Master of Comus

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Amen,' he said softly.

  She fled from the room in total disarray, and Paul leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LEONIE walked slowly through the olive grove, watching the leaves turn restlessly on their branches in a light breeze. The goats were bleating angrily, and she wondered if they needed milking. Yesterday Paul had milked them before waking her, and she had been surprised and impressed by the fact that he knew how to cope with them.

  Paul called her from the door of the house, and she went reluctantly back towards him.

  'Come and help me with the goats,' he said casually.

  'What?' She was aghast.

  'They must be frantic,' he explained. 'We can do it twice as fast together.'

  'I've never milked a goat in my life!' she protested.

  'Time you learnt, then.'

  'I don't think I could!' she protested.

  'It's easy,' he shrugged. 'I'll teach you.'

  It was by no means easy, but after a few false starts she found herself picking up the knack, although the goats were restless and irritable confronted with her novice hands.

  'Like most females they recognise a master,' Paul said teasingly.

  'They recognise experienced handling, you mean,' she said disgustedly.

  He grinned. 'You've a very sharp tongue, Leonie.'

  They took the milk into the cold larder at the back of the house. It was built there to be out of the sun, Paul explained. The cold temperature of the night was retained for a long time. The floor of the little room was lower than that of the house, sunk deep into the ground, and the milk was kept down there in the coldest part of the room.

  'The man who lives here will come up during the day to take some of the milk and eggs. He makes cheese and sells it. Once a week they sail over to the mainland and dispose of their produce.'

  'They must lead very stark lives,' she commented.

  'Very contented ones. They have their own land and enough to eat, clothes to wear and money for such things as tools. What more could they need?'

  'An easier life,' she suggested.

  'What? Television, a car, a washing machine? They are all luxuries designed to make town life less ugly and boring. Country people need them less because the surroundings of their lives are so much more creative. Town life makes you soft. Life out here is tougher, but the people are tougher, too.'

  'Yet you prefer town life,' she pointed out drily.

  He grinned. 'I'm a hybrid. I can exist out here, believe me. But the so-called civilised world is where I make my money.'

  'And where the pretty girls are to be found,' she suggested, tongue in cheek.

  'That, too, he agreed calmly.

  They washed, collected some more cold food and set off for another walk.

  'Not so far this time,' Paul promised. 'But I want you to see as much of Comus as possible. After all, it is as much your home as ours now.'

  They took a gently sloping path round the curve of a hill, meeting a goat boy driving his flock with a short, peeled stick. He smiled at them and Paul stopped to talk to him in quick Greek. The boy glanced at Leonie and said something politely. Paul turned to her and said, 'This is Petros. He asks if you would care for a drink of goats' milk. For God's sake say yes or he'll be very hurt.'

  She smiled at the boy. 'Thank you,' she said in Greek, nodding.

  Carefully, the boy pulled out a wooden bowl from his rough shirt. He milked one of the goats and offered her the bowl with a little bow.

  With gravity, she took it, smiled at him, lifted it to her lips and drained it slowly. She thanked .'him again in Greek, and his sallow face lit up.

  On an impulse, Leonie bent and plucked a sprig of rosemary growing near their path and handed it to Petros, who took it wonderingly, smiled again and pushed the plant into the top of his shirt.

  They parted with much smiling and exchange of farewells. Paul looked down at her, his face serious.

  'That was a very charming gesture—rosemary for remembrance. Petros will certainly remember meeting you today. He was at our wedding, of course, like the rest of the islanders, and he will be eager to tell everyone how he gave the new Kyria Caprel a drink of his milk and she gave him a flower in exchange.'

  She flushed. 'I wanted to give him something without offending him.'

  'Your instinct was sound. He was delighted.' Paul took her hand in his, raised it to his lips tenderly, looking into her eyes with a charming, affectionate smile. 'I found the incident very touching. Argon will be very pleased.'

  Leonie glanced round and saw Petros watching them from a little hillock. No doubt to him they looked like fond lovers. She gave the boy a little wave, and he at once waved back.

