Master of Comus

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.

'I'll be fine,' she murmured faintly.

'You are as white as a ghost, as white as your dress,' he told her with muted anger. 'Don't ever do anything so silly again!'

Clyte hobbled back with a plate of sandwiches. Paul took them from her and selected one, lifting it to Leonie's lips.

'I can't...'she whispered, turning her head away.

'You can and you will, 'Paul insisted firmly.

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she permitted him to insert the sandwich, then nibbled a corner of it reluctantly. It tasted like sawdust, but Paul's grim expression forced her to go on eating until she had consumed the whole sandwich. The food had a slow effect. Gradually she began to feel stronger, and her hunger became acute. While Clyte and Paul watched approvingly, she finished the whole plateful of sandwiches.

'That's better,' Paul nodded.

He stood up, his hand pulling her up too, and moved towards the open door, supporting her by an arm around her waist. Clyte followed.

Paul led her upstairs to her room. Clyte vanished into the room while Paul looked down at Leonie, his face impassive. 'Change your dress now. We're leaving.'

She was staggered. 'Leaving? But ... where? Paris already?'

His mouth twisted ironically. 'No, my darling wife. On our honeymoon.'

Scarlet flooded her face. 'Honeymoon?' she whispered hoarsely. 'What on earth do you mean?'