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'The man who lives here will come up during the day to take some of the milk and eggs. He makes cheese and sells it. Once a week they sail over to the mainland and dispose of their produce.'
'They must lead very stark lives,' she commented.
'Very contented ones. They have their own land and enough to eat, clothes to wear and money for such things as tools. What more could they need?'
'An easier life,' she suggested.
'What? Television, a car, a washing machine? They are all luxuries designed to make town life less ugly and boring. Country people need them less because the surroundings of their lives are so much more creative. Town life makes you soft. Life out here is tougher, but the people are tougher, too.'
'Yet you prefer town life,' she pointed out drily.
He grinned. 'I'm a hybrid. I can exist out here, believe me. But the so-called civilised world is where I make my money.'
'And where the pretty girls are to be found,' she suggested, tongue in cheek.
'That, too, he agreed calmly.
They washed, collected some more cold food and set off for another walk.
'Not so far this time,' Paul promised. 'But I want you to see as much of Comus as possible. After all, it is as much your home as ours now.'
They took a gently sloping path round the curve of a hill, meeting a goat boy driving his flock with a short, peeled stick. He smiled at them and Paul stopped to talk to him in quick Greek. The boy glanced at Leonie and said something politely. Paul turned to her and said, 'This is Petros. He asks if you would care for a drink of goats' milk. For God's sake say yes or he'll be very hurt.'
She smiled at the boy. 'Thank you,' she said in Greek, nodding.
Carefully, the boy pulled out a wooden bowl from his rough shirt. He milked one of the goats and offered her the bowl with a little bow.
With gravity, she took it, smiled at him, lifted it to her lips and drained it slowly. She thanked .'him again in Greek, and his sallow face lit up.
On an impulse, Leonie bent and plucked a sprig of rosemary growing near their path and handed it to Petros, who took it wonderingly, smiled again and pushed the plant into the top of his shirt.
They parted with much smiling and exchange of farewells. Paul looked down at her, his face serious.
'That was a very charming gesture—rosemary for remembrance. Petros will certainly remember meeting you today. He was at our wedding, of course, like the rest of the islanders, and he will be eager to tell everyone how he gave the new Kyria Caprel a drink of his milk and she gave him a flower in exchange.'
She flushed. 'I wanted to give him something without offending him.'
'Your instinct was sound. He was delighted.' Paul took her hand in his, raised it to his lips tenderly, looking into her eyes with a charming, affectionate smile. 'I found the incident very touching. Argon will be very pleased.'
Leonie glanced round and saw Petros watching them from a little hillock. No doubt to him they looked like fond lovers. She gave the boy a little wave, and he at once waved back.
Walking on, Paul asked, 'By the way, how was the goats' milk?'
'Vile,' she grimaced.
He gave a bark of laughter. 'Then you are a better actress than I gave you credit for, because you gave the distinct impression that you found it delicious.'
'I couldn't hurt the boy's feelings.'
'No,' he agreed quickly. 'I'm very grateful to you.'
They came to a little group of laurels half an hour later, and decided to eat their lunch there in the shade.
'I hope you won't get sick of cold lamb,' he commented.
'I'm too hungry to care what I eat,' she told him.
After eating, they lay back in the shade and watched the laurels fluttering faintly in the wind. The sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with a chiaroscuro of light and shade, turning Paul's face into a black-barred mask. Paul sighed.
