Master of Comus

'It is customary to have a honeymoon after a wedding,' he pointed out.

'But we ... our marriage isn't ... Her throat closed rawly on the words.

'Our marriage is in name only?' He finished for her, his eyes sardonic. 'Of course. But we have to keep up appearances, don't we? So we must have a honeymoon. I've made all the arrangements. We'll spend a week in a little house in the hills, a remote and lonely little house.' His eyes mocked her. 'I apologise for the necessity, but in the circumstances I thought somewhere remote would be best, it will spare us the problem of trying to appear deliriously happy. There'll be no one for us to impress. There'll be plenty of simple food. We can look after ourselves, make our beds, wash up, and so on...'

Her nerves leapt wildly at the prospect. She had difficulty in answering him. Faintly, she said, 'Very well, Paul.'

'Wear something pretty,' he said quickly, as she turned away to enter her room.

She looked at him in surprise, and he grinned at her. 'The people downstairs will want to give us a send-off in traditional style. They'll feel cheated if the bride doesn't look absolutely ravishing.'

Clyte was standing beside the wardrobe, scanning Leonie's clothes doubtfully. Leonie joined her and surveyed them with an equally depressed eye. It had not occurred to her to buy anything special for this occasion. A trip to Athens to buy clothes had been suggested by Argon, but she had gently refused the offer. Now she wished she had accepted.

In the end she chose a rose-pink dress with a tight waist, full skirt and balloon-like chiffon sleeves. It was the only dress she had which was suitable for a special occasion. Clyte nodded approval, but pressed the gay floral crown back on to Leonie's black hair.

'They will expect you to wear a hat!'

'I look ridiculous,' Leonie protested, giggling.

Clyte shook her head, Smiling. 'Very pretty,' she insisted.

Paul was standing outside the door, having changed quickly into a formal dark suit. He studied Leonie in enigmatic silence, then nodded. 'Yes, you'll do.!'

'Well, thank you,' she returned sarcastically.

His blue eyes flashed amusement. 'The only thing wrong is the expression,' he said lightly. 'You look too rebellious for a happy bride. Try to look demurely ecstatic.'

'Sure you don't want me to crawl after you on my knees too?' she demanded furiously.

'No,' he said with an air of reluctant dismissal. 'No, I don't think you need to go that far. But remember, I have a position to keep up. These people have a very old-fashioned attitude to the relationship between man and wife. In Greece it's the man who governs the household. I wouldn't want to lose face in their eyes by appearing to have no control over my wife.'

'Oh,' she raged, her fists clenched at her side. 'Oh, I would dearly like to hit you!'

He laughed. 'Later, my darling. Later.'

Their arrival downstairs was the signal for an outburst of noisy welcome. They were clapped and cheered, showered with flowers and whispered blessings from the women, with advice and winks from the men. Argon came towards them slowly, leaning on the arms of two tall, strong men. He kissed them both, tears in his eyes. Leonie flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes wet too.

Then they were outside, escaping from a laughing little crowd of wellwishers. The carriage was waiting there, still beribboned and decked. Paul helped her into the seat, picked her floral crown from her head and flung it into the little group of young girls. Their hands grabbed for it and they shrieked eagerly. One caught it and held it aloft in triumph, and everyone clapped.

Then they were moving, the horses trotting briskly, and soon the noise of the wedding party had died away behind them. Leonie collapsed against the seat. Paul took her hand and squeezed it, and she glanced at him in wary surprise. He winked towards their driver, a black-haired, slim young man.

She gathered that he wished her to continue to keep up appearances.

Tenderly he enquired, 'Tired, my darling?'

'Yes,' she agreed tightly, longing to kick his ankle. The loving note in his voice infuriated her, especially when she could see a glint of mockery in the blue eyes.

Paul lifted her hand to his lips, softly turning his mouth against her palm. Leonie quivered, half in anger, half in reluctant response.

The carriage turned on to a rough, stony track which led up between two stark hills. Goats with belled necks bounded from slope to slope, bleating softly. A hawk circled above them, making a shrill discordant sound of protest at their invasion of his territory. Soon the path grew too steep and difficult for the horses. Their hooves slipped on the stones and the carriage dragged slowly foot by foot.

Paul spoke to the driver, who halted, clucking at his two horses.

'We must walk the rest of the way,' Paul told her. 'Alex will bring the rest of the luggage up.' He helped her down, climbed down himself and took two bags from the luggage rack on the back of the carriage.

The driver brought the rest. Clyte had packed the bags for Leonie during the wedding party, it seemed. Leonie wondered what clothes she had packed. None of her dresses had been missing, so presumably Clyte had packed jeans and skirts.

The little house stood sheltered from the wind in a hollow of the hills, facing the sea hundreds of feet below, with a small grove of olives hidden behind it out of the wind. The thick stone walls were whitewashed, the roof roughly thatched with dried turf. A hen-house and a small enclosure full of goats indicated that Paul had borrowed the house from one of the farmers. Leonie wondered if they were expected to look after the animals. Had Paul not said that they would be alone? She had never milked a goat and she hoped she was not going to be asked to start now.