Catherine was ready to explode. “I think you’re contemptible.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t know why, I could never explain it to you.”
“Why don’t you try? At dinner tonight. Your place. Do you cook?”
“Don’t bother coming back to the set,” Catherine snapped. “I’ll tell Mr. O’Brien to send you your check for this morning’s work. What’s your name?”
“Douglas. Larry Douglas.”
The experience with the arrogant young actor rankled Catherine, and she was determined to put it out of her mind. For some reason, she found it difficult to forget him.
When Catherine returned to Washington, William Fraser said, “I missed you. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you. Do you love me?”
“Very much, Bill.”
“I love you too. Why don’t we go out tonight and celebrate?”
Catherine knew that that was the night he was going to propose.
They went to the exclusive Jefferson Club. In the middle of dinner, Larry Douglas walked in, still wearing his Army Air Corps uniform with all the medals. Catherine watched unbelievingly as he walked over to their table and greeted not her but Fraser.
Bill Fraser rose. “Cathy, this is Captain Lawrence Douglas. Larry, this is Miss Alexander—Catherine. Larry’s been flying with the RAF. He was the leader of the American squadron over there. They talked him into heading up a fighter base in Virginia to get some of our boys ready for combat.”
Like the rerun of an old movie, Catherine remembered how she had ordered him to take off his bars and his medals, and how he had cheerfully obliged. She had been smug, overbearing—and she had called him a coward! She wanted to crawl under the table.
The next day, Larry Douglas telephoned Catherine at her office. She refused to take his calls. When she finished work he was outside, waiting for her. He had taken off his medals and ribbons and was wearing the bars of a second lieutenant.
He smiled and walked up to her. “Is this better?”
Catherine stared at him. “Isn’t—isn’t wearing the wrong insignia against regulations?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were in charge of all that.”
She looked into his eyes and knew that she was lost. There was a magnetic force about him that was irresistible.
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything. I want you.”
They had gone to his apartment and made love. And it was an exquisite joy that Catherine had never dreamed possible, a fantastic coming together that rocked the room and the universe—until there was an explosion that became a delirious ecstasy, an unbelievable shattering journey, an arriving and a departing, an ending and a beginning. And she had lain there, spent and numb, holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go, never wanting this feeling to stop.
They were married five hours later in Maryland.
Now, seated in the plane, on her way to London to begin a new life, Catherine thought: We were so happy. Where did it all go wrong? The romantic movies and the love songs tricked us all into believing in happy endings and knights in shining armor and love that never, never died. We really believed that James Stewart and Donna Reed had A Wonderful Life, and we knew that Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert would be together forever after It Happened One Night, and we shed tears when Frederick March returned to Myrna Loy for The Best Years of Our Lives, and we were sure that Joan Fontaine found happiness in the arms of Laurence Olivier in Rebecca. And they were lies. All lies. And the songs. I’ll Be Loving You, Always. How do men figure always? With an egg timer? How Deep Is the Ocean? What did Irving Berlin have in mind? One foot? Two feet? And…Forever and a Day. I’m leaving. I want a divorce. Some Enchanted Evening. We’re going to climb Mount Tzoumerka…You and the Night and the Music. The hotel manager told me about some caves near here…(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons. No one will ever…now, while she’s asleep. Be My Love. And we listened to the songs and we watched the movies and really thought that was what life was going to be like. I believed in my husband so much. Can I ever believe in anyone again? What did I do to make him want to murder me?