  Walking on, Paul asked, 'By the way, how was the goats' milk?'

  'Vile,' she grimaced.

  He gave a bark of laughter. 'Then you are a better actress than I gave you credit for, because you gave the distinct impression that you found it delicious.'

  'I couldn't hurt the boy's feelings.'

  'No,' he agreed quickly. 'I'm very grateful to you.'

  They came to a little group of laurels half an hour later, and decided to eat their lunch there in the shade.

  'I hope you won't get sick of cold lamb,' he commented.

  'I'm too hungry to care what I eat,' she told him.

  After eating, they lay back in the shade and watched the laurels fluttering faintly in the wind. The sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with a chiaroscuro of light and shade, turning Paul's face into a black-barred mask. Paul sighed.

  'We could stay here all afternoon and doze. Or would you rather walk back?'

  'I'm quite happy to stay here,' she agreed.

  He stretched Out his long legs, folding his arms beneath his blond head. 'Good.'

  Leonie let her thoughts drift lazily, reviewing the events of the past few days. She wished she could remember all that had happened last night. What exactly had she said or done to make Paul believe she wanted him to stay with her? She shifted restlessly, dwelling on visions of herself begging him to make love to her. Thank God she had fallen asleep! She raised herself a little to look at Paul. He was fast asleep, his fair lashes shadowed on his tanned skin. He looked vulnerable and gentle like this, his mocking mouth still and relaxed, the brilliant blue eyes which could be so insolent and self-assured hidden under their white lids. Deep in the pit of her stomach an ache began and spread up through her body.

  Oh, God, she thought despairingly, not that! I couldn't stand falling in love again. I won't expose myself to pain and bitterness again.

  But her eyes continued to survey him hungrily, tracing the hard curve of his profile; the faint laughter lines ait mouth and eye, the strong jaw and straight nose, the way in which his lashes brushed his cheek, the fine moulding of the cheekbones, the golden hair just visible above his upper lip. The mouth itself fascinated her. It held such conflicting indications: the lower lip had a tight strength which the full, sensual upper lip defied and the shape of it was entirely dictated by the long, powerful jaw, giving it power and charm, a ruthless combination. The attraction of his face was not, she decided, so much in the colouring or shape of the features, but in the underlying bone structure.

  His eyes suddenly lifted and looked straight into hers, his blue gaze searching her face intently. She looked away, terrified of revealing how she felt.

  'Go to sleep, Leonie,' he said softly, after a long moment.

  She lay down and composed herself for sleep, still shaking. But to her surprise she slowly slid into a deep dream-filled sleep. The dreams were all of Paul. Freed from shame or pride, she let herself explore the true depths of her feelings for him, and awoke with a reluctant jolt to find him still sleeping beside her, curled close to her back, one hand flung out towards her waist.

  When she sat up he woke, too, yawned and said sleepily, 'Good heavens, look at the time ... we must get back to milk the goats before we eat dinner
.'

  'Milk them again?' she cried in horror.

  He laughed. 'Morning and evening. Didn't you realise?'

  'A hotel in Paris looks more and. more attractive to me,' she returned lightly.

  'I thought you were beginning to enjoy yourself,' he said reproachfully.

  She smiled. 'I am! I was only teasing.'

  'A dangerous game,' he said lightly, but with a

  hidden but pointed meaning.

  Leonie felt her cheeks grow pink. They walked back slowly in the cool of the evening. Paul told her old legends of the island, stories of satyrs, nymphs, amorous gods.

  'It must be something in the air,' she said.

  He grinned. 'More likely the retsina.'

  Again she blushed. 'I wish you'd forget that!'

  'How could I forget anything so delightful?' His teasing was brotherly, yet an undertone of something more intimate alarmed her.

  Together they milked the goats. Their absent host had been to the house during their absence and removed most of the earlier milk and eggs, leaving them sufficient for the next day.

  'Thank God for that,' Leonie sighed. 'I was beginning to be afraid we would have to bath in it soon.'

  'Now that,' said Paul, 'is a marvellous idea.' He slid a glance over her. 'You're still quite pale in places—not that it shows.'

