Demiris nodded his head. "You are correct," he said. "What I am looking for is a pilot--a pure pilot--a man who is at his happiest when he is flying."
That was the moment when Larry knew the job was his.
Larry was never aware of how close he had come to not being hired. A great deal of Constantin Demiris' success was due to a highly developed instinct for trouble, and it had served him often enough so that he seldom disregarded it. When Ian Whitestone had come to inform him that he was quitting, a silent alarm went off in Demiris' mind. It was partly because of Whitestone's manner. He was acting unnaturally and seemed uneasy. It wasn't a question of money, he assured Demiris. He had a chance to go into business for himself with his brother-in-law in Sydney and he had to try it. Then he had recommended another pilot.
"He's an American, but we flew together in the RAF. He's not just good, he's great, Mr. Demiris. I don't know a better flyer."
Demiris quietly listened as Ian Whitestone went on extolling the virtue of his friend, trying to find the false note that jarred him. He finally recognized it. Whitestone was overselling, but possibly that was because of his embarrassment at quitting his job so abruptly.
Because Demiris was a man who left not even the smallest detail to chance, he made several phone calls to various countries after Whitestone left. Before the afternoon was over Demiris had ascertained that someone had indeed put up money to finance Whitestone in a small electronics business in Australia, with his brother-in-law. He had spoken to a friend in the British Air Ministry and two hours later had been given a verbal report on Larry Douglas. "He was a bit erratic on the ground," his friend had said, "but he was a superb flyer." Demiris had then made telephone calls to Washington and New York and had been quickly brought up-to-date on Larry Douglas' current status.
Everything on the surface appeared to be just as it ought to be. And yet Constantin Demiris still felt that vague sense of unease, a presentiment of trouble. He had discussed the matter with Noelle, suggesting that perhaps he might offer Ian Whitestone more money to stay on. Noelle had listened attentively and then said, "No. Let him go, Costa. And if he recommends this American flyer so highly, then I would certainly try him."
And that finally had decided him.
From the moment Noelle knew that Larry Douglas was on his way to Athens she was able to think of nothing else. She thought of all the years it had taken, the careful, patient laying of plans, the slow, inexorable tightening of the web, and she was sure that Constantin Demiris would have been proud of her if he had known. It was ironic, Noelle reflected. If she had never met Larry, she could have been happy with Demiris. They complemented each other perfectly. They both loved power and knew how to use it. They were above ordinary people. They were gods, meant to rule. In the end they could never lose, because they had a deep, almost mystic patience. They could wait forever. And now, for Noelle, the waiting was over.
Noelle spent the day in the garden lying in a hammock, going over her plan; and by the time the sun began to sink toward the western sky, she was satisfied. In a way, she thought, it was a pity that so much of the last six years had been filled with her plans for vengeance. It had motivated almost every waking moment, given her life a vitality and drive and excitement, and now in a few short weeks the quest would have come to an end.
At that moment, lying under the dying Grecian sun with the late afternoon breezes beginning to cool the quiet green garden, Noelle had no idea that it was just beginning.
The night before Larry was to arrive, Noelle was unable to sleep. She lay awake all night, remembering Paris and the man who had given her the gift of laughter and taken it away from her again...feeling Larry's baby in her womb, possessing her body as its father had possessed her mind. She remembered that afternoon in the dreary Paris flat and the agony of the pointed metal coat hanger ripping into her flesh deeper and deeper until it tore into the baby with the sweet, unbearable pain driving her into a frenzy of hysteria and the endless river of blood pouring from her. She remembered all these things and relived them again...the pain, the agony and the hatred...
At five A.M., Noelle was up and dressed, sitting in her room looking out at the huge fireball rising over the Aegean. It reminded her of another morning in Paris when she had arisen early and dressed and waited for Larry--only this time he would be here. Because she had seen to it that he had to be. As Noelle needed him before, so Larry needed her now, even though he was still unaware of it.
Demiris sent a message up to Noelle's suite that he would like her to have breakfast with him, but she was too excited, and she was afraid that her mood might arouse his curiosity. She had long ago learned that Demiris had the sensitivity of a cat: He missed nothing. Again, Noelle reminded herself that she must be careful. She wanted to take care of Larry herself in her own way. She had thought long and hard about the fact that she was using Constantin Demiris as an unwitting tool. If he ever found out, he would not like it.
Noelle had a demitasse of thick Greek coffee and half a freshly baked roll. She had no appetite. Her mind was feverishly dwelling on the meeting that would take place in a few short hours. She had taken unusual care with her makeup and the selection of a dress, and she knew that she looked beautiful.
Shortly after eleven o'clock, Noelle heard the limousine pull up in front of the house. She took a deep breath to control her nervousness, then slowly walked over to the window. Larry Douglas was getting out of the car. Noelle watched as he moved toward the front door and it was as though the march of years had rolled away, and the two of them were back in Paris. Larry was a little more mature, and the fighting and the living had added new lines to his face, but they only served to make him handsomer than he had been. Looking at him through the window ten yards away Noelle could still feel the animal magnetism, still feel the old desire and it welled up in her, mixing with the hatred until she was filled with a sense of exhilaration that was almost like a climax. She took one last quick look at herself in the mirror and then went downstairs to meet the man she was about to destroy.
As she walked down the stairs, Noelle wondered what Larry's reaction would be when he saw her. Had he bragged to his friends and perhaps even his wife that Noelle Page had once been in love with him? She wondered, as she had wondered a hundred times before, whether he ever relived the magic of those days and nights they had together in Paris and whether he regretted what he had done to her. How it must have eaten at his soul that Noelle had become internationally famous and that his own life consisted of a series of small failures! Noelle wanted to see some of that in Larry's eyes now when they came face to face for the first time in almost seven years.
Noelle had reached the reception hall when the front door opened and the butler ushered him in. Larry was staring at the enormous foyer in awe when he turned and saw Noelle. He looked at her for a long moment, his face lighting up in appreciation at the sight of a beautiful woman. "Hello," he said, politely. "I'm Larry Douglas. I have an appointment to see Mr. Demiris."
And there was no sign of recognition on his face.
None at all.
Driving through the streets of Athens toward their hotel, Catherine was dazed by the succession of ruins and monuments that appeared all around them.
Ahead she saw the breathtaking spectacle of the white-marbled Parthenon rising high atop the Acropol
is. Hotels and office buildings were everywhere, yet in an odd way it seemed to Catherine that the newer buildings appeared temporary and impermanent while the Parthenon loomed immortal and timeless in the chiseled clarity of the air.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Larry grinned. "The whole city is like that. One big beautiful ruin."
They passed a large park in the center of the city with dancing fountains in the middle. Hundreds of tables with green and orange poles lined the park, and the air above them was carpeted with blue awnings.
"That's Constipation Square," Larry said.
"What?"
"Its real name is Constitution Square. People sit at those tables all day drinking Greek coffee and watching the world go by."
On almost every block there were outdoor cafes, and on the corners men were selling freshly caught sponges. Everywhere flowers were sold by vendors, and their booths were a rage of violently colored blossoms.
"The city is so white," Catherine said. "It's dazzling."