He spread her legs and put his male hardness inside her and Catherine was transported again, drowning in a torrent of water that beat against her body, while inside she was filled with the same unbearable joy, until she screamed aloud in sheer happiness.
Afterward they dressed, got into his car and drove to Maryland, where they found a little restaurant that was still open and they had lobster and champagne.
At five o'clock in the morning, Catherine dialed William Fraser's number at home and stood there listening to the long rings eighty miles away until finally Fraser's sleepy voice came on the phone, and said, "Hello..."
"Hello, Bill. It's Catherine."
"Catherine! I've been trying to call you all evening. Where are you? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I'm in Maryland with Larry Douglas. We just got married."
NOELLE
Paris: 1941
8
Christian Barbet was an unhappy man. The bald little detective sat at his desk, a cigarette between his stained, broken teeth, and gloomily contemplated the folder in front of him. The information it contained was going to cost him a client. He had been charging Noelle Page outrageous fees for his services, but it was not only the loss of the income that saddened him: He would miss the client herself. He hated Noelle Page and yet she was the most exciting woman he had ever met. Barbet built lurid fantasies around Noelle in which she always ended up in his power. Now the assignment was about to come to an end, and he would never see her again. He had kept her waiting in the reception office while he tried to figure out a way to handle things so that he could squeeze some additional money out of her to prolong the case. But he reluctantly concluded that there was no way. Barbet sighed, snuffed out his cigarette, walked over to the door and opened it. Noelle was sitting on the black imitation leather couch, and as he studied her, his heart caught in his throat for a moment. It was unfair for any woman to be so beautiful. "Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," he said. "Come in."
She entered his office moving with the grace of a model. It was good for Barbet to have a name client like Noelle Page, and he was not above dropping her name frequently. It attracted other clients, and Christian Barbet was not a man to lose any sleep over ethics. "Please sit down," he said, indicating a chair. "Can I get you a brandy, an aperitif?"
Part of his fantasy was getting Noelle drunk so that she would beg him to seduce her.
"No," she replied. "I came for your report."
The bitch could have had a last drink with him! "Yes," Barbet said. "As a matter of fact I have several pieces of news." He reached over to the desk and pretended to study the dossier, which he had already memorized.
"First," he informed her, "your friend was promoted to Captain and transferred to the one hundred thirty-third squadron, where he was put in command. The field is at Coltisall, Duxtford, in Cambridgeshire. They flew"--he spoke slowly and deliberately, knowing that she was not interested in the technical part--"Hurricanes and Spitfire Il's and then switched to Mark V's. They then flew--"
"Never mind," Noelle interrupted impatiently. "Where is he now?"
/> Barbet had been waiting for the question. "In the United States." He saw the reaction before she could control it, and he took savage satisfaction in it. "In Washington, D.C.," he continued.
"On leave?"
Barbet shook his head. "No. He's been discharged from the RAF. He's a Captain in the United States Army Air Corps."
He watched Noelle digesting the information, her expression giving no clue to what she was feeling. But Barbet was not finished with her yet. He picked up a newspaper clipping between his stained sausage fingers and handed it to her.
"I think this will interest you," he said.
He saw Noelle stiffen, and it was almost as though she knew what she was going to see. The clipping was from the New York Daily News. The caption read "War Ace Weds" and above it was a photograph of Larry Douglas and his bride. Noelle looked at it for a long moment, then held out her hand for the rest of the file. Christian Barbet shrugged, and slid all the papers into a manila envelope and handed it to her. As he opened his mouth to make his farewell speech, Noelle Page said, "If you don't have a correspondent in Washington, get one. I shall expect weekly reports." And she was gone, leaving Christian Barbet staring after her in a state of complete confusion.
When she returned to her apartment, Noelle went into the bedroom, locked the door and took the newspaper clippings out of the envelope. She laid them out on the bed before her and studied them. The photograph of Larry was exactly as she remembered him. If anything the image in her mind was clearer than the image in the newspaper, for Larry was more alive in her mind than he was in reality.
There was not a day that went by that Noelle did not relive the past with him. It was as though they had costarred in a play together long ago, and she was able to recapture scenes at will, playing some on certain days and saving others for other days, so that each memory was always alive and fresh.
Noelle turned her attention to Larry's bride. What she saw was a pretty, young, intelligent face with a smile on its lips.
The face of the enemy. A face that would have to be destroyed as Larry was going to be destroyed.
Noelle remained locked up with the photograph the whole afternoon.
Hours later when Armand Gautier pounded on her bedroom door, Noelle told him to go away. He waited outside in the drawing room, apprehensive about what her mood would be, but when Noelle finally emerged, she seemed unusually bright and gay, as though she had had a piece of good news. She offered no explanation to Gautier, and he knew her well enough not to ask for one.
After the theater that evening she made love to him with a wild passion that reminded him of their early days together. Later Gautier lay in bed trying to understand the beautiful girl who rested beside him but he did not have a clue.
During the night Noelle Page had a dream about Colonel Mueller. The hairless albino Gestapo officer was torturing her with a branding iron, making burning swastikas in her flesh. He kept asking her questions, but his voice was so soft that Noelle could not hear him, and he kept pressing the hot metal into her, and suddenly it was Larry on the table, screaming with pain. Noelle awoke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, and turned on the bedside lamp. She lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and tried to calm her nerves. She thought about Israel Katz. His leg had been amputated with an ax, and though she had not seen him since that afternoon at the bakery, she had received word from the concierge that he was alive but weak. It was becoming more and more difficult to hide him, and he was helpless on his own. The search for him had intensified. If he was going to be transported out of Paris, it would have to be done quickly. Noelle had really done nothing for which the Gestapo could arrest her: yet. Was the dream a premonition, a warning not to help Israel Katz? She lay in bed remembering. He had aided her when she had the abortion. He had helped her kill Larry's baby. He had given her money and helped her find a job. Dozens of men had done more important things for her than he had, yet Noelle felt no debt to them. Each of them, including her father, had wanted something from her, and she had paid in full for everything she had ever received. Israel Katz had never asked her for anything. She had to help him.