologized, “but the child has nowhere to go and …”

      “You did the right thing,” Constantin Demiris assured her. “Does she remember anything of her past?”

      Sister Theresa shook her head. “No. The poor dear …” She walked over to the window where several nuns were working in the garden. “She’s out there now.”

      Constantin Demiris moved to her side and looked out the window. There were three nuns with their backs to him. He waited. One of them turned and he could see her face, and his breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful. What had happened to that fat, ravaged woman?

      “She’s the one in the middle,” Sister Theresa said.

      Demiris nodded. “Yes.” Sister Theresa’s words were truer than she knew.

      “What do you want me to do with her?”

      Careful. “Let me think about it,” Demiris said. “I’ll be in touch with you.”

      Constantin Demiris had a decision to make. Catherine Alexander’s appearance had caught him by surprise. She had changed so completely. No one would know it’s the same woman, he thought. And the idea that came into his head was so diabolically simple that he almost laughed aloud.

      That evening he dispatched a note to Sister Theresa.

      It’s a miracle, Catherine thought. A dream come true. Sister Theresa had stopped by her tiny cell after matins.

      “I have some news for you, child.”

      “Yes?”

      Sister Theresa chose her words carefully. “Good news. I have written to a friend of the convent about you, and he wishes to help you.”

      Catherine could feel her heart leap. “Help me—how?”

      “That is something he will have to tell you. But he is a very kind and generous man. You will be leaving the convent.”

      And the words sent a sudden, unexpected chill through Catherine. She would be going out into a strange world she could not even remember. And who was her benefactor?

      All Sister Theresa would say was: “He is a very caring man. You should be grateful. His car will be here for you Monday morning.”

      Catherine was unable to sleep for the next two nights. The idea of leaving the convent and going into the world outside was suddenly terrifying. She felt naked and lost. Perhaps I’m better off not knowing who I am. Please God, keep an eye on me.

      On Monday, the limousine arrived outside the convent gate at seven o’clock in the morning. Catherine had been awake all night thinking about the unknown future that lay ahead of her.

      Sister Theresa walked her to the gate that led to the world outside.

      “We will pray for you. Remember, if you decide to come back to us you will always have a place here.”

      “Thank you, Sister. I’ll remember.”

      But in her heart, Catherine was sure that she was never going to return.

      The long drive from Ioannina to Athens filled Catherine with a series of conflicting emotions. It was tremendously exciting to be outside the gates of the convent, and yet there was something ominous about the world beyond. Was she going to learn what terrible thing had happened in her past? Did it have anything todo with her recurring dream that someone was trying to drown her?

      In the early afternoon, the countryside gave way to small villages, and finally they reached the outskirts of Athens and soon were in the middle of the bustling city. It all seemed strange and unreal to Catherine—and yet oddly familiar. I’ve been here before, Catherine thought excitedly.

      The driver headed east, and fifteen minutes later they reached an enormous estate high on a hill. They drove through a tall iron gate and a stone gate house, up a long driveway lined with majestic cypress trees, and stopped before a large white Mediterranean villa framed by half a dozen magnificent statues.

      The chauffeur opened the car door for Catherine and she stepped out. A man was waiting at the front door.

      “Kalimehra.” The word for good morning sprang to Catherine’s lips unbidden.

       “Kalimehra.”

      “Are you … are you the person I’ve come to see?”

      “Oh, no. Mr. Demiris is waiting for you in the library.”

      Demiris. It was a name she had never heard before. Why was he interested in helping her?

      Catherine followed the man through an enormous rotunda, with a domed roof set in plaques of Wedgewood. The floors were of creamy Italian marble.

      The living room was huge, with a high beamed ceiling and large, low comfortable couches and chairs everywhere. A huge canvas, a dark and glowering Goya, covered one entire wall. As they approached the library, the man stopped.

      “Mr. Demiris is waiting for you inside.”

      The walls of the library were white and gold boiserie, and the shelves lining the walls were filled with leather books embossed in gold. A man was seated behind a huge desk. He looked up as Catherine entered, and rose. He searched for a sign of recognition on her face, but there was none.

      “Welcome. I am Constantin Demiris. What is your name?”