  T thought I was getting very brown,' she said, looking at her arms and shoulders, which were tanning a lovely golden brown.

  'You should have brought your bikini,' Paul suggested. 'Of course, you could always sunbathe in the nude.'

  'I wouldn't want to shock Petros,' she returned.

  'Never mind Petros,' he said easily.

  'I'll make supper, she said hastily, her pulses fluttering at his glance.

  'That's right,' he said drily. 'Runaway.'

  She ignored that thrust and concentrated on getting the meal. Inevitably, they had rice and salad, but she had found some dolmades in the cold store; meat and herbs wrapped in vine leaves, and they began their meal with these and followed the dolmades with kebabs.

  Over coffee Paul suggested that they play cards. 'It will pass the time and save you from the retsina. They had not drunk wine tonight with their meal. Leonie had not put the bottle on the table, and Paul's wry look had underlined its absence.

  They played cards noisily, with childish abandon. To make it more interesting, they played for money; a handful of small change which crossed and re-crossed the table as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed. Paul gradually won it all until Leonie had no change left.

  'I'll play you for kisses,' Paul suggested, tongue in cheek.

  'No, thank you,' she said with dignity. 'As I've no money I won't play at all.'

  'Spoilsport!' he retorted.

  'I'll wash up,' she said, rising from the table. 'I'll help you.'

  They finished the washing up, then looked at the clock. After her long sleep under the laurels Leonie was not tired. She did not want to go to bed yet, but she was nervous of being alone with Paul, especially as he was in such a teasing mood.

  'A moonlight Stroll?' Paul suggested.

  She regarded him dubiously.

  'I promise to be very brotherly,' he murmured.

  'I didn't say a word,' she protested.

  He moved closer to look down at her, his blue eyes provocative. 'Does that mean I needn't be brotherly?'

  'You are the most maddening man!' she burst out.

  He grinned. 'That makes us quits, then, because you are enough to drive a saint mad.'

  Leonie moved to the door. He followed and they stood outside, surveying the sky for a while. The moon had risen, silvering the olives and softening the barren outlines of the hills. The landscape had a timeless grandeur. Leonie felt a moved affinity with it, tracing the stark peaks with a loving eye.

  It was much cooler now that the sun had gone down. A wind was blowing in from the sea, driving the laurels and olives into a twisting dance. A cypress tree on the edge of the olive grove blew wildly, bending almost double, its flame-shaped trunk springing back to cut a black outline against the sky.

  They walked towards the olive grove in silence. Leonie was enjoying the feel of the wind along her arms, its ruffling fingers in her hair, when suddenly she tripped over a stone and fell clumsily.

  Paul exclaimed and knelt beside her, lifting her. 'Are you hurt?'

  'My ankle,' she breathed on a gasp of pain.

  His fingers felt along her leg. She repressed a groan as he touched the painful swelling over her ankle.

  'Sprained, I think,' he said gently. 'Poor girl, what a thing to happen!' He hesitated, then said, 'Shall I try to carry you? If it hurts too much, yell.'

  He lifted her tentatively, avoiding touching her ankle. 'There. All right?'

  'Yes,' she whispered huskily, her energy concentrated on fighting down pain.

  He carried her back to the house, where he bathed her ankle with ice-cold water from the stream and wrapped it in bandages. Then he gave her a strong glass of local brandy and carried her up to bed.

  'This is becoming quite a habit,' he said as he laid her on her bed.

  'I'm sorry,' she muttered.

  'I enjoy it,' he returned. 'I'll help you undress.'

  'I can do it,' she said quickly. 'I've hurt my foot, not my hand.'

  'I've seen you undressed before,' he pointed out.

  She flushed. 'Please, Paul .,, leave me alone

  now...'

  He looked down at her, his expression wry. 'You realise that you've won?'

  'Won?' She was bewildered.

  'We'll have to leave now. Even Argon will realise that a badly sprained ankle is a good enough excuse for ending a honeymoon in a remote hill cottage.'

