Master of Comus

by Charlotte Lamb

  'I don't know much about your religion,' she said hesitantly.

  Argon gestured warmly. 'I will ask our priest to speak to you and explain something of what it means. Father Basil is a good man. You will like him.'

  Paul drove her down to the church on a warm afternoon when the shadows beneath the olive trees were black as night and the air hung motionless above the hillside. There was no breath of wind. Even the sea seemed hushed.

  The little church of St Sophia was built of ancient grey stone in the familiar onion style of architecture. A windbattered gilt cross glittered on the dome.

  'It's medieval,' Paul explained. 'The people have worshipped here for centuries, and our family have enriched it with many icons.'

  The interior was gratefully cool—small, dark and yet lit magically by the glitter of the rows of silver icons facing the door. Candles burnt before the icons, row upon row of them. Paul explained that people lit them for many reasons; a mother praying for another child, a father praying that his wife might have a son, a bereaved family praying for peace for their dead relative. The little blue lights leapt up, reflected in the silver blaze behind them. The icons were of favourite saints. It was the custom, Paul told Leonie, to donate an icon to the church whenever a prayer had been granted beyond reasonable hope. Everyday prayers did not need such expensive gratitude, but people felt impelled to give another icon when a special prayer was answered favourably. As he talked to her he lit a whole row of candles, then prayed silently for a moment, his golden head bent reverently, before kissing an icon of St Sophia. She guessed his prayers to be for Argon and was touched. She felt a desire to light a candle herself. There was a touching beauty in the practice.

  Father Basil joined them a moment later. Tall, thin and black-bearded, he wore a long black cassock and a black hat. Paul explained why they were there, and Father Basil's face lit up with pleasure.

  'I shall be most happy to perform the ceremony, he told them. He kissed Paul on both cheeks. 'I am very glad of this, Paul. Very glad.' Then he smiled at Leonie. 'If he is not good to you, come to me and I will put the fear of God into him!'

  Paul asked him to give Leonie some instruction in the Greek faith, and he agreed at once. 'When can you come and see me? It is best if we have a short discussion once a week until the wedding, say, half an hour each time. I am free between eleven and eleven-thirty on Tuesday mornings. Would that be convenient?'

  She agreed that it would, and after refusing his offer of a glass of citrus, they left.

  'I think we should talk,' Paul said as they drove back to the house. 'Come for a swim—We'll get more privacy on the beach. Up at the house, Clyte hears everything and carries it to Argon.'

  They collected swimming things and made their way down to the beach. They swam together, splashing and diving in a friendly way, although each aware of an invisible barrier between them.

  Later they lay on their towels and sunbathed. Leonie was desperately aware of Paul lying next to her, his naked brown chest panting a little after his vigorous exertion in the water. His body was still wet, the drops glistening on his tanned skin, his blond hair darkened with the water. Her breath came fiercely as he shifted on to his side to look at her.

  'You're very quiet,' he commented.

  'There isn't much to say,' she responded.

  He laughed briefly. 'I'd forgotten that you never waste breath on small talk. I think it's time we found out more about each Other.'

  She shrugged. 'I already know a lot about you, you forget.'

  He grimaced. 'Sorry. I'd forgotten.' His tone held a new irony. 'I'll have to remember in future that you've been keeping a file on me.'

  The truth of that made her jump, her skin flushing hotly, and his blue eyes narrowed. 'You look almost guilty. Did I hit the nail on the head, by any chance?'

  She tried to laugh. 'I was curious enough about my mother's family to cut out a few items about you from the newspapers when I was a child.'

  'You astonish me,' he said drily. 'I hadn't thought you were that interested.'

  'You were the only member of my mother's family I had a chance to learn about. Argon never made the papers much.'

  His smile was wry. 'No, he was always very circumspect.' He eyed her thoughtfully. 'So you kept a scrapbook about me. Learn much?'

  'Mainly the names of your lady friends,' she retorted.

  He flickered a teasing glance at her. 'All enchanting creatures too, if I recollect correctly.'

  'And I'm sure you do.'

