“Ioannina.” She leaned forward and began to talk. He listened to her as she
elaborated on her plan, meeting every objection that he raised, improvising brilliantly. At
the end when Noelle finished, Larry had to admit that the plan was flawless. They could
really get away with it.
Paul Metaxas was nervous. The Greek pilot’s usually jovial face was drawn and tense
and he could feel a nervous tic pulling at the corner of his mouth. He had had no
appointment with Constantin Demiris, and one did not simply barge in on the great man,
but Metaxas had told the butler it was urgent, and now Paul Metaxas found himself
standing in the enormous hallway of Demiris’ villa, staring at him and stammering
clumsily, “I—I am terribly sorry to bother you, Mr. Demiris.” Metaxas surreptitiously
wiped the sweaty palm of his hand against the leg of his flight uniform.
“Has something happened to one of the planes?”
“Oh, no, sir. I—It’s—it’s a personal matter.”
Demiris studied him without interest. He made it a policy never to get involved in the
affairs of his underlings. He had secretaries to handle that kind of thing for him. He waited
for Metaxas to go on.
Paul Metaxas was becoming more nervous by the second. He had spent a lot of
sleepless nights before making the decision that had brought him here. What he was doing
now was alien to his character and therefore distasteful, but he was a man of fierce loyalty,
and his first allegiance was to Constantin Demiris.
“It’s about Miss Page,” he said, finally.
There was a moment of silence.
“Come in here,” Demiris said. He led the pilot into the paneled library and closed the
doors. Demiris took a flat Egyptian cigarette out of a platinum case and lit it. He looked at
the perspiring Metaxas. “What about Miss Page?” he asked, almost absently.
Metaxas swallowed, wondering if he had made a mistake. If he had estimated the
situation correctly, his information would be appreciated, but if he was mistaken…
He cursed himself for his rashness in having come here, but he had no choice now
but to plunge ahead.
“It’s—it’s about her and Larry Douglas.” He watched Demiris’ face, trying to read his
expression. There was not even the faintest flicker of interest. Christ! Metaxas forced
himself to stumble on. “They—they’re living in a beach house together in Rafina.”
Demiris flicked the ash of the cigarette into a gold, dome-shaped ashtray. Metaxas
had the feeling that he was about to be dismissed, that he had made a terrible blunder and
that it was going to cost him his job. He had to convince Demiris that he was telling the
truth. The words began spilling out of him. “My—my sister is a housekeeper in one of the
villas there. She sees the two of them on the beach together all the time. She recognized
Miss Page from her pictures in the paper, but she didn’t think anything about it until a