The Other Side of Midnight

had not known that laughter was within her. It was like a gift from a god. She was grateful to Larry and very much in love with him. It was dawn when they returned to their hotel room. Noelle was exhausted, but Larry was filled with energy, a restless dynamo. Noelle lay in bed watching him as he stood at the window looking at the sun rise over the rooftops of Paris.

"I love Paris," he said. "It's like a temple to the best things that men have ever done. It's a city of beauty and food and love." He turned to her and grinned, "Not necessarily in that order."

Noelle watched as he took off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her. She held him, loving the feel of him, the male smell of him. She thought of her father and how he had betrayed her. She had been wrong to judge all men by him and Auguste Lanchon. She knew now that there were men like Larry Douglas. And she also knew that there could never be anyone else for her.

"Do you know who the two greatest men who ever lived were, Princess?" he was asking.

"You," she said.

"Wilbur and Orville Wright. They gave man his real freedom. Have you ever flown?" She shook her head. "We had a summer place in Montauk--that's at the end of Long Island--and when I was a kid I used to watch the gulls wheel through the air over the beach, riding the current, and I would have given my soul to be up there with them. I knew I wanted to be a flyer before I could walk. A friend of the family took me up in an old biplane when I was nine, and I took my first flying lesson when I was fourteen. That's when I'm really alive, when I'm in the air."

And later:

"There's going to be a world war. Germany wants to own it all."

"It won't get France, Larry. No one can cross the Maginot Line."

He snorted: "I've crossed it a hundred times." She looked at him puzzled. "In the air, Princess. This is going to be an air war...my war."

And later, casually:

"Why don't we get married?"

It was the happiest moment of Noelle's life.

Sunday was a relaxed, lazy day. They had breakfast at a little outdoor cafe in Montmartre, went back to the room and spent almost the entire day in bed. Noelle could not believe anyone could be so ecstatic. It was pure magic when they made love, but she was just as content to lie there and listen to Larry talk and watch him as he moved restlessly about the room. Just being near him was enough for her. It was odd, she thought, how things worked out. She had grown up being called Princess by her father, and now, even though it had happened as a joke, Larry was calling her Princess. When she was with Larry, she was something. He had restored her faith in men. He was her world, and Noelle knew that she would never need anything more, and it seemed incredible to her that she could be so lucky, that he felt the same way about her.

"I wasn't going to get married until this war was over," he told her. "But to hell with that. Plans are made to be changed, right, Princess?"

She nodded, filled with a happiness that threatened to burst inside her.

"Let's get married by some maire in the country," Larry said "Unless you want a big wedding?"

Noelle shook her head. "The country sounds wonderful."

He nodded. "Deal. I have to report back to my Squadron tonight. I'll meet you here next Friday. How does that sound?"

"I--I don't know if I can stand being away from you that long." Noelle's voice was shaky.

Larry took her in his arms and held her. "Love me?" he asked.

"More than my life," Noelle replied simply.

Two hours later Larry was on his way back to England. He did not let her drive to the airport with him. "I don't like good-byes," he said. He gave her a large fistful of franc notes. "Buy yourself a wedding gown, Princess. I'll see you in it next week." And he was gone.

Noelle spent the next week in a state of euphoria, going back to the places she and Larry had been, spending hours dreaming about their life together. The days seemed to drag by, the minutes stubbornly refusing to move, until Noelle thought she would go out of her mind.

She went to a dozen shops looking for her wedding dress, and finally she found exactly what she wanted, at Madeleine Vionett. It was a beautiful white organza with a high-necked bodice, long sleeves with a row of six pearl buttons, and three crinoline petticoats. It cost much more than Noelle had anticipated, but she did not hesitate. She used all the money that Larry had given her and nearly all her own savings. Her whole being was centered on Larry. She thought about ways to please him, she searched through her mind for memories that might amuse him, anecdotes that would entertain him. She felt like a schoolgirl.

And so it was that Noelle waited for Friday to come, in an agony of impatience, and when it finally arrived she was up at dawn and spent two hours bathing and dressing, changing clothes and changing again, trying to guess which dress would please Larry most. She put on her wedding gown, but quickly took it off again, afraid that it might bring bad luck. She was in a frenzy of excitement.

At ten o'clock Noelle stood in front of the pier glass in the bedroom, and she knew that she had never looked as beautiful. There was no ego in her appraisal; she was simply pleased for Larry, glad that she could bring him this gift. By noon he had not appeared, and Noelle wished that he had told her what time he expected to arrive. She kept phoning the desk for messages every ten minutes and kept picking up the phone to make sure it was working. By six o'clock that evening, there was still no word from him. By midnight he had not called, and Noelle sat huddled in a chair, staring at the phone, willing it to ring. She fell asleep, and when she woke, it was dawn, Saturday. She was still in the chair, stiff and cold. The dress she had so carefully chosen was wrinkled, and there was a run in her stocking.

Noelle changed clothes and stayed in the room all that day, stationing herself in front of the open window, telling herself that if she stayed there, Larry would appear; if she left, something terrible would happen to him. As Saturday morning lengthened into afternoon, she began to be filled with the conviction that there had been an accident. Larry's plane had crashed, and he was lying in a field or in a hospital, wounded or dead. Noelle's mind was filled with ghastly visions. She sat up all night Saturday, sick with worry, afraid to leave the room and not knowing how to reach Larry.

When Noelle had not heard from him by Sunday noon, she could stand it no longer. She had to telephone him. But how? With a war on it was difficult to place an overseas call and she was not even certain where Larry was. She knew only that he flew with the RAF in some American squadron. She picked up the telephone and spoke to the switchboard operator.

"It is impossible," the operator said flatly.