Memories of Midnight

st. Moritz was an enchantment. There were miles of downhill ski runs, hiking trails, bobsled and sleigh rides, polo tournaments, and a dozen other activities. Curled around a sparkling lake in the Engadine Valley six thousand feet high on the southern slope of the Alps, between Celerina and Piz Nair, the little village made Catherine gasp with delight.



Catherine and Kirk Reynolds checked into the fabled Palace Hotel. The lobby was filled with tourists from a dozen countries.



Kirk Reynolds said to the reception clerk, "A reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds," and Catherine looked away. I should have put on a wedding ring. She was sure everyone in the lobby was staring at her, knowing what she was doing.



"Yes, Mr. Reynolds. Suite two-fifteen." The clerk handed a bellboy the key, and the bellboy said, "Right this way, please."



They were escorted to a lovely suite, simply furnished, with a spectacular view of the mountains from each window.



When the bellboy left, Kirk Reynolds took Catherine in his arms. "I can't tell you how happy you've made me, darling."



"I hope I will," Catherine replied. "I...It's been a long time, Kirk."



"Don't worry. I won't rush you."



He's so dear, Catherine thought, but how would he feel about me if I told him about my past? She had never mentioned Larry to him, or the murder trial, or any of the terrible things that had happened to her. She wanted to feel close to him, to confide in him, but something held her back.



"I'd better unpack," Catherine said.



She unpacked slowly - too slowly - and suddenly realized that she was stalling, afraid to finish what she was doing because she was afraid of what was going to happen next.



From the other room she heard Kirk calling, "Catherine..."



Oh, my God, he's going to say let's get undressed and go to bed. Catherine swallowed and said in a small voice, "Yes?"



"Why don't we go outside and look around?"



Catherine went limp with relief. "That's a wonderful idea," she said enthusiastically. What's the matter with me? I'm in one of the most romantic places on earth, with an attractive man who loves me, and I'm panicky.



Reynolds was looking at her strangely. "Are you all right?"



"Fine," Catherine said brightly. "Just fine."



"You look worried."



"No. I...I was thinking about - about skiing. It's supposed to be dangerous."



Reynolds smiled. "Don't worry. We'll start you on a gentle slope, tomorrow. Let's go."



They put on sweaters and lined jackets and walked outside into the crisp, clear air.



Catherine breathed deeply. "Oh, it's wonderful, Kirk. I love it here."



"You ain't seen nothin' yet," he grinned. "It's twice as beautiful in the summer."



Will he still want to see me in the summer? Catherine wondered. Or am I going to be a big disappointment to him? Why don't I stop worrying so much?



The village of St. Moritz was charming, a medieval marvel, filled with quaint shops and restaurants and chalets set among the majestic Alps.



They wandered around the shops, and Catherine bought presents for Evelyn and Wim. They stopped at a little cafe and had a fondue.



In the afternoon, Kirk Reynolds hired a sleigh driven by a bay, and they rode along the snow-covered path up into the hills, the snow crunching beneath the metal runners.



"Enjoying?" Reynolds asked.



"Oh, yes." Catherine looked at him and thought, I'm going to make you so happy. Tonight. Yes, tonight. I'm going to make you happy tonight.



That evening, they dined in the hotel at the Stubli, a restaurant with the atmosphere of an old country inn.



"This room dates back to 1480," Kirk said.



"Then we'd better not order the bread."



"What?"



"Small joke. Sorry."



Larry used to understand my jokes; why am I thinking about him? Because I don't want to think about tonight. I feel like Marie Antoinette going to her execution. I won't have cake for dessert.



The meal was superb, but Catherine was too nervous to enjoy it. When they had finished, Reynolds said, "Shall we go upstairs? I've arranged an early ski lesson for you in the morning."



"Sure. Fine. Sure."



They started upstairs, and Catherine found that her heart was pounding. He's going to say, "Let's go right to bed." And why shouldn't he? That's what I came here for, isn't it? I can't pretend I came for the skiing.



They reached their suite, and Reynolds opened the door and turned on the lights. They walked into the bedroom and Catherine stared at the large bed. It seemed to take up the whole room.



Kirk was watching her. "Catherine...are you worried about anything?"



"What?" A hollow little laugh. "Of course not. I...I just..."



"Just what?"



She gave him a bright smile. "Nothing. I'm fine."



"Good. Let's get undressed and go to bed."



Exactly what I knew he was going to say. But did he have to say it? We could have just gone ahead and done it. Putting it in words is so...so...crass.



"What did you say?"



Catherine had not realized that she had spoken aloud. "Nothing."



Catherine had reached the bed. It was the largest she had ever seen. It was a bed that had been built for lovers, and lovers only. It was not a bed to sleep in. It was a bed to...