  'What about you? Apart from your recent tragedy, what sort of men have you had in your life?'

  'I was at art school for three years,' she said. His pale eyebrows lifted. 'Art students? A wild bunch, from my experience.'

  'They enjoyed life,' she murmured. 'Hmm...' Paul flicked sand on to her naked stomach. 'There's a distinct note of pleasurable reminiscence in your voice. Do I gather that you shared their enjoyment?'

  'I didn't lead the life of a nun.' He stiffened, his blue gaze holding hers, a stunned look on his face. 'Are you telling me that...?'

  She laughed. 'No, I haven't been promiscuous. That wasn't what I meant. There was no one special at art school, just a noisy friendly lively crowd of young people. I joined in the general activities.'

  He began to brush the sand off her skin. The movements made her tingle, intensely aware of the touch of those long, brown fingers. 'So,' he murmured. 'You were at a boarding school for years, then you went to college. Quite a restricted life. No real home, I suppose.'

  'My aunt did her best, but...' She shrugged. 'Poor Leonie,' he said softly. 'After we are married, where would you like to live?

  She was startled. 'But ... I thought ... here ... He laughed. 'On Comus? My dear girl, I'm a businessman. I have to live somewhere a damned sight more convenient than a remote Greek island. It suits Argon to stay here all the year round, but he's old now. He is making his soul. But We shall have to choose one of the capital cities. I'm ready to fall in with any views you have. Paris, London, New

  York—you can decide.'

  She was dazzled by the idea of choosing a home in any city in the world.

  He laughed at her expression. 'You look as if someone had poleaxed you! May I make a suggestion? If you disagree, you only have to say so . ..'

  'Yes?'

  'You'll probably want to have a home in England, so I suggest we start looking for a nice house in the country there, but for the moment settle down in my Paris flat. It would be convenient because it's already decorated and furnished, and if you didn't like it we could take our time in finding somewhere else.'

  'Oh, I would love to live in Paris for a while,' she agreed.

  'Then it's agreed?'

  She nodded. 'Yes.'

  He stretched out on his~ back again, his lids lowered. 'Good. That's settled, then.' He yawned. 'Mmm, it's so hot out here! I feel like a lizard.'

  Very daring, Leonie put out a hand and touched his naked shoulder. 'You don't feel like One,' she murmured.

  Paul's muscles stiffened under her touch, but he made no response, and, shrinking, she snatched her hand away. The friendly, relaxed atmosphere which had begun to build up between them seemed suddenly to have evaporated, and she furiously regretted having stepped over the line they had invisibly drawn between them. Paul had made the effort to be pleasantly co-operative, but now her own folly had conjured up the ghost of their forced marriage, bringing down an iron curtain. Paul's pride must have suffered a serious blow when he agreed to the marriage. It would be a long time before he got over it."

  From contrition she passed to pain and anger. Aloud, she said, 'We could always live apart after the marriage. Argon isn't to know whether I'm with you in Paris or back in my London flat.'

  Paul flung round on her, his face taut with rage. 'Never suggest such a thing again! It's bad enough to have agreed to a platonic marriage. I'm not cheating on Argon beyond that.'

  He stood up. 'We'd better get back to the villa before we quarrel
disastrously.'

  She followed him, mutely raging, until it occurred to her that they must look to an observer like a typical Greek married couple: the husband stalking ahead, the wife shuffling along in his wake. She began to giggle quietly, and Paul swung round again to eye her and demand to know what was funny.

  'Nothing,' she snorted.

  'If you're laughing at me,' he threatened, 'I shall teach you a lesson, my girl!'

  Half hysterical by now, she darted past him and sped the rest of the way at a tremendous speed with Paul running after her. They burst into the house, Paul just behind her, reaching for her, and came face to face with Clyte. A sly grin flitted over the old woman's dark face.

  'Ah, you have fun?' she asked them with amusement.

  Panting and puffing, Leonie nodded. 'Great fun,' she retorted.

  Paul muttered something which sounded remarkably like a swear word, and vanished up the stairs.

  'I wonder what he said,' Leonie said wistfully, staring after him.

