How Greek Is Your Love by Marjory McGinn

Author:Marjory McGinn
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781999995720
Publisher: Pelagos Press
Published: 2020-03-08T05:00:00+00:00

I planned to spend most of the Easter week working. On the Monday I finished writing the feature on Eve Peregrine and Douglas Markham and I was pleased at how revealing it had turned out. I filed it to the Messenger and it was due to run any day now. Easter gave me rich pickings for my latest column and I lingered over the national obsession with the daily church services that ran through the Holy Week, most of which I’d managed to attend, if not to the bitter end, as most lasted three hours. It was a solemn sequence that advanced the story of Christ’s capture to his crucifixion, and on Megalo Savato, Holy Saturday was the rousing climax, the resurrection service at midnight. These were all highly dramatic services which, despite the earnestness of priests and congregation, briefly went awry now and then with props misbehaving; sound systems failing; candles held too high, threatening festive decorations; psaltes, choristers, admonished for the odd lapse of attention over their ancient hymn books.

It was also curious to me that services during this week appeared to be a cue for village women to refresh their looks, for reasons I couldn’t fathom. I noted one villager who hitherto had black straight hair now had a gingery mop of curls, which didn’t suit her at all. Another sported a short back and sides where her hair had once been luxurious. Thekla’s hair had, if that were possible, gone even bigger to the point of being nesty, even though her black outfits were severe. It was all unexpectedly intriguing.

Angus refused to come to these services, saying if he had to get up and down for three hours every time the priest came out of the sanctuary (which was often) he’d wreck a knee cartilage. Easter gave me much to write about.

I thought about Peregrine during those days and wondered – now that she was back in her villa and all was well, according to her much-relieved agent anyway – why she never had the merest curiosity about village life, and Easter especially. I wondered if she’d dam-busted her writing blockage yet and how she spent her lonely evenings, if in fact she was alone. Even so, I felt just a bit sorry for her, and that, combined with gratitude for her candidness over the Markham piece, prompted me to contact her at the end of the week to invite her to Leo’s Sunday lunch.

When I called her mobile, she answered right away and seemed pleased to hear from me. Had she seen the feature, I asked her, which had now run in the paper?

“My agent sent me a link. What can I say? I’m not a great fan of press exposés, but it’s fine. I’ve had a few requests through my agent for more interviews about Markham, which you may be pleased to know I haven’t taken up. I’ve had quite a few emails too: people from the past, wondering why I’m hiding away in Greece scribbling books when I was once a TV star.

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