The Other Side of Midnight

"There she is," Sister Theresa said. "I will leave you now. Hayretay."

Demiris watched Sister Theresa start back toward the nunnery, then he walked down the path to where the woman stood.

"Good morning," he said, gently.

She turned around slowly and looked at him. Her eyes were dull and vacant and there was no recognition on her face.

"I brought you something," Constantin Demiris said.

He nulled a small jewelry box out of his pocket and held it out to her. She stared at it like a small child.

"Go on, take it."

Slowly she reached out and took the box. She lifted the lid, and inside, nested in cotton, was a miniature, exquisitely made gold bird with ruby eyes and outstretched wings poised for flight. Demiris watched as the child-woman removed it from the box and held it up. The bright sun caught the gleam of its gold and the sparkle of its ruby eyes and sent tiny rainbows flashing through the air. She turned it from side to side, watching the lights dancing around her head.

"I will not be seeing you again," Demiris said, "but you won't have to worry. No one will harm you now. The wicked people are dead."

As he spoke, her face happened to be turned toward him, and for one frozen instant in time it seemed to him that a gleam of intelligence, a look of joy came into her eyes, but a moment later it was gone and there was only the vacant, mindless stare. It could have been an illusion, a trick of the sunlight reflecting the sparkle of the golden bird across her eyes.

He thought about it as he walked slowly up the hill and out the huge stone gate of the nunnery to where his limousine was waiting to drive him back to Athens.

Chicago

London

Paris

Athens

Ioannina

Los Angeles

Acknowledgments

I wish to express my gratitude to those who generously helped me color the mosaic of this novel with the tiles of their knowledge, expertise and memories.

In a few instances where I felt it would enhance the narrative, I have taken literary license; but any factual errors are my responsibility alone.

My grateful thanks go to the following:

In London:

Ms. V. Shrubsall, Air Historical Branch, British Ministry of Defense, for invaluable information on the Eagle Squadron, the group of American pilots who flew with the RAF before the United States entered World War II.

Earl Boebert, for additional material on the Eagle Squadron.

In Paris:

Andre Weil-Curiel, former Vice-Mayor of Paris, for helpful suggestions and recollections of Paris under the German occupation.

Madame Chevaulet, Head Archivist for the Comedie Francaise, for allowing me access to her files on the history of the French theater.

Claude Baigneres, journalist for Le Figaro, for his assistance in helping me track down sources of firsthand information about the French occupation.

In Athens:

Mrs. Aspa Lambrou, who magically opened all doors and was unfailingly and generously helpful.