  'Don't ask!' Clyte urged her. 'It was a Greek word which I would not care to translate.'

  Leonie giggled. 'Poor Paul!'

  Clyte's eyes lit with a smile. 'Yes, poor Paul. He has much to learn.'

  So, Leonie discovered, had she when she met Father Basil as arranged in the church. He taught her the history and rituals of his religion week by week, giving her many books to read and awakening in her a desire to learn more about the history of Greece itself.

  The wedding ceremony itself was long and complicated, but Leonie was enchanted to have the various observances explained to her. The date of the wedding was now settled upon, and she had accepted Argon's offer of a loaned wedding dress. He had kept his own wife's dress wrapped in tissue paper in a large chest, and Clyte gently brought it out to show it to Leonie. The ivory colour had faded to a soft creamy shade, but the lace was deliciously frothy and the style had a traditional element which pleased Leonie very much, Paul was astonished by Argon's suggestion, and protested that Leonie had the right to a wedding dress of her own, but Leonie insisted that she loved the dress.

  'Wedding dresses haven't changed much in fifty years. The only difference is that this one has got real French lace on it, and is exquisitely cut and sewn. I've never seen such tiny stitches. I shall be very proud to wear it. I couldn't find anything better anywhere in the world.'

  'My wife made it with her own hands,' Argon told her.

  'I only hope I don't burst her beautiful hand-sewn seams,' Leonie smiled. 'She must have had an incredibly tiny waist.'

  'A hand's Span,' Argon agreed proudly. 'But she looked like Paul, you know, a blonde and beautiful Greek with blue eyes.'

  'So that's how he got his colouring!'

  Argon smiled. 'That is how!'

  On her wedding morning Leonie woke early with a sinking sensation in her stomach, too tense to eat the coffee and rolls Clyte brought up to her room.

  Clyte helped her to dress, her old fingers shaking slightly. Leonie looked at herself in the mirror with dazed, incredulous eyes. The ivory silk had been washed and dried in the sun and was almost restored to its original colour. The bodice was demurely buttoned up to the tight little collar of lace and ribbon. The waistline was so tight-fitting that she could hardly breathe, but the full swell of the skirts gave her a much better outline. Lace and ribbon were showered upon the skirt and flounced it at the hem. Clyte lent her a blue niched garter as a last thought, before flicking down the filmy lace veil over her face.

  'I'm frightened,' Leonie whispered, clinging to the old woman's hand.

  'Be brave, my darling,' Clyte whispered back, squeezing her fingers. 'You look like a goddess.'

  The idea made Leonie smile and lightened her sudden qualm. She followed Clyte downstairs with legs which trembled slightly.

  Argon was waiting for her in the long saloon. Paul, he informed her, had already left for the church. Argon took her hand and said softly, 'You are beautiful, my dear. I envy Paul.' Then he opened a flat leather box and took out a triple string of pearls and diamonds, clasping it round her throat with hands which shook a little.

  'Oh! How lovely!' She touched the stones with trembling fingers. 'But I can't...'

  'They are yours, my dear. They were my wife's, and I have kept them for Paul's wife. Wear them today.'

  She kissed him. 'Thank you. They're lovely.' She

  went over to an ornate french mirror hanging on the wall and looked at herself, seeing a fine-boned dark girl with passionate eyes and mouth, her slender body sheathed in the ivory silk, her throat ablaze with diamonds and milky little pearls. 'I don't recognise myself. I feel so Strange.'

  They drove to the church, not in the silver limousine, but in a traditional open carnage, brought out of retirement for the occasion, its leather work dusted, its wheels picked out in gay yellow. Ribbons fluttered from the horses' brasses and white feathers nodded on their sleek heads. Leonie was delighted. She felt as though she had moved back in time to an earlier century.

  The church was crowded to the doors with people. The scent of incense filled the air and row upon row of candles burnt along the wall before the silver icons.

  The barbaric, dark faces of the saints watched over the wedding ceremony. The people intoned the responses deeply, so that Leonie felt they were all taking part in a serious way. Stealing a glance at Paul, kneeling beside her on a velvet hassock, she found him equally serious. His blond head was brushed to a smooth sheen, and he wore morning dress, which looked oddly formal on him. She was dazzled by his amazing good looks.

