Chapter Three
There is a theory that nothing in nature is ever lost - that every sound ever made, every word ever spoken, still exists somewhere in space and time and may one day be recalled.
Before radio was invented, they say, who would have believed that the air around us was filled with the sounds of music and news and voices from around the world? One day we will be able to travel back in time and listen to Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, the voice of Shakespeare, the Sermon on the Mount. . .
Catherine Alexander heard voices from her past, but they were muffled and fragmented, and they filled her with confusion. . .
"Do you know you're a very special girl, Cathy? I felt it from the first time I saw you. . . "
"It's over. I want a divorce. . . I'm in love with someone else. . . "
"I know how badly I've behaved. . . I'd like to make it up to you. . . "
"He tried to kill me. "
"Who tried to kill you?"
"My husband. "
The voices would not stop. They were a torment. Her past became a kaleidoscope of shifting images that kept racing through her mind.
The convent should have been a wonderful, peaceful haven, but it had suddenly become a prison. I don't belong here. But where do I belong? She had no idea.
There were no mirrors in the convent, but there was a reflecting pool outside, near the garden. Catherine had carefully avoided it, afraid of what it might reveal to her. But on this morning, she walked over to it, slowly knelt, and looked down. The pool reflected a lovely-looking suntanned woman with black hair, flawless features, and solemn gray eyes that seemed filled with pain. . . but perhaps that was merely a trick of the water. She saw a generous mouth that looked ready to smile, and a nose that was slightly turned up - a beautiful woman in her early thirties. But a woman with no past and no future. A woman lost. I need someone to help me, Catherine thought desperately, someone I can talk to. She went into Sister Theresa's office.
"Sister. . . "
"Yes, child?"
"I. . . think I would like to see a doctor. Someone who can help me find out who I am. "
Sister Theresa looked at her a 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 to do 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?" He made the question sound casual. Did she remember her name?
"Catherine Alexander. "
He showed no reaction. "Welcome, Catherine Alexander. Please sit down. " He took a seat opposite her, on a black leather couch. She was even lovelier close up. She's magnificent, Demiris thought. Even dressed in that black habit. It's a shame to destroy anything that beautiful. At least she will die happy.
"It's. . . it's very kind of you to see me," Catherine said. "I don't understand why you. . . "
He smiled genially. "It's really quite simple. From time to time I help out Sister Theresa. The convent has very little money, and I do what I can. When she wrote me about you and asked if I could be helpful, I told her that I would be happy to try. "
"That's very. . . " She stopped, not knowing how to continue. "Did Sister Theresa tell you that I. . . that I've lost my memory?"
"Yes, she did mention something about that. " He paused and asked offhandedly, "How much do you remember?"
"I know my name, but I don't know where I came from, or who I really am. " She added, hopefully, "Perhaps I can find someone here in Athens who knows me. "
Constantin Demiris felt a sudden frisson of alarm. That was the last thing in the world he wanted. "That's possible, of course," he said carefully. "Why don't we discuss it in the morning? Unfortunately I have to attend a meeting now. I've arranged to have a suite prepared for you here. I think you'll be comfortable. "
"I. . . I really don't know how to thank you. "
He waved a hand. "That isn't necessary. You will be well taken care of here. Just make yourself at home. "
"Thank you, Mr. - "
"My friends call me Costa. "
A housekeeper led Catherine into a fantastic bedroom suite, done in soft shades of white, furnished with an oversized bed with a silk canopy, white couches and armchairs, antique tables and lamps, and Impressionist paintings on the walls. Pale shutters of sea green kept the glaring sun at bay. Through the windows, Catherine could see the turquoise sea below in the distance.
The housekeeper said, "Mr. Demiris has arranged to have some clothes sent here for your approval. You are to select whatever you like. "
Catherine was conscious, for the first time, that she was still wearing the habit given her at the convent.
"Thank you. " She sank down in the soft bed, feeling as though she were in a dream. Who was this stranger, and why was he being so kind to her?
An hour later a van pulled up filled with clothes. A couturier was ushered into Catherine's bedroom.
"I'm Madame Dimas. Let's see what we have to work with. Would you get undressed, please?"
"I. . . I beg your pardon?"
"Will you get undressed? I can't tell much about your figure under those clothes. "
How long had it been since she had been naked in front of another person?
Catherine began to take off her clothes, moving slowly, feeling self-conscious. When she stood nude in front of the woman, Madame Dimas looked her over with a practiced eye. She was impressed.
"You have a fine figure. I think we're going to be able to do very well for you. "
Two female assistants walked in with boxes of dresses, underwear, blouses, skirts, shoes.
"Select whatever you like," the couturier said, "and we'll try them on. "
"I. . . I can't afford any of these," Catherine protested. "I have no money. "
The couturier laughed. "I don't think money will be a problem. Mr. Demiris is taking care of it. "
But why?
