Eirini was equally aghast. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she murmured.
‘It’s so vulgar for such an event, don’t you think? Bright red?’ continued Olga.
‘I agree entirely,’ said Eirini. ‘But not exactly out of character . . .’
Anna had chosen scarlet because it suited her perfectly. She had never looked more beautiful and she knew it. The rich colour was a daring contrast with her pale skin and chocolate-dark hair, and the cherry lipstick was a bold touch that few women could have worn as well.
She saw no one but Manolis. It was so long since they had met, and even from a distance this reunion was having an effect on them both. He stared at her, transfixed.
Andreas wanted to hand the baby to its mother.
‘Anna, I think it’s customary . . .’ he said, holding out the little white bundle to her.
His wife was distracted for a moment and did not respond.
‘Anna?’
She was gazing into the distance.
‘Anna!’ insisted Andreas, irritated by her lack of response now.
Flustered, she took her daughter and cradled her in her arms, her legs shaking so much she could scarcely stand. Manolis was approaching, ready to play his central role in the most important spiritual moment of this child’s life.
He touched Anna lightly on the arm and leaned in to kiss the baby’s cheek.
She breathed in, inhaling his scent. Soap? The fields? The brand of sweet tobacco he favoured? If her arms had not been full, it would have been impossible to resist touching his hair, but feeling the sensation of his jacket on her bare arm was enough for now, as they paused before their walk down the aisle.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Manolis take a sideways glance, and knew it was a look of admiration.
‘I think it’s time,’ said Andreas impatiently. ‘They’re waiting.’
Clad in ornate gilded robes and a tall hat embellished with elaborate stitching, a priest stood waiting at the font. He had a beard that almost reached his waist and held a golden crook. His two assistant priests, more modestly dressed, flanked him. They were dwarfed by his majestic height and imposing presence.
The trio began to process down the aisle, Anna in the middle as exquisite as a rose in full bloom, on each side of her a man, handsome, almost aristocratic, in a dark suit. Dressed in this way Andreas and Manolis were even more disconcertingly alike than usual.
Tucked up in Anna’s arms and swathed in white lace, the baby was sleeping, blissfully unaware of the trauma shortly to come. It began soon enough: the stripping-off of her clothes, repeated plunges into the font, the coating with oil, the cutting of her hair, before she was dressed again and carried round and round with candles flickering close by. Being passed from parent to priest to nonós accompanied by the constant sound of unfamiliar chants and wafts of strange smells was enough to terrify the child, even without the additional rituals.
Sofia, as she was baptised, screamed loudly for the first part of the ceremony, with only the occasional phrase of the liturgy audible above her wails. The first moment of respite was when Manolis fastened a pretty gold cross around her neck, his official gift to her as godfather.
Anna smiled. Perhaps she likes pretty jewellery, she reflected, just like her mother. She hoped that Manolis had noticed she was wearing the earrings he had given her for her saint’s day.
For much of the latter part of the ceremony, Manolis held the baby in his arms. She was much quieter then and gazed up at her nonós as the priest unfurled a white ribbon to encircle them both. After ninety minutes, it was finally all over and the great crowd filed outside and milled around noisily in the sunshine, happy to be out of the stuffy church and looking forward to the socialising that was to follow. For many it was the first time they had seen Sofia, and the women in particular wanted to get a closer look. They clustered around Manolis, who held the now tranquil bundle with enormous pride.
‘Lovely brown eyes, just like her father,’ several of them said.
‘And she’s definitely going to have her mother’s luxuriant hair,’ said one.
‘Yes, look at the curls she has already!’ agreed another.
‘She’s beautiful!’
‘So pretty!’
‘What a perfect baby!’
‘Ftou, ftou, ftou!’ responded Manolis. Any kind of compliment might attract the Devil’s attention, and pretending to spit was the customary way to deflect it.
From a short distance away, Anna watched him. At the same time, she was talking to her father, Giorgos, trying to encourage him to come to the party planned for the evening. He was reluctant, given that he always felt uncomfortable in the presence of the Vandoulakis family. It was not merely his status as a humble fisherman. The far greater issue was the taint of leprosy. The death of his wife on Spinalonga had been hidden from Anna’s in-laws at first, but his younger daughter’s diagnosis and departure to live there could not be concealed. Even if they had managed to bury their prejudice where Anna was concerned, this grand family made no effort to conceal their disdain for her father. It was only sensible to keep him at arm’s length, they agreed.
Once Giorgos had agreed to join the celebration for a short while, Anna seemed happy and moved away. She was ready to leave now.
There was a brief pause while a photographer corralled the parents and godfather to be photographed on the steps of the church. Anna stood in the middle holding Sofia, Andreas and Manolis on either side. It was a formal shot, the one needed to mark the day. Immediately afterwards, Andreas drove Anna and the baby back to their home high in the hills of Elounda. It was a spacious and airy property, set in the middle of olive groves, with a view over some of the few thousand acres that belonged to the family. This was only a small proportion of what they owned.
Since moving in, Anna had made significant changes, not only with interior decoration, but to the exterior too. At the front of the house she had flattened an area to create a terrace. This was where the party was to take place. Trestle tables strewn with flowers were set out in long rows, with bottles of wine and raki running down the centre of each one. Under nearby trees, goats were being turned on spits by a team of chefs.
Guests were arriving in their hundreds. They stood about in groups and helped themselves to wine and copious quantities of food already cooked and waiting in dishes on a buffet. Many showed no restraint and ate greedily. Most had some kind of commercial relationship with the Vandoulakis family, and there was a sense that such a rich feast was their entitlement.
As soon as they had returned from church, Anna had handed the baby to her nursemaid. The child was already asleep and there was no need for her presence during this part of the day.
Giorgos was among the last to arrive and nervously surveyed the throng for anyone he knew. Maria’s best friend, Fotini, noticed him standing alone and hurried over with her brother Antonis. The two families were closely intertwined. Giorgos’s face lit up when he spotted them. He regularly saw Fotini in the family taverna in Plaka, but it was a while since he had seen Antonis.
‘How are you?’ he asked affectionately. ‘Even more handsome than ever!’
‘Yes,’ said Fotini, poking her brother’s arm, ‘he’s too handsome for his own good.’
It was not a matter of opinion that Antonis was the best-looking man at the gathering. Even from childhood, his huge brown eyes had held the attention of anyone who looked at him. They were the shape of almonds and the colour of chestnuts.