  Commanded by the priest, they turned to kiss each other, their mouths lightly brushing.

  Then they were returning down the aisle hand in hand, Leonie's veil thrown back and a crown of flowers resting lightly on her head, to the joyful triumph of the organ and the high sweet singing of the choir. The scent of the incense still floated around her from the moment when the priest had wafted it over them, and the blessings the priest had conferred seemed to hover over their heads. Although she had only learnt a little Greek so far, she had been able to follow the ceremony after her weeks of preparation, and she was glad that she had agreed to go through with it when she saw the bright, smiling faces of the people outside the church. They were so happy in her happiness that

  tears pricked at her eyes.

  Children flung rose petals and rice, there were teasing shouts from the men and laughter from the women, then she and Paul were alone in the beribboned carriage, driving back to Comus Villa.

  She had almost forgotten that this marriage was to be no real marriage. The rites and traditions had taken over, compelling emotions she had not expected.

  Paul leaned back with a sigh. 'My God! That was an exhausting experience.'

  She laughed, flushed and excited. 'Oh, but it was beautiful, too.'

  'You were beautiful,' he said lightly. 'You looked superb in that dress. It could have been made for you.'

  'Thank you,' she said, blushing even more pink.

  He stared, his eyes focussing on her necklace. 'I see Argon gave you the necklace. He told me he would. Diamonds suit you.' He put up a finger to touch the stones and she began to tremble. A hot awareness of him grew inside her. She lowered her eyes and stared at the lace on her skirts.

  They arrived back at the villa. Taking up a stand by the door, they received the islanders, shaking hands with one after another, smiling endlessly, receiving congratulations and laughing at the little jokes the men made slyly. Leonie hardly understood most of what was said, but she took her cue from Paul and smiled when he smiled.

  The wedding breakfast was copious and elaborate. Leonie still could not touch a bite of food. Her tension seemed to increase rather than diminish as the day wore on. They cut the huge cake to shouts of pleasure, giving the first slice to Argon, then Paul and Leonie opened the dancing together, while the party clapped and smiled.

  Leonie's head was whirling as Paul danced her around the long room, her skirts flying out against his
thighs. Hunger and excitement made her almost faint.

  Her golden eyes were huge in her white face, she clung to his broad shoulder desperately, trying to keep up with him, hoping she would not be swallowed up in the faint mist she seemed to see swimming before her eyes.

  The others began to join in the dancing, their feet stamping on the marble floor. Paul looked down at her, his expression full of concern. 'You're very pale. Are you feeling all right?'

  'I'm feeling dizzy,' she smiled, her dark head swaying slightly like a flower on a long white stem.

  'Sit down,' he urged, propelling her towards a chair. Leonie fell into it giddily, her eyes closing. The room seemed to revolve faster and faster. She clung to Paul's hands in an effort to stabilise herself. Her ears were filled with a soft roaring sound, like the noise one hears in a seashell placed against the ear. Her limbs were cold and heavy. She fought to retain consciousness.

  A glass suddenly touched her lips and the odour of brandy drifted to her nostrils.

  'Drink this,' Paul murmured.

  Leonie obediently sipped, making a little grimace at the taste. A burning sensation stung in her throat and chest, but her head began to clear.

  'She has hardly eaten a morsel all day.' Clyte's voice, soft and anxious. 'I saw she was on the verge of fainting.'

  'Thank you for the brandy,' Paul replied warmly. 'I didn't like to leave her.'

  'She must eat,' Clyte said. 'I'll fetch some food.'

  Paul's thumb rubbed gently over the back of Leonie's hand. 'Little fool,' he murmured. 'Why didn't you eat? How do you feel now?'

  She slowly opened her lids and found herself seated at the end of the saloon, beside the open door, protected from curious eyes by Paul's back. He knelt in front of her, looking at her watchfully.

  She offered him a slight smile. Although her giddiness had retreated it" had left her weak, and a languid feeling pervaded her whole body.