Master of Comus

by Charlotte Lamb

  '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?'

  '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.

  Alex left the luggage in the one little room downstairs, gave them both a broad smile and wished them well in Greek. Paul thanked him gravely, and Leonie smiled at him.

  Then he had gone and they were alone. A silence fell. Leonie could hear the wind whistling through the olives and the distant whisper of the sea. Nervously, she looked around the low, dark room. There were only two windows, both rather small, and the rapidly dying light left them in semi-twilight.

  'We'll need a fire,' Paul said. 'It gets cold up here in the early hours of the morning.'

  While he sought out kindling she explored the downstairs area. There were two cheap easy chairs, a table and chairs, a cabinet filled with china and cooking utensils and a large, ominously old cooking range.

  Paul returned and soon had a fire alight. She noticed that he used a mixture of turf and sticks. The fire smoked a little, but soon began to warm the col
d room.

  'The larder is outside,' Paul told her, indicating a back door.

  Leonie investigated and discovered a large stone room filled with jars and earthenware crocks, tins and various fresh foods.

  'We'll have a cold meal tonight,' Paul suggested. 'Some of that cheese, bread and cold lamb.'

  Obediently she carried food into the sitting-room, laid the table and they sat down to eat. The goats' cheese was unfamiliar, but palatable, and they followed it with pitta, heated over the fire until it was hot and smoke-blackened. The cold lamb had a smoky flavour too, and Paul told her it had been roasted whole over a fire outside, by the look of it. It was a favourite way of cooking lamb in these parts.

  They ended with fruit: grapes, and imported oranges which Paul had had sent up here earlier for them.

  Paul made coffee in a battered old tin coffee pot on the range. With the range fire going, the room was growing overheated, so he piled more turf on to the fire so that its heat gradually died down to a slow glow.

  Yawning, Leonie glanced at the narrow, dark little stairs. The candles Paul had lit gave only slight illumination. Judging by the size of the down stairs room, she was anxiously wondering if there was also only one room upstairs.

  'Tired?' Paul asked, helping her clear the table. 'Why not go up to bed? I'll wash up and tidy down here.'

  'I'll help,' she protested, but he insisted, so, taking a candle, she made her way up the stairs.

  The long, low room upstairs was dominated by one large bed covered by a woven bedspread. Leonie stood very still, staring around her, her pulses leaping.

  Where did Paul intend to sleep?

  She undressed and climbed into bed some time later, shivering with nerves rather than the cold.

  When she heard Paul's foot on the stair she sat up and stared at the black shadow he made on the wall as he approached, a huge, terrifying profile etched against the candlelight.

  Paul looked at her across the room, his hands thrust into his pockets.

  'Where are you going to sleep?' she asked shakily.

  Silently he glanced at the pillow beside her.

  Trembling, she flung angry words at him. 'Marriage of convenience, you said? Remember? Purely platonic. I might have known this set-up was coming, that you would try something underhand and sneaky. I should have known better than to trust you!' She drew a hard, troubled breath. 'Well, whatever your plan for tonight you can forget it! I'm not sharing this bed with you. So get out of here, and don't think that because we're alone up here at the back of the world you can take advantage of your superior strength, because I warn you, if you lay one finger on me I'll put up enough of a fight to make you regret your hollow victory!'

  He had listened without moving to this speech, his honey-gold head tilted, his face masked in shadows. When she was silent, he strolled slowly forward and gave her a cool,1 barbed smile.

  'My dear, what makes you think I am even tempted to break my word? If you will give me some of your bedclothes and that extra pillow, I'll make myself a bed downstairs.' His blue eyes insolently mocked her. 'As I had intended in the first place.'

  She was stricken with remorse, realising that beneath his cool exterior he was furious at what she had said. 'Paul, I'm sorry...' Her stammered words were ignored as he bent forward to take the pillow and the woven bedspread from her. Forgetting that she wore only a brief cotton nightdress, cut low, with thin ribbon straps to hold it up, she climbed out of the bed and followed him across the room, apologising.

  'I made a fool of myself—I realise that. It was a stupid, ridiculous mistake...' She caught at his sleeve to halt his relentless progress. 'Wait, Paul! Do listen!'

  'God in heaven!' he shouted suddenly, flinging down the armful of bedclothes and swinging round towards her with eyes of glittering blue stone and a face savage with rage. 'Listen? What else have I been doing for the last ten minutes? I've run out of patience, Leonie. You've driven me beyond the point of reasonable endurance. First you insult me by implying that I have no sense of honour and would break my oath lightly, then you pursue me babbling like a fool about having made a little mistake!' The blue eyes flashed comprehensively over her long, slender body, only partially clothed in thin white cotton. 'Well, it seems to me that I might as well behave in the manner expected of me. I wouldn't like to disappoint a lady.'

  'Paul...' she cried in protest as he swooped on her. 'Paul, please...'

  He lifted her in his arms, his face stormy with temper, and carried her back across the room to the bed, flinging her down on it with a violent gesture. Before she had time to recover, he had blown out the candle and his body hurtled across the bed, crushing the breath out of her, his arms pinning her to the pillow as his mouth sought hers.

