LITMIR.BIZ

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wound that no doctor could ever heal.

       Why, Noelle, why? I gave you everything. I loved you, you bitch. I loved you. I love you.

      And then there was Larry Douglas. He had paid with his life. But that was not enough for Demiris. He had another vengeance in mind. A perfect one. He was going to take his pleasure with Douglas’s wife as Douglas had done with Noelle. Then he would send Catherine to join her husband.

      “Costa …”

      It was his wife’s voice.

      Melina walked into the library.

      Constantin Demiris was married to Melina Lambrou, an attractive woman from an old, aristocratic Greek family. She was tall and regal looking, with an innate dignity.

      “Costa, who is the woman I saw in the hall?” Her voice was tense.

      The question caught him off guard. “What? Oh. She’s a friend of a business associate,” Demiris said. “She’s going to work for me in London.”

      “I caught a glimpse of her. She reminds me of someone.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes.” Melina hesitated. “She reminds me of the wife of the pilot who used to work for you. But that’s impossible, of course. They murdered her.”

      “Yes,” Constantin Demiris agreed. “They murdered her.”

      He watched Melina as she walked away. He would have to be careful. Melina was no fool. I never should have married her, Demiris thought. It was a bad mistake. …

      Ten years earlier, the wedding of Melina Lambrou and Constantin Demiris had sent shock waves through business and social circles from Athens to the Riviera to Newport. What had made it so titillating was that only one month before the wedding the bride had been engaged to marry another man.

      As a child, Melina Lambrou had dismayed her family by her willfulness. When she was ten, she decided she wanted to be a sailor. The family chauffeur found her at the harbor, trying to sneak aboard a ship, and brought her home in disgrace. At twelve, she tried to run away with a traveling circus.

      By the time Melina was seventeen, she was resigned to her fate—she was beautiful, fabulously wealthy, and the daughter of Mihalis Lambrou. The newspapers loved to write about her. She was a fairy-tale figure whose playmates were princesses and princes, and through it all, by some miracle, Melina had managed to remain unspoiled. Melina had one brother, Spyros, who was ten years older than she, and they adored each other. Their parents had died in a boating accident when Melina was thirteen, and it was Spyros who had reared her.

      Spyros was extremely protective of her—too much so, Melina thought. As Melina reached her late teens, Spyros became even more wary about Melina’s suitors, and he carefully examined each candidate for his sister’s hand. Not one of them proved to be good enough.

      “You have to be careful,” he constantly counseled Melina. “You’re a target for every fortune hunter in the world. You’re young and rich and beautiful, and you bear a famous name.”

      “Bravo, my dear brother. That will be of immense comfort to me when I’m eighty years old and die an old maid.”

      “Don’t worry, Melina. The right man will come along.”

      His name was Count Vassilis Manos and he was in his middle forties, a successful businessman from an old and distinguished Greek family. The count had fallen in love instantly with the beautiful young Melina. His proposal came only a few weeks after they met.

      “He’s perfect for you,” Spyros said happily. “Manos has his feet on the ground, and he’s crazy about you.”

      Melina was less enthusiastic. “He’s not exciting, Spyros. When we’re together, all he talks about is business, business, business. I wish he were more—more romantic.”

      Her brother said firmly, “There’s more to marriage than romance. You want a husband who is solid and stable, someone who will devote himself to you.”

      And finally Melina was persuaded to accept Count Manos’s proposal.

      The count was thrilled. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” he declared. “I’ve just formed a new company. I’m going to name it Melina International.”

      She would have preferred a dozen roses. The wedding date was set, one thousand invitations were sent out, and elaborate plans were made.

      It was then that Constantin Demiris entered Melina Lambrou’s life.

      They met at one of the dozen or so engagement parties that were being given for the betrothed pair.

      The hostess introduced them. “This is Melina Lambrou—Constantin Demiris.”

      Demiris stared at her with his brooding black eyes. “How long will they let you stay?” he asked.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Surely you’ve been sent from the heavens to teach us mortals what beauty is.”

      Melina laughed. “You’re very flattering, Mr. Demiris.”

      He shook his head. “You’re beyond flattery. Nothing I could say would do you justice.”

      At that moment Count Manos approached and interrupted the conversation.

      That night, just before falling asleep, Melina thought about Demiris. She had heard about him, of course. He was wealthy, he was a widower, and he had the reputation of being a ruthless businessman and a compulsive womanizer. I’m glad I’m not involved with him, Melina thought.

      The gods were laughing.

      The morning after the party, Melina’s butler walked into the breakfast room. “A package has arrived for you, Miss Lambrou. It was delivered by Mr. Demiris’s chauffeur.”

      “Bring it in, please.”

       So Constantin Demiris thinks he’s going to impress me with his wealth. Well, he’s in for a big disappointment. Whatever he’s sent … whether it’s an expensive piece of jewelry, or some priceless antique … I’m going to send it right back to him.

      The package was small and oblong, and beautifully wrapped. Curious, Melina opened it. The card read, simply: “I thought you might enjoy this. Constantin.”

      It was a leather-bound copy of Toda Raba by Nikos Kazantzakis, her favorite author. How could he have known?

      Melina wrote a polite thank-you note, and thought: That’s that.

      The following morning another package arrived. This time it was a recording by Delius, her favorite composer. The note read: “You might enjoy listening to this while reading Toda Raba.”

      From that day on there were gifts every day. Her favorite flowers, and perfume, and music, and books. Constantin Demiris had taken the trouble to find out what Melina’s tastes were, and she could not help but be flattered by his attention.

      When Melina telephoned to thank Demiris, he said: “There’s nothing I could ever give you that would do you justice.”

       How many women had he said that to before?

      “Will you have lunch with me, Melina?”

      She started to say no, and then thought: It can’t hurt to have lunch with the man. He’s been very thoughtful.

      “Very well.”

      When she mentioned to Count Manos that she was having lunch with Constantin Demiris, he objected.

      “What’s the point, my dear? You have nothing in common with that terrible man. Why are you going to see him?”

      “Vassilis, he’s been sending me little gifts every day. I’m going to tell him to stop.” And even as Melina said it, she thought: I could

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