Memories of Midnight. Сидни Шелдон
have to go back to work,” Demiris said.
Over the next few weeks, Sybil Potter constantly found excuses to send for the young man.
“Henry left again this morning,” she told him. “He’s off to do his silly drilling.” She added archly, “He should do more drilling at home.”
Demiris had no answer. The geologist was a very important man in the company hierarchy and Demiris had no intention of getting involved with Potter’s wife and jeopardizing his own job. He was not sure exactly how, but he knew without question that one way or another this job was going to be his passport to everything he dreamed of. Oil was the future and he was determined to be a part of it.
One midnight, Sybil Potter sent for Demiris. He walked into the compound where she lived and knocked at the door.
“Come in.” Sybil was wearing a thin nightgown that unfortunately concealed nothing.
“I—did you want to see me, ma’am?”
“Yes, come in Costa. This bedside lamp doesn’t seem to be working.”
Demiris averted his eyes and walked over to the lamp. He picked it up to examine it. “There’s no bulb in …” And he felt her body pressing against his back and her hands groping him. “Mrs. Potter …”
Her lips were on his and she was pushing him onto the bed. And he had no control over what happened next.
His clothes were off and he was plunging into her and she was screaming with joy. “That’s it! Oh, yes, that’s it. My God, it’s been so long!”
She gave a final gasp and shuddered. “Oh, darling, I love you.”
Demiris lay there panicky. What have I done? If Potter ever finds out I’m finished.
As though reading his mind, Sybil Potter giggled, “This will be our little secret, won’t it, darling?”
Their little secret went on for the next several months. There was no way Demiris could avoid her and, since her husband was away for days at a time on his explorations, Demiris could think of no excuse to keep from going to bed with her. What made it worse was that Sybil Potter had fallen madly in love with him.
“You’re much too good to be working in a place like this, darling,” she told him. “You and I are going back to England.”
“My home is Greece.”
“Not anymore.” She stroked his long, lean body. “You’re going to come back home with me. I’ll divorce Henry and we’ll get married.”
Demiris felt a sudden sense of panic. “Sybil, I … I have no money. I …”
She ran her lips down his chest. “That’s no problem. I know how you can make some money, sweetheart.”
“You do?”
She sat up in bed. “Last night, Henry told me he’s just discovered some big new oil field. He’s very clever at that, you know. Anyway, he seemed terribly excited about it. He wrote out his report before he left and he asked me to send it out in the morning pouch. I have it here. Would you like to see it?”
Demiris’s heart began to beat faster. “Yes. I … I would.” He watched her get out of bed and lumber over to a small battered table in the corner. She picked up a large manila envelope and returned to the bed with it.
“Open it.”
Demiris hesitated for only an instant. He opened the envelope and took out the papers inside. There were five pages. He scanned through them quickly, then went back to the beginning and read every word.
“Is that information worth anything?”
Is that information worth anything? It was a report on a new field that could possibly turn out to be one of the richest oil fields in history.
Demiris swallowed. “Yes. It … it could be.”
“Well, there you are,” Sybil said happily. “Now we have money.”
He sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Demiris explained. “This is valuable to someone who can afford to buy up options on the land around this area. But that takes money.” He had three hundred dollars in his bank account.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Henry has money. I’ll write a check. Will five thousand dollars be enough?”
Constantin Demiris could not believe what he was hearing. “Yes. I … I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s for us, darling. For our future.”
He sat up in bed thinking hard. “Sybil, do you think you could hold on to that report for the next day or two?”
“Of course. I’ll keep it till Friday. Will that give you enough time, darling?”
He nodded slowly. “That will give me enough time.”
With the five thousand dollars that Sybil gave him—no, it’s not a gift, it’s a loan, he told himself—Constantin Demiris bought up options on acres of land around the new potential strike. Some months later, when the gushers began to come in in the main field, Constantin Demiris was an instant millionaire.
He repaid Sybil Potter the five thousand dollars, sent her a new nightgown, and returned to Greece. She never saw him again.
There is a theory that nothing in nature is ever lost—that every sound ever made, every word ever spoken, still exists somewhere in space and time and may one day be recalled.
Before radio was invented, they say, who would have believed that the air around us was filled with the sounds of music and news and voices from around the world? One day we will be able to travel back in time and listen to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, the voice of Shakespeare, the Sermon on the Mount …
Catherine Alexander heard voices from her past, but they were muffled and fragmented, and they filled her with confusion. …
“Do you know you’re a very special girl, Cathy? I felt it from the first time I saw you. …”
“It’s over. I want a divorce. … I’m in love with someone else. …”
“I know how badly I’ve behaved. … I’d like to make it up to you. …”
“He tried to kill me.”
“Who tried to kill you?”
“My husband.”
The voices would not stop. They were a torment. Her past became a kaleidoscope of shifting images that kept racing through her mind.
The convent should have been a wonderful, peaceful haven, but it had suddenly become a prison. I don’t belong here. But where do I belong? She had no idea.
There were no mirrors in the convent, but there was a reflecting pool outside, near the garden. Catherine had carefully avoided it, afraid of what it might reveal to her. But on this morning, she walked over to it, slowly knelt, and looked down. The pool reflected a lovely-looking suntanned woman with black hair, flawless features, and solemn gray eyes that seemed filled with pain … but perhaps that was merely a trick of the water. She saw a generous mouth that looked ready to smile, and a nose that was slightly turned up—a beautiful woman in her early thirties. But a woman with no past and no future. A woman lost. I need someone to help me, Catherine thought desperately, someone I can talk to. She went into Sister Theresa’s office.
“Sister …”
“Yes, child?”
“I