The Other Side of Midnight by Sidney Sheldon Page A

course of history: courtesans did. Meanwhile she was without a cent. She had to find a way to survive until she could find a job the next day. Dusk was beginning to brush the sky, and the merchants and hotel doormen were busy putting up blackout curtains against possible air attacks. To solve her immediate problem, Noelle needed to find someone to buy her a good hot dinner. She asked directions from a gendarme and then headed for the Crillon Hotel. Outside, forbidding iron shutters covered the windows, but inside, thelobby was a masterpiece of subdued elegance, soft and understated. Noelle walked in confidently as if she belonged there and took a seat in a chair facing the elevator. She had never done this before, and she was a bit nervous. But she remembered how easy it had been to handle Auguste Lanchon. Men were really very uncomplicated. There was only one lesson a girl had to remember: A man was soft when he was hard and hard when he was soft. So it was only necessary to keep him hard until he gave you what you wanted. Now, looking around the lobby, Noelle decided that it would be a simple matter to catch the eye of an unattached male on his way, perhaps, to a lonely dinner.
    “Pardon, Mademoiselle.”
    Noelle turned her head to look up at a large man in a dark suit. She had never seen a detective in her life, but there was no doubt whatever in her mind.
    “Is Mademoiselle waiting for someone?”
    “Yes,” Noelle replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
    She was suddenly acutely aware of her wrinkled dress, and the fact that she carried no purse.
    “Is your friend a guest of this hotel?”
    She felt a surge of panic rising in her “He—er—not exactly.”
    He studied Noelle a moment, then said in a hardened tone, “May I see your identification?”
    “I—I don’t have it with me.” she stammered. “I lost it.”
    The detective said, “Perhaps Mademoiselle will come with me.” He put a firm hand on her arm, and she rose to her feet.
    And at that moment someone took her other arm and said, “Sorry I’m late, cherie, but you know how those damned cocktail parties are. You have to blast your way out. Been waiting long?”
    Noelle swung around in astonishment to look at the speaker. He was a tall man, his body lean and hard-looking, and he wore a strange, unfamiliar uniform. Hehad blue-black hair with a widow’s peak and eyes the color of a dark, stormy sea, with long, thick lashes. His features had the look of an old Florentine coin. It was an irregular face, the two profiles not quite matching, as though the minter’s hand had slipped for an instant. It was a face that was extraordinarily alive and mobile so that you felt it was ready to smile, to laugh, to frown. The only thing that saved it from being femininely beautiful was a strong, masculine chin with a deep cleft in it.
    He gestured toward the detective. “Is this man bothering you?” His voice was deep, and he spoke French with a very slight accent
    “N-no,” Noelle said, in a bewildered voice.
    “I beg your pardon, sir,” the hotel detective was saying. “I misunderstood. We have been having a problem here lately with…” He turned to Noelle. “Please accept my apologies, Mademoiselle.”
    The stranger turned to Noelle. “Well now, I don’t know. What do you think?”
    Noelle swallowed and nodded quickly.
    The man turned to the detective. “Mademoiselle’s being generous. Just watch yourself in the future.” He took Noelle’s arm and they headed for the door.
    When they reached the street, Noelle said, “I—I don’t know how to thank you, Monsieur.”
    “I’ve always hated policemen.” The stranger grinned. “Do you want me to get you a taxi?”
    Noelle stared at him, the panic beginning to rise in her again, as she remembered her situation. “No.”
    “Right. Good night.” He walked over to the stand and started to get into a taxi, turned around and saw that she was standing there,