Sidney Sheldon - Memories of Midnight

Melina shook her head, half amused, half annoyed. “Mr. Demiris, I’m engaged to marry someone else.”

“Manos?” He waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s not right for you.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“I’ve checked on him. Insanity runs in his family, he’s a hemophiliac, he’s wanted by the police on a sex charge in Brussels, and he plays a dreadful game of tennis.”

Melina could not help laughing. “And you?”

“I don’t play tennis.”

“I see. And that’s why I should marry you?”

“No. You’ll marry me because I’m going to make you the happiest woman who ever lived.”

“Mr. Demiris …”

He covered her hand with his. “Costa.”

She withdrew her hand. “Mr. Demiris, I came here today to tell you that I want you to stop sending me gifts. I don’t intend to see you again.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I’m sure you are not a cruel person.”

“I hope not.”

He smiled. “Good. Then you won’t want to break my heart.”

“I doubt if your heart is that easily broken. You have quite a reputation.”

“Ah, that was before I met you. I’ve dreamed about you for a long time.”

Melina laughed.

“I’m serious. When I was a very young man, I used to read about the Lambrou family. You were very rich and I was very poor. I had nothing. We lived from hand to mouth. My father was a stevedore who worked on the docks of Piraeus. I had fourteen brothers and sisters, and we had to fight for everything we wanted.”

In spite of herself, she was touched. “But now you are rich.”

“Yes. Not as rich as I am going to be.”

“What made you rich?”

“Hunger. I was always hungry. I’m still hungry.”

She could read the truth in his eyes. “How did you … how did you get started?”

“Do you really want to know?”

And Melina found herself saying, “I really want to know.”

“When I was seventeen, I went to work for a small oil company in the Middle East. I was not doing very well. One night I had dinner with a young geologist who worked for a large oil company. I ordered a steak that night, and he ordered only soup. I asked him why he didn’t have a steak, and he said it was because he had no back teeth and he couldn’t afford to buy dentures. I gave him fifty dollars to buy new teeth. A month later he telephoned me in the middle of the night to tell me he had just discovered a new oil deposit. He hadn’t told his employer about it yet. In the morning, I started borrowing every cent I could, and by evening I had bought options on all the land around the new discovery. It turned out to be one of the biggest oil deposits in the world.”

Melina was hanging on his every word, fascinated.

“That was the beginning. I needed tankers to ship my oil in, so in time I acquired a fleet. Then a refinery. Then an airline.” He shrugged. “It went on from there.”

It was not until long after they were married that Melina learned that the story about the steak was pure fiction.

Melina Lambrou had had no intention of seeing Constantin Demiris again. But, by a series of carefully arranged coincidences, Demiris invariably managed to appear at the same party, or theater, or charity event, that Melina was attending. And each time, she felt his overpowering magnetism. Beside him, Vassilis Manos seemed—she hated to admit it, even to herself—boring.

Melina Lambrou was fond of the Flemish painters, and when Bruegel’s “Hunters in the Snow” came on the market, before she could purchase it, Constantin Demiris sent it to her as a gift.

Melina was fascinated by his uncanny knowledge of her tastes. “I can’t accept such an expensive gift from you,” she protested.

“Ah, but it’s not a gift. You must pay for it. Dinner with me tonight.”

And she finally agreed. The man was irresistible.

A week later Melina broke off her engagement to Count Manos.

When Melina told her brother the news he was stunned.

“Why, in heaven’s name?” Spyros asked. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to marry Constantin Demiris.”

He was aghast. “You must be crazy. You can’t marry Demiris. He’s a monster. He’ll destroy you. If…”

“You’re wrong about him, Spyros. He’s wonderful. And we’re in love. It’s …”

“You’re in love,” he snapped. “I don’t know what he’s after, but it has nothing to do with love. Do you know what his reputation is with women? He …”

“That’s all in the past, Spyros. I’m going to be his wife.”

And there was nothing he could do to talk his sister out of the wedding.

A month later Melina Lambrou and Constantin Demiris were married.

In the beginning it seemed to be a perfect marriage. Constantin was amusing and attentive. He was an exciting and passionate lover, and he constantly surprised Melina with lavish gifts and trips to exotic places.

On the first night of their honeymoon, he said, “My first wife was never able to give me a child. Now we’ll have many sons.”

“No daughters?” Melina teased.

“If you wish. But a son first.”

The day Melina learned she was pregnant, Constantin was ecstatic.

“He will take over my empire,” he declared happily.

In her third month, Melina miscarried. Constantin Demiris was out of the country when it happened. When he returned and heard the news he reacted like a madman.

“What did you do?” he screamed. “How could it happen?”

“Costa, I …”

“You were careless!”

“No, I swear ”

He took a deep breath. “All right. What’s done is done. We’ll have another son.”

“I … I can’t.” She could not meet his eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“They had to perform an operation. I can’t have another child.”

He stood there, frozen, then turned and stalked out without a word.

From that moment on, Melina’s life became a hell. Constantin Demiris carried on as though his wife had deliberately killed his son. He ignored her, and began to see other women.

Melina could have borne that, but what made the humiliation so painful was the pleasure he took in publicly flaunting his liaisons. He openly had affairs with movie stars, opera singers, and the wives of some of his friends. He took his lovers to Psara, and on cruises on his yacht, and to public functions. The press gleefully chronicled Constantin Demiris’s romantic adventures.

They were at a dinner party at the house of a prominent banker.

“You and Melina must come,” the banker had said. “I have a new Oriental chef who makes the best Chinese food in the world.”

The guest list was prestigious. At the dinner table was a fascinating collection of artists, politicians, and industrialists. The food was indeed wonderful. The chef had prepared shark fin soup, shrimp rolls, mu shu pork, Peking duck, spareribs, Canton noodles, and a dozen other dishes.

Melina was seated near the host at one end of the table, her husband next to the hostess at the other end. To Demiris’s right was a pretty, young film star. Demiris was concentrating on her, ignoring everyone else at the table. Melina could hear snatches of his conversation.

“When you finish your picture, you must come on my yacht. It will be a lovely vacation for you. We’ll cruise along the Dalmatian coast …”

Melina tried not to listen, but it was impossible. Demiris made no effort to keep his voice down. “You’ve never been to Psara, have you? It’s a lovely little island, completely isolated. You’ll enjoy it.” Melina wanted to crawl under the table. But the worst was yet to come.

They had just finished the sparerib course, and the butlers were bringing silver finger bowls.