The fabrics brought back tactile memories of clothes she must have once worn. There were silks and tweeds and cottons in an array of exquisite colors.
The three women were quick and efficient, and two hours later Catherine had half a dozen beautiful outfits. It was overwhelming. She sat there, not knowing what to do with herself.
I'm all dressed up, she thought, with no place to go. But there was someplace to go - into the city. The key to whatever had happened to her was in Athens. She was convinced of it. She stood up. Come on, stranger. We're going to try to find out who you are.
Catherine wandered out into the front hall, and a butler approached her. "May I help you, miss?"
"Yes. I. . . I would like to go into the city. Could you call a taxi for me?"
"I'm sure that won't be necessary, miss. We have limousines at your disposal. I will arrange a driver for you. "
Catherine hesitated. "Thank you. " Would Mr. Demiris be angry if she went into the city? He had not said not to.
A few minutes later she was seated in the back of a Daimler limousine, headed for downtown Athens.
Catherine was dazzled by the noisy, bustling city, and the poignant succession of ruins and monuments that appeared all around her.
The driver pointed ahead and said proudly, "That is the Parthenon, miss, on top of the Acropolis. "
Catherine stared up at the familiar white marble building. "Dedicated to Athena, the goddess of wisdom," she heard herself saying.
The driver smiled approvingly. "Are you a student of Greek history, miss?"
Tears of frustration blurred Catherine's vision. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know. "
They were passing another ruin. "That is the theater of Herodes Atticus. As you can see, part of the walls are still standing. It once seated more than five thousand people. "
"Six thousand two hundred fifty-seven," Catherine said softly.
Modern hotels and office buildings were everywhere amid the timeless ruins, an exotic mixture of the past and present. The limousine passed a large park in the center of the city, with sparkling, dancing fountains in the middle. Dozens of tables with green and orange poles lined the park, and the air above them was carpeted with blue awnings.
I've seen this before, Catherine thought, her hands growing cold. And I was happy.
There were outdoor cafes on almost every block, and on the corners men were selling freshly caught sponges. Everywhere, flowers were being sold by vendors, their booths a rage of violently colored blossoms.
The limousine had reached Syntagma Square.
As they passed a hotel on the corner, Catherine called out: "Stop, please!"
The driver pulled over to the curb. Catherine was finding it difficult to breathe. I recognize this hotel. I've stayed here.
When she spoke, her voice was shaky. "I'd like to get out here. I wonder if you could pick me up in - in two hours?"
"Of course, miss. " The chauffeur hurried to open the door for her, and Catherine stepped outside into the hot summer air. Her legs were
trembling. "Are you all right, miss?" She had no answer. She felt as though she were on the edge of a precipice, about to fall into an unknown, terrifying abyss.
She moved through the crowds, marveling at the hordes of people hurrying through the streets, creating a roaring din of conversation. After the silence and solitude of the convent, everything seemed unreal. Catherine found herself moving toward the Plaka, the old section of Athens in the heart of the city, with its twisted alleys and crumbling, worn-down stairways that led to tiny houses, coffee shops, and whitewashed rambling structures. She found her way by some instinct she did not understand or try to control. She passed a taverna on top of a roof, overlooking the city, and stopped, staring. I've sat at that table. They handed me a menu in Greek. There were three of us.
What would you like to eat? they had asked.
Would you mind ordering for me? I'm afraid I might order the proprietor.
They had laughed. But who were 'they'?
A waiter approached Catherine. "Boro na sas voithiso?"
"Ochi efharisto. "
Can I help you? No, thank you. How did I know that? Am I Greek?
Catherine hurriedly moved on, and it was as though someone were guiding her. She seemed to know exactly where to go.
Everything seemed familiar. And nothing. My God, she thought, I'm going crazy. I'm hallucinating. She passed a cafe that said Treflinkas. A memory was nagging at the corners of her mind. Something had happened to her here, something important. She could not remember what.
She walked through the busy, winding streets and turned left at Voukourestiou. It was filled with smart stores. I used to shop here. She started to cross the street, and a blue sedan raced around the corner, barely missing her.
She could recall a voice saying, The Greeks haven't made the transition to automobiles. In their hearts they're still driving donkeys. If you want insight into the Greeks, don't read the guidebooks; read the old Greek tragedies. We're filled with grand passions, deep joys, and great sorrows, and we haven't learned how to cover them up with a civilized veneer.
Who had said that to her?
A man was hurrying down the street, walking toward her, staring at her. He slowed, a look of recognition on his face. He was tall and dark and Catherine was sure she had never seen him before. And yet. . .
"Hello. " He seemed very pleased to see her.
"Hello. " Catherine took a deep breath. "Do you know me?"
He was grinning. "Of course I know you. "
Catherine felt her heart leap. She was finally going to learn the truth about the past. But how do you say "Who am I?" to a stranger in a crowded street?
