all that would change now. “I’d better go out and start buying some skinny clothes,” she
smiled.
The doctor wrote something on a card. “This is the address of the clinic. They will be
expecting you. I will see you again after you have had your examination.”
On the street Catherine looked for a taxi, then she thought, to hell with that. I might
as well start getting used to exercise. She began to walk. She passed a shop window and
stopped to stare at her reflection.
She had been so quick to blame Larry for the disintegration of their marriage without
ever questioning what share of the blame was hers. Why would he want to come home to
someone who looked like she did? How slowly and subtly this stranger had crept in
without her being aware of it. She wondered how many marriages had died in this same
way, not with a bang—and there certainly hasn’t been much of that lately, Catherine
thought, wryly—but with a whimper, just like good old T.S. Eliot said. Well, that was all
in the past. From now on she would not look back, she would only look ahead to the
wonderful future.
Catherine had reached the fashionable Salonika district. She was walking past a
beauty parlor and on a sudden impulse she turned and went inside. The reception room
was white marble, large and elegant. A haughty receptionist looked at Catherine
disapprovingly and said, “Yes, may I help you?”
“I want to make an appointment for tomorrow morning,” Catherine said. “I want
everything. The works.” The name of their top hair stylist suddenly popped into her head.
“I want Aleko.”
The woman shook her head. “I can give you an appointment, Madame, but you will
have to take someone else.”
“Listen,” Catherine said firmly, “you tell Aleko that he either takes me or I’ll go
around Athens telling everyone I’m one of his regular customers.”
The woman’s eyes opened wide in shocked surprise. “I—I will see what I can do,”
she said hastily. “Come in at ten in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Catherine grinned. “I’ll be here.” And she walked out.
Ahead of her she saw a small taverna with a sign in the window that read
“MADAME PIRIS—FORTUNE-TELLING.” It seemed vaguely familiar and she
suddenly remembered the day that Count Pappas had told her a story about Madame Piris.
It was something about a policeman and a lion—but she could not remember the details.
Catherine did not believe in for-tune-tellers and yet the impulse to go in was irresistible.
She needed reassurance, someone to confirm her feeling about her wonderful new future,
to tell her that life was going to be beautiful again, worth living again. She opened the
door and walked inside.
After the bright sunshine it took Catherine several moments to get used to the
cavernous darkness of the room. She made out a bar in the corner and a dozen tables and
chairs. A tired-looking waiter walked up to her and addressed her in Greek.