Alcandor loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt at
the neck. He knew he was at his son’s wedding, but felt as if he was about to
suffocate. He looked around at the wedding guests, to make sure no one was
aware of his agitation. No one was, of course. They were all having fun.
Caterina was having a conversation with Ardelis and didn’t see his distress.
Nothing had happened in eighteen years. They were happy
and secure here. Surely, Constantine had written those things in anger.
Alcandor tried to tell himself he would have done the same thing, if the
situation were reversed.
Why did he still have a sense of unease? He turned to
watch the celebrations again, and his eyes roamed over the guests. He looked at
their clothes and watched conversations, trying to lip-read what they said on
the other side of the room. His eyes fell on Charis’s parents, Mr and Mrs
Petrides, and he thought what a wonderful family they were, and how fortunate
Dymas was to be part of their family. He felt fortunate to have Charis as a
daughter-in-law too, but the pleasant feeling vanished as rapidly as it had
come.
In the far corner of the room at the most distant
table, he saw the two young men who worked with Stepan at the carpentry workshop,
and, all at once, felt a strange disquiet. Alcandor had only met Fedor and Vasilios Chalakas
briefly a few times before the wedding, but each time he met them, that inner
disturbance of mind needled him like a burr in his socks. It was irritating him
now as he watched them.
They applied to Stepan with some excellent examples of
their craftsmanship, and Stepan was impressed with the quality of the work.
They proved their worth in time, and the business went from strength to
strength.
Twice Alcandor invited them, through Stepan, to come
for a meal and meet the wider family, but each time they politely thanked him
and pleaded inability because of their own family affairs.
Alcandor averted his gaze, wanting to shake off his
disquiet. He focused his attention on his family again, gaining comfort as he
watched his grown children interacting with the grandchildren. He amused
himself for a time, working out who each grandchild resembled.
Someone walked by him and cast a shadow, interrupting
his thoughts. He looked up to see the back of a young man who was walking
towards Dymas at the other end of the hall. He recognised Dymas’s friend and
best man, Spyridon Pagonis. As his eyes followed Spyridon along the length of
the hall, he experienced the same unsettled emotions as when he was watching
Fedor and Vasilios.
Alcandor had also only
met Spyridon a few times because Spyridon was as reluctant to socialise as
Stepan’s employees were. Alcandor couldn’t understand why these three young men
made him feel ill at ease. Was he feeling resentment that his sons were finding
mateship with men apart from himself? Why wasn’t he happy that his sons had
found good friends who had also proven their worth in employment? Was he really
a jealous man at heart, resenting the influence of other men in his sons’
lives? He
deliberately turned away, momentarily ashamed that there might be some truth in
these thoughts.
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