  'Oh!' She flushed again. It had not occurred to her, and now that it did she was forced to admit to herself that she was not very pleased with the idea. 'But I could never walk down to the road,' she protested. 'How would we get back?'

  'That's easy,' he shrugged. 'I'll borrow a donkey for you from our neighbours.'

  'Neighbours?' She was puzzled. 'What neighbours?'

  'Petros and his family live just a few miles over the second hill,' he said.

  'But that's a long walk!'

  'You won't be afraid if I leave you alone at night? I'll go now and be back by morning.'

  'You can't walk that far at this time of night!'

  'Far less tiring than walking in daylight,' he said. 'It's so much cooler.'

  'Oh, but...' She bit her lip.

  He looked at her gently. 'There's no need to be afraid. There's no one on this island who would harm you. You'll be quite safe.'

  Then he was gone and Leonie was alone in the circle of yellow light thrown by the candle. She felt bitter tears rise to her eyes. Their days of isolation were over. They would be leaving this little house tomorrow, and she knew she hated the thought of leaving. She had been desperately happy here today, looking forward to the other days with a sort of nervous, hopeful anticipation. She clumsily undressed and fell into bed, only to lie awake for hours listening to the owls making their melancholy sound in the olive grove.

  Paul woke her up at dawn with a cup of coffee and a slice of toasted pitta. 'I've got two donkeys,' he told her. 'I'll bind your ankle carefully before we start. I think you should make it without much trouble.'

  She dressed with great difficulty and hopped down the stairs. Paul turned in surprise. 'You should have waited until I carried you down,' he protested.

  'How's the ankle?'

  'Not too bad,' she lied.

  He knelt and unwound the bandages, wincing at the swollen blue and purple lump on her foot. 'Not bad? It looks ghastly,' he said. 'It must hurt like hell.'

  He bathed it in cold water again and re-bandaged it. Then he left her to drink some more coffee while he packed everything. Half an hour later they were on their way.

  Leonie soon accustomed herself to the jogging of the donkey. Now and then she forgot to protect her ankle from bum
ping against something, then she had to bite her lip to silence a cry of pain. Paul was watching her all the time, his gaze sober. She knew he was anxious about her and it touched her.

  They reached the road and found the silver grey limousine waiting for them. She gave an exclamation of astonishment, and Paul smiled at her.

  'Petros insisted on going off to tell Argon the news,' he informed her. 'I guessed he would send the car to pick us up.'

  It was only a, short while later that they were safely back at Argon's villa, and Leonie was being protectively tucked up in bed by Clyte.

  Argon was furious with Paul. 'You were very careless with Leonie! This is all your fault!'

  Paul looked sombre. 'How could I foresee that she would trip over in the moonlight?'

  Argon's eyes narrowed. 'In the moonlight, eh? And what were you doing ...in the moonlight?'

  'Taking a stroll before bed,' Paul said curtly.

  Argon made a sound of disgust. 'If you had taken her to bed instead of taking her for a stroll this would not have happened! I thought you were supposed to be such a man of the world! Is this how you court a girl? Trip her up like a caveman and maim her?'

  'Oh, God help us!' Paul muttered furiously.

  'Don't you swear at me, you spawn of Satan,' Argon scolded him.

  'I should have done what my instincts told me was best and taken her to Paris,' Paul said bitterly. 'And that's just what I shall do now.'

  'Paris,' said Argon doubtfully.

  'World-renowned as a honeymoon city,' Paul told him with a sardonic smile.

  'I don't like it,' Argon pronounced.

  'I'm not asking you to come,' said Paul.

  Argon muttered ferociously and gave up the struggle.

  Next day, while Clyte packed her clothes, Argon talked to Leonie gently, trying to discover the exact state of her feelings, but failing.

  She was determined to conceal from him both her own feelings for Paul and just how badly the first few days of their honeymoon had gone. Argon left her feeling unsatisfied. A further interview with Paul left him no wiser, but he was not altogether unhopeful. They might not know it, but there was a visible tension between them whenever they were together, and on this sign of awareness Argon placed all his hopes for their future.