Master of Comus

'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.'