"Could. . . could we talk?" Catherine asked.
"I think we'd better. "
Catherine was on the edge of panic. The mystery of her identity was about to be solved. And yet she felt a terrible fear. What if I don't want to know? What if I've done something dreadful?
The man was leading her toward a small open-air taverna. "I'm so glad I ran into you," he said.
Catherine swallowed. "So am I. "
A waiter led them to a table.
"What would you like to drink?" the man asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. "
There were so many questions to ask. Where do I begin"?
"You're very beautiful," the man said. "This is fate. Don't you agree?"
"Yes. " She was almost trembling with excitement. She took a deep breath. "I - where did we meet?"
He grinned. "Is that important, koritsimon? Paris, or Rome, at the races, at a party. " He reached forward and pressed her hand. "You're the prettiest one I've seen around here. How much do you charge?"
Catherine stared at him, not understanding for a moment, then shocked, she sprang to her feet.
"Hey! What's the matter? I'll pay you whatever. . . "
Catherine turned and fled, running down the street. She turned a corner and slowed down, her eyes filled with tears of humiliation.
Ahead was a small taverna with a sign in the window that read, MADAME PIRIS - FORTUNE TELLER. Catherine slowed, then stopped. I know Madame Piris. I've been here before. Her heart began to race. She sensed that here, through the darkened doorway, was the beginning of the end of the mystery. She opened the door and stepped inside. It took her several moments to get used to the cavernous darkness of the room. There was a familiar bar in the corner, and a dozen tables and chairs. A waiter walked up to her and addressed her in Greek.
"Kalimehra. "
"Kalimehra. Pou ineh Madame Piris?"
"Madame Piris?"
The waiter gestured toward an empty table in the corner of the room, and Catherine walked over and sat down. Everything was exactly as she remembered it.
An incredibly old woman dressed in black, with a face desiccated into angles and planes, was moving toward the table.
"What can I. . . ?" She stopped, peering into Catherine's face. Her eyes opened wide. "I knew you once but your face. . . " She gasped. "You've come back!"
"You know who I am?" Catherine asked eagerly.
The woman was staring, her eyes filled with horror. "No! You're dead! Get out!"
Catherine moaned faintly and felt the hair on her scalp begin to rise. "Please - I just. . . "
"Go, Mrs. Douglas!"
"I have to know. . . "
The old woman made the sign of the cross, turned, and fled.
Catherine sat there for a moment, trembling, then rushed out into the street. The voice in her head followed her. Mrs. Douglas!
And it was as though a floodgate opened up. Dozens of brightly lighted scenes suddenly poured into her head, a brilliant series of kaleidoscopes out of control. I'm Mrs. Larry Douglas. She could see her husband's handsome face. She had been madly in love with him, but something had gone wrong. Something. . .
The next image was of herself trying to commit suicide, and waking up in a hospital.
Catherine stood in the street, afraid her legs would not carry her, letting the pictures come tumbling into her mind.
She had been drinking a lot, because she had lost Larry. But then he had come back to her. They were in her apartment, and Larry was saying, "I know how badly I've behaved. I'd like to make it up to you, Cathy. I love you. I've never really loved anyone else. I want another chance. How would you like to go away on a second honeymoon? I know a wonderful little place we can go. It's called Ioannina. "
And then the horror had begun.
The pictures that came into her mind now were terrifying.
She was on a mountaintop with Larry, lost in a swirling gray mist, and he was moving toward her, his arms outstretched, ready to push her off the edge. At that moment, some tourists arrived and saved her.
And then the caves.
"The hotel clerk told me about some caves near here. All the honeymooners go there. "
And they had gone to the caves, and Larry had taken her deep into the bowels of them, and left her there to die.
She put her hands over her ears as if to shut out the terrible thoughts that were rushing at her.
She had been rescued and taken back to the hotel, and a doctor had given her a sedative. But in the middle of the night she had awakened and heard Larry and his mistress in the kitchen, planning her murder, the wind whipping away their words.
- no one will ever -
- I told you I'd take care of -
- went wrong. There's nothing they can -
- now, while she's asleep.
And she remembered running away in that terrible storm - being pursued by them - getting into the rowboat, the wind lashing the boat into the middle of the stormy lake. The boat had started to sink, and she had lost consciousness.
Catherine sank onto a street bench, too exhausted to move. So her nightmares had been real. Her husband and his mistress had tried to kill her.
She thought again about the stranger who had come to visi
t her at the convent shortly after her rescue. He had handed her an exquisitely made golden bird, its wings poised for flight. "No one will harm you now. The wicked people are dead. " She could still not see his face clearly.
Catherine's head began to throb.
Finally, she rose and slowly walked toward the street where she was to meet the driver who would take her back to Constantin Demiris, where she would be safe.
Memories of Midnight Page 4
