'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...?'