It was 1918. Boston. After Stavros Bouras had finished his business meetings at the Charleston Shipyard, he and his wife Melpomeni began their early-morning journey to New York. He was driving their recently purchased red convertible Rolls Royce Phantom. As the crisp spring air blew against their faces, their skin started to take on a reddish glow.
A heavy white fur coat and a stylish matching hat kept Melpomeni warm. Stavros wore a smart-plaid-wool scarf open to the wind, which looked like the flying banner of a Scottish clan. With his fur-lined leather driving gloves firmly grasping the steering wheel, he drove the car at high speeds. He enjoyed controlling an engine with so much power, something he found difficult with Melpo, his young wife, whose marriage had been arranged by her wealthy family. He chose to shorten her name, despite her objections. She preferred Melpomeni, because it made her feel more mature.
"Are you content, Melpo," he paused a second before adding "my dear?" Stavros asked in the slightly formal tone his Oxford English sometimes lent him. He leaned to her side so she could hear him better and glanced at her affectionately through his tightly fitting goggles.
"Yes darling. I have everything I have ever wanted." Melpomeni removed a handkerchief from her fur sleeve and blew her classic Minoan nose, loudly. "You drive well, Stavros," she said, making an effort to compliment him.
"Thank you, Melpo. I do enjoy driving." Temporary contentment pervaded his facial expressions, especially along his upturned lips, hidden beneath his unruly dark mustache. Raising his neck high, Stavros resembled a happy turkey that had just swallowed a walnut.
"You are treating me well, Stavros. But my father is already wondering if all the ships he gave you as part of my dowry were not a mistake," she said flirtatiously.
"I'll do everything I can to make you happy, Melpo."
Sudden discomfort surfaced in her face.
"Would you please stop the car, Stavros."
He had to stop the car, so she could go out for a short walk, waiting for the nausea to subside.
"Melpo, my dear, you're supposed to be stronger than that," Stavros teased, unaware of her condition.
"I am stronger than you might think, Stavros. You underestimate me."
"Strong? Did you say you were strong?
How many times do I have to stop the car so you can throw up like a little kitten? Is that what you call strong?"
"I knowingly married an older man so I wouldn't have to teach him that when a woman is nauseated she must be … " Melpomeni trailed off.
Stavros reached over to her, leaving the steering wheel unattended.