somewhere, separately, perhaps to the United States. We can be married there. I have more money than we’ ll ever need. I’ ll buy you a charter airline, or a flying school or whatever you like.”
He stood there listening to what she was saying, weighing what he would be giving up against what he would be gaining. And what would he be giving up? A lousy job as a pilot. The thought of owning his own planes sent a small thrill coursing through him. He’ d have his own converted Mitchell. Or maybe the new DC-6 that had just come out. Four radial engines, eighty-five passengers. And Noelle, yes, he wanted Noelle. Jesus, what was he even hesitating about?
“ What about my wife?” he asked.“ Tell her you want a divorce.”“ I don’ t know if she’ ll give me one.”
“ Don’ t ask her,” Noelle replied.“ Tell her.” There was a final implacable note in her voice.
Larry nodded.“ All right.”“ You won’ t be sorry, darling. I promise,” Noelle said.
For Catherine time had lost its circadian rhythm; she had fallen into a tesseract of time, and day and night blended into one. Larry was almost never home, and she had long since stopped seeing any of their friends, because she did not have the energy to make any more excuses or to face people. Count Pappas had made half a dozen attempts to see her, and had finally given up. She found herself only able to cope with people secondhand: by telephone or letter or cable. But face to face, she turned to stone, and conversations flinted off her in hopeless, futile sparks. Time brought pain and people brought pain, and the only surcease Catherine found was in the wonderful forgetfulness of liquor. Oh how it eased the suffering, softened the sharp edge of rebuffs and gentled down the pitiless sun of reality that beat down on everyone else.
When Catherine had first come to Athens, she and William Fraser had written to each other frequently, swapping news and keeping each other up-to-date on the activities of their mutual friends and foes. Since Catherine’ s problems with Larry had begun, however, she had not had the heart to write to Fraser. His last three letters had gone unanswered, and his last letter had gone unopened. She simply did not have the energy to cope with anything outside the microcosm of self-pity in which she was trapped.
One day a cable arrived for Catherine, and it was still lying on the table unopened a week later, when the doorbell rang and William Fraser appeared. Catherine stared at him, unbelievingly.“ Bill!” she said, thickly.“ Bill Fraser!”
He started to speak and she saw the excited look in his eyes turn to something else, something startled and shocked.
“ Bill, darling,” she said.“ What are you doing here?”