  Raging, yet helpless beneath the heavy weight of his body, she struggled in vain to free herself, but Paul was remorseless. Slowly Leonie felt her own secret hunger leap up to meet his as his lips parted her mouth, demanding a response. For a few moments she fought her own desire as well as his, then, with a smothered groan of defeat, she surrendered, locking her arms behind his head.

  Paul slid his mouth down her throat, one hand expertly pulling down the thin straps of her nightdress. She began to tremble as his lips burnt along her shoulder, down over her breasts, while his fingers explored freely, stroking and caressing her.

  'Paul ... darling ... her own voice sounded strange in her ears, hoarse with passion she had never felt before. Her heart was pounding as though it would burst. Her breath hurt in her lungs. A dizzy excitement taught her the responses of which until this moment she had been ignorant; her hands running down Paul's back, feeling him arch in pleasure, breathing fiercely against her naked flesh.

  Her senses clamoured for release from the spiralling hunger he had aroused, but suddenly Paul sat up, still breathing hard, and said savagely, 'I hope that has taught you a lesson.'

  She lay as he had left her, her black hair loose around her face, her nightdress half off, her body still quivering from the last few moments. Shock kept her silent.

  'I could take you now, and you would be more than willing,' Paul told her icily. 'Next time you're tempted to lecture me on morals, my darling, remember that! I can get you to abandon all your principles in the space of ... what? Five minutes?'

  Anger began to churn in the pit of her stomach— anger and bitter shame. She said nothing, lying there in the darkness, stiff with self-disgust and outrage.

  Paul moved away, picked up the bedclothes from the floor where he had flung them, and vanished.

  Leonie stared into the blackness of the room and hated him with a hatred which was part despair, part self-loathing. She knew that she would never forget, never forgive him for what had just happened, for what he had just said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THIN needles of light penetrated the room at dawn, pricking Leonie awake. She had fallen asleep with difficulty, and her eyes were still pink-rimmed from weeping. She lay watching the room gradually swim out of the darkness, too weary to get up.

  A muffled clatter from below made her suddenly aware that Paul was moving about. She slid out of bed, put on a cotton wrap-over gown and went downstairs. As she had discovered last night, there was no bathroom. Paul had shown her the clear, pebble-bottomed stream which ran down behind the olive grove and provided the only source of fresh water. She did not much relish the prospect of washing there this morning, but she had no choice.

  Paul, in a blue shirt and faded old jeans, stood beside the blackened old range watching the coffee pot. He turned as he heard her footsteps, and their eyes met briefly:

  'I'm sorry about last night,' he said abruptly. 'I lost my temper—I've no excuse. It was unforgivable.' There was a visible tension in his handsome tanned face. His mouth was taut, his eyes shadowed. Leonie guessed that he, like herself, had lost sleep.

  'It doesn't matter,' she said, knowing she lied. The memory of those few moments was burned on her brain and she knew she would never forget them.
r />   But they were up here alone in this isolated house for a week. It was necessary to re-establish some sort of truce. They could not exist in a state of enmity. It would make ordinary living impossible.

  He watched her without illusions, reading her hidden reactions in her face. Heavily, he gestured to the coffee pot. 'Have some?'

  'I want to wash first,' she said.

  He nodded. 'Continental breakfast, I'm afraid. Hot pitta and coffee. Okay?'

  'Fine,' she said lightly, moving out of the back door. The sun still lay just on the horizon, faintly illumining the hills with a blue-gold light. A purple haze crowned the highest peaks. The scent of pine trees, mixed with the fragrant odour of heather and dew-wet grass, made the air sweet to breathe. Leonie found her way to the stream through the olive grove, knelt down on the stony bank and splashed vigorously, stinging her face awake with the ice-cold water.

  Ten minutes later, her black hair combed up into a neat coil, her slim body sheathed in a black shirt and jeans, she was eating breakfast.

  'I thought we could take some food and go for a long walk across the hills,' Paul suggested. 'I'm afraid there isn't much to do up here.'

  'I would like that,' she said quietly.

  They washed up, tidied the house, found some meat, cheese and bread and set off just as the sun came swimming up above the sea.

  She was glad to have her body and mind occupied by the exercise. She had no time to think. She was too busy clambering after Paul, who strode up t hillsides as though he were a goat, his long legs covering the ground at a staggering speed. Their path was littered with grey rocks fallen from above, and on the slopes beside it she could see the sturdy green sprigs of thyme which gave the hills their special fragrance. There was no habitation for miles around. All she could see was the sky, the sea and the great sweep of the hills, as ancient as the earth itself, their stark outlines untouched by man.

  At noon they paused in the shade of a wild olive to eat their frugal meal. Paul had brought a bottle of retsina in the rucksack of food he had carried on his back. While Leonie lay back, panting, her head cushioned on a little bed of green moss kept fresh by a constant trickle of water from the rocky hillside stream above them, Paul laid out the food and opened the retsina. She accepted a mug of it from him, cautiously sipping the resin-impregnated wine and finding it curiously refreshing after her exertions.