The Other Side of Midnight

"Wait'll you meet Constantin Demiris," Larry said. "He's like a goddamn king. All the moguls in Europe seem to spend their time figuring out what they can do to please him."

"I'm glad you like him."

"And he likes me."

She had never heard him sound so happy and enthusiastic. It was a good omen.

On the way to the hotel Larry described his first meeting with Demiris. Larry had been met at the airport by a liveried chauffeur. Larry had asked to take a look at Demiris' fleet of planes, and the chauffeur had driven him to an enormous hangar at the far end of the field. There were three planes, and Larry inspected each one with a critical eye. The Hawker Siddeley was a beauty, and he longed to get behind the wheel and fly it. The next ship was a six-place Piper in topnotch condition. He estimated that it could easily do three hundred miles per hour. The third plane was a two-seater converted L-5, with a Lycoming engine, a wonderful plane for shorter flights. It was an impressive private fleet. When Larry had finished his inspection, he rejoined the watching chauffeur.

"They'll do," Larry said. "Let's go."

The chauffeur had driven him to a villa in Varkiza, the exclusive suburb twenty-five kilometers from Athens.

"You wouldn't believe Demiris' place," Larry told Catherine.

"What did it look like?" Catherine asked, eagerly.

"It's impossible to describe. It's about ten acres with electric gates, guards, watchdogs, and the whole bit. The outside of the villa is a palace, and the inside is a museum. It has an indoor swimming pool, a full stage and a projection room. You'll see it one day."

"Was he nice?" Catherine asked.

"You bet he was," Larry smiled. "I got the red-carpet treatment. I guess my reputation preceded me."

In fact Larry had sat in a small anteroom for three hours waiting to see Constantin Demiris. In ordinary circumstances Larry would have been furious at the slight, but he knew how much depended on this meeting and he was too nervous to be angry. He had told Catherine how important this job was to him. But he had not told her how desperately he needed it. His one superb skill was flying and without it he felt lost. It was as though his life had sunk to some unexplored emotional depth and the pressures on him were too great to be borne. Everything depended on this job.

At the end of three hours a butler had come in and announced that Mr. Demiris was ready to see him. He had led Larry through a large reception hall that looked like it belonged at Versailles. The walls were delicate shades of gold, green and blue, and Beauvais tapestries hung on the walls, framed by panels of rosewood. A magnificent oval Savonnerie rug was on the floor, and above it an enormous chandelier of crystal De Roche and bronze Dore.

At the entry to the library were a pair of green onyx columns with capitals of gold bronze. The library itself was exquisite, designed by a master artisan, and the walls were carved, paneled fruitwoods. In the center of one wall stood a white marble mantelpiece with gold gilt ornamentations. On it rested two beautiful bronze Chenets of Philippe Caffieri.

From mantel top to ceiling rose a heavily carved trumeau mirror with a painting by Jean Honore Fragonard. Through an open French window Larry caught a glimpse of an enormous patio overlooking a private park filled with statues and fountains.

At the far end of the library was a great Bureau Plat desk and behind it a magnificent tall back chair covered in Aubusson tapestry. In front of the desk were two bergeres with Gobelin upholstery.

Demiris was standing near the desk, studying a large Mercator map on the wall, dotted with dozens of colored pins. He turned as Larry entered and held out his hand.

"Constantin Demiris," he said, with the faintest trace of an accent. Larry had seen photographs of him in news magazines throughout the years, but nothing had prepared him for the vital force of the man.

"I know," Larry said, shaking his hand. "I'm Larry Douglas."

Demiris saw Larry's eyes go to the map on the wall. "My empire," he said. "Sit down."

Larry took a chair opposite the desk.

"I understand that you and Ian Whitestone flew together in the RAF?"

"Yes."

Demiris leaned back in his chair and studied Larry. "Ian thinks very highly of you."

Larry smiled. "I think highly of him. He's a hell of a pilot."

"That's what he said about you, except he used the word 'great.'"

Larry felt again that sense of surprise he had had when Whitestone had first spelled out the offer. He had obviously given Demiris a big buildup about him, far out of proportion to the relationship that he and Whitestone had had. "I'm good," Larry said. "That's my business."

Demiris nodded. "I like men who are good at their business. Did you know that most of the people in the world are not?"

"I hadn't given it much thought one way or the other," Larry confessed.