"I beg your pardon?"
Catherine realized she had spoken aloud. Now was the time to tell him that this was her last visit.
She took a deep breath. "Alan..." And her resolve broke. She looked over at the photograph on the coffee table. "How long have you been married?"
"Married?" He followed Catherine's glance. "Oh. That's my sister and her son."
Catherine felt a wave of joy sweep through her. "Oh, that's wonderful! I mean, she...she looks wonderful."
"Are you all right, Catherine?"
Kirk Reynolds had kept asking her that. I wasn't all right then, Catherine thought, but I am now. "I'm fine," Catherine said. "You're not married?"
"No."
Will you have dinner with me? Will you take me to bed? Will you marry me? If she said any of these things aloud he would really think she was crazy. Maybe I am.
He was watching her, frowning. "Catherine, I'm afraid we're not going to be able to go on with these sesssions. Today will be our last day."
Catherine's heart sank. "Why? Have I done something to...?"
"No, it...it isn't you. In a professional relationship of this kind, it's improper for a doctor to become emotionally involved with a patient."
She was staring at him now, her eyes glowing. "Are you saying that you're becoming emotionally involved with me?"
"Yes. And because of that I'm afraid..."
"You're absolutely right," Catherine said happily. "Let's talk about it tonight at dinner."
They dined at a little Italian restaurant in the heart of Soho. The food could have been great or terrible, it made no difference. They were totally absorbed in each other.
"It isn't fair, Alan," Catherine said. "You know everything about me. Tell me about yourself. Weren't you ever married?"
"No. I was engaged to be married."
"What happened?"
"It was during the war. We were living together in a small flat. It was during the days of the blitz. I was working at the hospital and when I came home one night..."
Catherine could hear the pain in his voice.
"...the building was gone. There was nothing left."
She put her hand over his. "I'm sorry."
"It took me a long time to get over it. I never met anyone else that I wanted to marry." And his eyes said, until now.
They sat there for four hours, talking about everything - the theater, medicine, the state of the world; but the real conversation was unspoken. It was the electricity building up between them. They could both feel it. There was a sexual tension between them that was overwhelming.
Finally, Alan brought up the subject. "Catherine, what I said this morning about the doctor-patient relationship..."
"Tell me about it at your flat."
They undressed together, quickly and eagerly, and as Catherine took off her clothes, she thought of how she had felt when she was with Kirk Reynolds and how different it was now. The difference is being in love, Catherine thought. I'm in love with this man.
She lay on the bed waiting for him, and when he came to her and put his arms around her, all the worries, all the fears of never being able to relate to a man, vanished. They stroked each other's bodies, exploring, first tenderly, then fiercely, until their need became wild and desperate, and they joined together and Catherine screamed aloud with sheer happiness. I'm whole again, she thought. Thank you!
They lay there, spent, and Catherine held Alan close in her arms, never wanting to let him go.
When she could speak again, she said in a shaky voice, "You certainly know how to treat a patient, doctor."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Catherine learned about the arrest of Constantin Demiris for the murder of his wife from the headlines. It came as a complete shock. When she got to the office, there was a pall over everything.
"Did you hear the news?" Evelyn moaned. "What are we going to do?"
"We're going to carry on exactly as he would want us to. I'm sure there's been a big mistake. I'm going to try to telephone him."
But Constantin Demiris was unreachable.
Constantin Demiris was the most important prisoner that the Central Prison of Athens had ever held. The prosecutor had issued orders that Demiris be given no special treatment. Demiris had demanded a number of things: access to telephones, telex machines, and a courier service. His requests were denied.
Demiris spent most of his waking hours, and much of his dreaming ones, trying to figure out who had murdered Melina.
In the beginning, Demiris had assumed that a burglar had been surprised by Melina while ransacking the beach house and had killed her. But the moment the police had confronted him with the evidence against him, Demiris had realized that he was being framed. The question was, by whom? The logical person was Spyros Lambrou, but the weakness of that theory was that Lambrou loved his sister more than anyone in the world. He never would have harmed her.
Demiris's suspicions had then turned to the gang that Tony Rizzoli had been involved with. Perhaps they had learned what he had done to Rizzoli and this was their way of getting revenge. Constantin Demiris had dismissed that idea out of hand. If the Mafia had wanted revenge, they would simply have put out a contract on him.
And so, sitting alone in his cell, Demiris had gone round and round, trying to solve the puzzle of what had happened. In the end, when he had exhausted all the possibilities, there was only one possible conclusion left: Melina had committed suicide. She had killed herself and framed him for her death. Demiris thought of what he had done to Noelle Page and Larry Douglas, and the bitter irony was that he was now in exactly the same position in which they had been. He was going to be tried for a murder he had not committed.