"Aren't you going to get undressed, darling?"



Am I? How long has it been since I slept with a man? More than a year. And he was my husband.



"Cathy...?"



"Yes." I'm going to get undressed, and I'm going to get into bed, and I'm going to disappoint you. I'm not in love with you, Kirk. I can't sleep with you.



"Kirk..."



He turned to her, half undressed. "Yes?"



"Kirk, I...Forgive me. You're going to hate me, but I...I can't. I'm terribly sorry. You must think I'm..."



She saw the look of disappointment on his face. He forced a smile. "Cathy, I told you I'd be patient. If you're not ready yet, I...I understand. We can still have a wonderful time here."



She kissed his cheek gratefully. "Oh, Kirk. Thank you. I feel so ridiculous. I don't know what's the matter with me."



"There's nothing the matter with you," he assured her. "I understand."



She hugged him. "Thank you. You're an angel."



"Meanwhile," he sighed, "I'll sleep on the couch in the living room."



"No, you won't," Catherine declared. "Since I'm the one responsible for this dumb problem, the least I can do is see that you're comfortable. I'll sleep on the couch. You take the bed."



"Absolutely not."



Catherine lay on the bed, wide awake, thinking about Kirk Reynolds. Will I ever be able to make love with another man? Or has Larry burned that out of me? Maybe, in a way, Larry did manage to kill me, after all. Finally, Catherine slept.



Kirk Reynolds was awakened in the middle of the night by the screams. He sat straight up on the couch, and as the screams continued, he hurried into the bedroom.



Catherine was flailing about on the bed, her eyes tightly closed. "No," she was yelling. "Don't! Don't! Leave me alone!"



Reynolds knelt down and put his arms around her and held her close. "Shhh," he said. "It's all right. It's all right."



Catherine's body was wracked with sobs, and he held her close until they subsided.



"They - tried to drown me."



"It was only a dream," he said soothingly. "You had a bad dream."



Catherine opened her eyes and sat up. Her body was trembling. "No, it wasn't a dream. It was real. They tried to kill me."



Kirk was looking at her, puzzled. "Who tried to kill you?"



"My...my husband and his mistress."



He shook his head. "Catherine, you had a nightmare, and..."



"I'm telling you the truth. They tried to murder me, and they were executed for it."



Kirk's face was filled with disbelief. "Catherine..."



"I didn't tell you before, because it's...it's painful for me to talk about it."



He suddenly realized that she was serious. "What happened?"



"I wouldn't give Larry a divorce, and he...he was in love with another woman, and they decided to murder me."



Kirk was listening intently now. "When was this?"



"A year ago."



"What happened to them?"



"They were - they were executed by the state."



He raised a hand. "Wait a minute. They were executed for attempting to kill you?"



"Yes."



Reynolds said, "I'm not an expert on Greek law, but I'm willing to bet that there's no death sentence for attempted murder. There has to be some mistake. I know a lawyer in Athens. Actually, he works for the state. I'll give him a call in the morning, and clear this up. His name is Peter Demonides."



Catherine was still asleep when Kirk Reynolds awakened. He dressed quietly and went into the bedroom. He stood there a moment, looking down at Catherine. I love her so much. I have to find out what really happened, and clear the shadows away for her.



Kirk Reynolds went down to the hotel lobby and placed a phone call to Athens. "I'd like to make it person-to-person, operator. I want to speak with Peter Demonides."



The call came through half an hour later.



"Mr. Demonides? This is Kirk Reynolds. I don't know whether you remember me, but..."



"Of course I do. You work for Constantin Demiris."



"Yes."



"What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?"



"Forgive me for bothering you. I'm a bit puzzled about some information I just came across. It involves a point of Greek law."



"I know a little bit about Greek law," Demonides said jovially. "I'll be happy to help you."



"Is there anything in your law that allows someone to be executed for attempted murder?"



There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "May I ask why you are inquiring?"



"I'm with a woman named Catherine Alexander. She seems to think that her husband and his mistress were executed by the state for trying to kill her. It doesn't sound logical. Do you see what I mean?"



"Yes." Demonides's voice was thoughtful. "I see what you mean. Where are you, Mr. Reynolds?"



"I'm staying at the Palace Hotel in St. Moritz."



"Let me check this out, and I'll get back to you."



"I would appreciate it. The truth is, I think Miss Alexander may be imagining things, and I'd like to straighten this out and relieve her mind."



"I understand. You will hear from me. I promise."



The air was bright and crisp, and the beauty of Catherine's surroundings dispelled her terrors of the night before.



The two of them breakfasted in the village, and when they had finished, Reynolds said, "Let's go over to the ski slope and turn you into a snow bunny."



