Like Odysseus’s need to make his journey alone? she repeated in her mind. Before being reunited with his wife?
Libby stole a sideways glance at his profile. Could it be possible that was what he was thinking? That when they’d married he’d been too young, that what he’d needed then was the space to make his own way in the world first, just as she had? And could he be thinking that he was ready for marriage now, and that the feelings which had drawn them together in the first place had never really gone away?
Suddenly the audience broke into rapturous applause. Libby’s mind had been so far away that the sound made her jump, but she quickly recomposed herself and joined in enthusiastically, afraid that if he noticed her distractedness he might start asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.
As the actors took their bows and filed off the stage, Rion stood and led the way down the stone steps. The street outside, which had contained just a few people carrying tables when they’d arrived, was now full of stalls, selling every kind of food and drink imaginable.
‘The performance is just the first part of the local panigiria,’ he explained. ‘The rest of the celebrations will go on into the early hours of the morning.’ He walked up to one of the stalls, exchanged pleasantries with the old man serving, and then ordered them two small glasses of golden liquid. ‘This is the local liquor, sweetened with honey. Try it.’
‘Thank you.’ Libby accepted the glass and took a sip. Trying local food and drink had always been one of her favourite parts of travelling. Guidebooks filled with photos had given her an idea about the way different places looked ever since she’d begun devouring them in her childhood, but discovering how a place tasted was something you could never know until you’d been.
‘It’s delicious.’
He nodded. ‘Come, I’d very much like to introduce you to someone.’
Would he? Her heart blossomed ridiculously in her chest.
‘His name is Georgios,’ he said, surveying the crowd. ‘He’s the Mayor.’
For a moment Libby felt staggered that he should know someone so prominent—until it occurred to her that he was now probably the most famous resident of Metameikos himself. But just as Rion appeared to spot Georgios in the crowd, and moved his hand to her elbow to guide her forward, a loud voice thundered behind them.
‘Ah, Delikaris. I might have known you wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.’
Libby turned round to see that the voice belonged to a large man with a balding head and an incongruously thick moustache.
‘Spyros.’ Rion inclined his head civilly, but Libby could hear the hostility in his voice. If Spyros heard it too, he didn’t take the hint.
‘I’m glad to see you’re making use of the stalls I granted permission for this evening.’ He dropped his eyes to their glasses.
‘You mean the stalls belonging to men who have traded here every year for decades, but who now have to line your pockets for the privilege?’ Rion ground out bitterly.
Spyros gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘For the good of the community at large. I only grant permission to those whose produce meets health and safety standards.’
‘Which all of them did before, because they don’t sell anything they wouldn’t feed to their own families.’
‘Well, we’d all like that to be the case, but you can never be too careful these days. It’s important to know exactly who you’re dealing with. Talking of which…’ Spyros ran his eyes lecherously over Libby. ‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’
The tops of Libby’s arms broke out into goose pimples and she stroked her hands over them, wishing she hadn’t had to leave the blanket that Rion had placed around her shoulders in the amphitheatre.
‘This is Libby,’ Rion said reluctantly.
‘Libby,’ Spyros repeated, so lewdly that for the first time in her life she hated the shortened form of her name even more than the extended version.
He turned back to Rion. ‘Decided on a change of tack, eh? Why keep your lovers behind closed doors when everyone knows you have a different one for every day of the week? Your honesty is gutsy, I’ll give you that. Or is it just a sign that you’ve already accepted defeat?’
Libby frowned, wondering what the hell he was talking about, but her mind was too full of the nauseating image of seven scantily clad women labelled Monday through to Sunday to even hazard a guess.
‘I’m afraid not—for your sake,’ Rion said between gritted teeth. ‘As it happens, Libby is my wife.’
To Libby’s surprise, Spyros looked from her to Rion and then let out a guffaw of laughter. ‘It’s imaginative, I’ll give you that. But surely you don’t think even this lot will fall for it?’ He signalled to the crowds of people enjoying the festivities and then turned to Libby. ‘So, tell me, how much does it pay, playing the part of his wife? Handsomely, I hope. Sex and politics are the two oldest professions in the world, after all.’