I first met Sophia Leonidi in Egypt, towards the end of the war. She held a fairly high administrative position in one of the local branches of the British Foreign Office. At first, I got to know her through her work and I had early on appreciated the abilities that had elevated her to the position she held, despite her young age (she was only twenty-two at the time).
Beyond the fact that she was a delight to look at, she had a clear mind and a biting sense of humor that I found exquisite. We became friends. She was someone with whom it was particularly easy to talk, and we enjoyed having dinner together in the evenings or going to various dances.
I knew all this. But only when I received orders to leave for the East, towards the end of the war, did I learn something else: that I loved Sophia and that I wanted to marry her. I made this discovery as we were dining at Shepheard’s. It didn’t strike me as a shocking surprise, but rather as the recognition of a reality with which I had long been familiar. I looked at her with different eyes; yet I saw what I had known for some time.
I liked everything I saw. Her black curly hair that grew proudly above her forehead, her lively blue eyes, her small, square, determined chin and her straight nose. I liked her well-tailored light gray handmade suit and her starched white shirt. She looked so refreshingly English, and that fascinated me intensely after three years away from my homeland.