He took Catherine over to the beginners' slope and hired an instructor for her.



Catherine got into her skis, and stood up. She looked down at her feet. "This is ridiculous. If God had meant us to look like this, our fathers would have been trees."



"What?"



"Nothing, Kirk."



The instructor smiled. "Don't worry. In no time at all you'll be skiing like a pro, Miss Alexander. We'll start out at Corviglia Sass Ronsol. That's the beginner's slope."



"You'll be surprised at how quickly you'll get the hang of it," Reynolds assured Catherine.



He looked over at a ski run in the distance, and turned to the instructor. "I think I'll try Fuorcla Grischa today."



"It sounds delicious. I'll have mine grilled," Catherine said.



Not a smile. "It's a ski run, darling."



"Oh." Catherine felt embarrassed to tell him it was a joke. I mustn't do that around him, Catherine thought.



The instructor said, "The Grischa's a pretty steep run. You might start out on the Corviglia Standard Marguns to warm up, Mr. Reynolds."



"Good idea. I'll do that. Catherine, I'll meet you at the hotel for lunch."



"Fine."



Reynolds waved and walked away.



"Have a nice time," Catherine called. "Don't forget to write."



"Well," the instructor said. "Let's go to work."



To Catherine's surprise, the lessons turned out to be fun. She was nervous in the beginning. She felt awkward and moved up the small slope clumsily.



"Lean forward a little. Keep your skis pointed forward."



"Tell them. They have a mind of their own," Catherine declared.



"You're doing fine. Now we're going down the slope. Bend your knees. Get your balance. There you go!"



She fell.



"Once more. You're doing fine."



She fell again. And again. And suddenly, she found her sense of balance. And it was as though she had wings. She sailed down the slope, and it was exhilarating. It was almost like flying. She loved the crunch of the snow beneath her skis and the feel of the wind batting at her face.



"I love it!" Catherine said. "No wonder people get hooked on this. How soon can we do the big slope?"



The instructor laughed. "Let's stay with this for today. Tomorrow, the Olympics."



All in all, it was a glorious morning.



She was waiting for Kirk Reynolds in the Grill Room when he returned from skiing. His cheeks were ruddy and he looked animated. He walked up to Catherine's table and sat down.



"Well," he asked, "how did it go?"



"Great. I didn't break anything important. I only fell down six times. And you know something?" she said proudly. "Toward the end I got pretty good. I think he's going to enter me in the Olympics."



Reynolds smiled. "Good." He started to mention the phone call he had made to Peter Demonides, and then decided against it. He did not want to have Catherine upset again.



After lunch they went for a long walk in the snow, stopping in at some of the shops to browse. Catherine was beginning to feel tired.



"I think I'd like to go back to the room," she said. "I might take a little nap."



"Good idea. The air's pretty thin here, and if you're not used to it you can get tired easily."



"What are you going to do, Kirk?"



He looked up at a distant slope. "I think I might ski down the Grischa. I've never done it before. It's a challenge."



"You mean - 'because it's there.'"



"What?"



"Nothing. It looks so dangerous."



Reynolds nodded. "That's why it's a challenge."



Catherine took his hand. "Kirk, about last night. I'm sorry. I...I'll try to do better."



"Don't worry about it. Go back to the hotel and get some sleep."



"I will."



Catherine watched him walk away and thought, He's a wonderful man. I wonder what he sees in an idiot like me?



Catherine slept during the afternoon, and this time there were no dreams. When she awakened it was almost six o'clock. Kirk would be returning soon.



Catherine bathed and dressed, thinking about the evening ahead of her. No, not the evening, she admitted to herself, the night. I'll make it up to him.



She went to the window and looked out. It was beginning to get dark. Kirk must really be enjoying himself, Catherine thought. She looked up at the huge slope in the distance. Is that the Grischa? I wonder if I'll ever be able to ski down that.



At seven o'clock Kirk Reynolds still had not returned. The twilight had turned to a deep blackness. He can't be skiing in the dark, Catherine thought. I'll bet he's in the bar downstairs having a drink.



She started for the door just as the phone rang.



Catherine smiled. I was right. He's calling me to ask me to join him downstairs.



She lifted the receiver and said brightly, "Well, did you come across any Sherpas?"



A strange voice said, "Mrs. Reynolds?"



She started to say no, then remembered how Kirk had registered them. "Yes. This is Mrs. Reynolds."



"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Your husband has been in a skiing accident."



"Oh, no! Is it...is it serious?"



"I'm afraid it is."



"I'll come right away. Where...?"



"I'm sorry to tell you he's...he's dead, Mrs. Reynolds. He was skiing the Lagalp and broke his neck."