I met Sofia Leonides in Egypt towards the end of the war.She holds a fairly high management position in a section of the local consulate.The first time I met her was at a formal event, and it wasn't long before I learned about her efficiency, despite her young age (she was only twenty-two at the time), that got her to the position. In addition to being extremely pleasing to the eye, she had a clear mind and a no-nonsense sense of humor which I found very pleasing.She was a particularly easy person to talk to, and we had a few meals together, occasionally dancing, and had a great time. That's all I knew; I didn't know anything else until the war in Europe was over and I was sent to the East—that I was in love with Sophia and I wanted to marry her.

We were having dinner at the "Shepherd's" restaurant when I discovered this.This discovery did not surprise me in the slightest, but more like the recognition of a fact I have been familiar with for a long time.I looked at her with new eyes - but what I saw was what I had known for a long time.I like everything I see.Her black curly hair that rose proudly from her forehead, her sharp blue eyes, her small, square chin with a scrappy, square chin, her straight nose.I love the tailored suit she's wearing, and the white crepe blouse.She looks fresh and British, and I, who has been wandering in a foreign land and hasn't been back to my hometown for three years, have a strong sense of intimacy.I don't think anyone could be more British than she - and even as I'm thinking about it, I suddenly wonder if she's actually, or could be, really as British as she makes it seem.Is there anything in real life that is as perfect as it appears on the stage?

That's all I know, we talked about each other's preferences, discussed each other's ideas, talked about the future, talked about the current friends - Sophia never mentioned her home or her family .She knows everything about me (she's a good listener), but I don't know anything about her.I think she has a general background, but she never talks about it.I didn't know her background until now. Sophia asked what I was thinking. I answered truthfully: "You." "I understand," she said.It sounded as if she really understood. "We may not see each other for a few years," I said. "I don't know when I'll be back in England. But when I get back, the first thing I'll do is come and see you and ask you to marry me."

She listened without blinking her eyes.She sat there, smoking, not looking at me. For a moment, I worried that she might not have understood. "Listen," I said. "One thing I would never do is ask you to marry me now. It won't work. First, you might reject me and I'd have to go away sad, perhaps to redeem my vanity, To hang out with some succubi. If you don't say no to me, then what are we going to do? Marry, and immediately experience lovesickness? Engage, and then wait for a long time? I can't stand you doing this. You may meet someone else you like, but you are bound by a marriage contract and feel compelled to be 'loyal' to me. We live in a strange environment where everything is rushed and everything is quick. All around us, marriage, love, etc. Things come together and divide, dizzyingly fast. Rather you go home, be free, look at the new post-war world, and decide what you want in this world. We It has to be permanent, Sophia. I cannot stand any other marriage."

"Me too," said Sophia. "On the other hand," I said, "I think I have a right to let you know how I—er—my feelings." "But without any premature lyricism?" whispered Sophia. "Honey—don't you understand? I've been trying not to say I love you..." She stopped me. "I really do, Charlie. And I like the weird way you do things. You can come and see me when you get back—if you want to—" It was my turn to interrupt her. "There is no doubt about it." "There's always room for doubt in everything, Charlie. There's always something unforeseen. Like, you don't know much about me, do you?"

"I don't even know where in England you live." "I live in Sven." I nod.I knew she was referring to that famous London suburb boasting three fine golf courses for capitalists. She added softly, in a thoughtful voice: "Living in a crooked, misshapen hut . . . " I must have looked a little startled, because she looked amused, while quoting an elaborate commentary: "'And they all live in a crooked house'. That's what we are. It's not really a house either. A house, but a really crooked one—of wooden frames and gables!" "Is your family a big family? How many brothers and sisters?"

"A younger brother, a younger sister, a mother, a father, an uncle, an aunt, a grandfather, an aunt, and a grandma." "Oh my God!" I exclaimed a little unbearably. She laughed out loud. "Of course we don't all live together in normal times. It's because of the war and the air raids—but I don't know—" She frowned thoughtfully—"Perhaps spiritually, the family has always been All living together - under the aegis of my grandfather. He was quite a man, my grandfather. He was in his eighties, about four feet ten inches tall, but anyone would have paled in comparison. "

"He seems like an interesting character," I said. "He's interesting. He's a Greek from Smyrna. Aristide Leonides." She added with a wink: "He's very rich." "Will anyone have money after this big war?" "My grandfather would," said Sophia confidently. "Any tricks of the government to exploit the rich can't help him. He has his own way to deal with it, and in turn makes a lot of money." "I doubt," she added, "that you will like him." "What about you?" I asked. "More than anyone in the world," said Sophia.