They went to the theater to see The Lady’s Not for Burning by Christopher Fry, and, on another evening, September Tide with Gertrude Lawrence. They went to nightclubs. The orchestras all seemed to be playing the “The Third Man Theme” and “La Vie En Rose.”
“I’m going to St. Moritz next week,” Kirk Reynolds told Catherine. “Have you thought about it?”
Catherine had given it a great deal of thought. She was sure that Kirk Reynolds was in love with her. And I love him, Catherine thought. But loving and being in love are two different things, aren’t they? Or am I just being a dumb romantic? What am I looking for—another Larry?—someone who’ll sweep me off my feet, fall in love with another woman, and try to kill me? Kirk Reynolds would make a wonderful husband. Why am I hesitating?
That night Catherine and Kirk dined at the Mira-belle, and when they were having dessert, Kirk said, “Catherine, in case you don’t know, I’m in love with you. I want to marry you.”
She felt a sudden panic. “Kirk…” And she was not sure what she was going to say. My next words, Catherine thought, are going to change my life. It would be so simple to say yes. What’s holding me back? Is it the fear of the past? Am I going to live my whole life being afraid? I can’t let that happen.
“Cathy…”
“Kirk—Why don’t we go to St. Moritz together?”
Kirk’s face lit up. “Does that mean…?”
“We’ll see. Once you see me ski you probably won’t want to marry me.”
Kirk laughed. “Nothing in the world could keep me from wanting to marry you. You’ve made me one very happy fellow. We’ll go up on November fifth—Guy Fawkes Day.”
“What is Guy Fawkes Day?”
“It’s a fascinating story. King James had a strict anti-Catholic policy, so a group of prominent Roman Catholics plotted to overthrow the government. A soldier named Guy Fawkes was brought over from Spain to lead the plot. He arranged for a ton of gunpowder, in thirty-six barrels, to be hidden in the basement of the House of Lords. But on the morning that they were to blow up the House of Lords, one of the conspirators told on them and they were all caught. Guy Fawkes was tortured, but he wouldn’t talk. All the men were executed. Now, every year in England, the day of the discovery of the plot is celebrated by bonfires and fireworks, and small boys make effigies of ‘Guys.’”
Catherine shook her head. “That’s a pretty grim holiday.”
He smiled at her and said quietly, “I promise you that ours won’t be grim.”
The night before they were to leave, Catherine washed her hair, packed and unpacked twice, and felt sick with excitement. She had known only two men carnally in her life, William Fraser and her husband. Do they still use words like ‘carnally’? Catherine wondered. My God, I hope I remember how. They say it’s like riding a bicycle; once you do it, you never forget. Maybe he’s going to be disappointed in me in bed. Maybe I’m going to be disappointed in me in bed. Maybe I should just stop worrying about it and go to sleep.
“Mr. Demiris?”
“Yes.”
“Catherine Alexander left this morning for St. Moritz.”
There was a silence. “St. Moritz?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did she go alone?”
“No, sir. She went with Kirk Reynolds.”
This time the silence was longer. “Thank you, Evelyn.”
Kirk Reynolds! It was impossible. What could she see in him? I waited too long. I should have moved more quickly. I’ll have to do something about this. I can’t let her—His secretary buzzed.
“Mr. Demiris, there’s a Mr. Anthony Rizzoli here to see you. He does not have an appointment and…”
“Then why are you bothering me?” Demiris asked. He snapped down the intercom.
It buzzed again. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Mr. Rizzoli says he has a message for you from Mr. Lambrou. He says it’s very important.”
A message? Strange. Why wouldn’t his brother-in-law deliver his own message? “Send him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony Rizzoli was ushered into Constantin Demiris’s office. He looked around the office appreciatively. It was even more lavish than the offices of Spyros Lambrou. “Nice of you to see me, Mr. Demiris.”