One of my earliest memories is of a party at my home in Alexandria, Egypt. My younger sister and I hid on the upstairs landing and peeked through the balustrades at the guests as they arrived – in such exquisite, astonishing costumes! The kaleidoscope of colours, the incarnations of fantastical characters, the mystery of the masks, the sheer spectacle of it all; I was absolutely enchanted.

Not only did I find all the costumes beautiful (why, I wondered with the innocence of the young, didn’t any of these adults wear these wonderful outfits all the time?), but I noticed that the fancy dress infused a new energy into the guests. They were full of life, and humour, and passion. I realised that wearing a costume enabled a person to get in touch with a part of themselves that they may suppress usually; there was a sense of liberation as they played the part of their character – a character chosen because it represented something of their deeper self.

I channel this early memory in my writing. In my romance novels, I weave in an opportunity for the characters to put on a costume; as a way to participate in a cultural event, but also to create that frisson of passion and that liberation of the inner self.

My new novel, Aphrodite’s Tears, is set on a Greek island and draws upon the stories and history of this great nation. Naturally, then, I turned to the Ancient Greeks for costume inspiration.

Clothing in Ancient Greece was simple, loose and free-flowing. Rather than cutting and sewing fabric to fit, the custom was to drape cloth over the body and secure it with an ornamental clasp or brooch or belt. The most popular cloth was linen, which was cool in the hot climate, and it was usually white, though the wealthy sometimes wore dyed linen. Both men and women traditionally wore the same two items of clothing, the chiton and the cloak (himation), with sandals on the feet. A woman wore her chiton to the ankles; a man’s chiton could be knee-length to allow easier movement for battle or athletics.

Women of Ancient Greece took pride in looking beautiful, accessorising their chiton with gold and silver jewellery, handed down from generation to generation; arranging their hair in elaborate styles; and using natural makeup to colour cheeks and lips.

With all this in mind, I devised costumes in Aphrodite’s Tears for my heroine, Oriel, and hero, Damian, to wear at the island’s Epiklisi festival. This is an important day for Helios, when the islanders come together, in costume, and parade to Mount Helios. There, they make a sacrifice to the volcano, Typhoeus, to protect the island from its wrath, and then they celebrate with a feast and dancing.

Here is Oriel preparing for the festival:

‘The Master asked the Kyria’s dressmaker to make a chiton for you,’ Irini said, laying out the ancient-styled Greek dress on the bed. It was a long, wide rectangle of linen, sewn up at the sides, designed to be girdled by a golden belt. Irini explained that the chiton should be pinned at the shoulders, and she handed Oriel a heavy gold brooch for the purpose. ‘It belonged to the Master’s mother. It is Helios, see?’

Oriel held the brooch in the palm of her hand and realized that, indeed, its delicate knotwork formed the shape of the island. She was honoured, as well as a little unnerved, that Damian should have entrusted her with a family heirloom that must clearly be precious to him.

Later, as Oriel put on the dress, she marvelled at how beautifully the warm sunshine yellow of the fabric suited her complexion and brought out the deep tan she had acquired during the past few days. She wondered whether Damian had any part in choosing the colour and the intimacy of that idea made her blush. He had even ensured she was supplied with a pair of flat leather sandals in a light-sand hue, with laces that crossed over her slim ankles. They fitted perfectly and added the final touch to her ancient Grecian outfit.

At the festival, Damian, leader of the island, is the last to reveal his costume:

Their conversation was interrupted, just then, by the sight of Damian’s chariot being wheeled out, framed by two stable hands. The crowd went wild. A storm of hailing cheers and applause erupted from the islanders standing on the sidewalk as Damian appeared in all his splendour.

Unlike the fifteen men and women who had preceded him, he wasn’t dressed as a god but was still in ancient Greek attire, a deep purple cloak thrown about his shoulders. Beneath it, he was wearing a breastplate and dark-red tunic with a light-kilted loin band over boots of soft hide, strapped up the front with criss-cross ties. His helmet was of bronze, rich with gold, and held under his chin by a chain of wide golden mesh. He settled it more securely on his head and tested the tightness and strength of the chinstrap. Then he reached out and took the whip from the stable hands standing by. The sun shone brightly, casting his proud face in sharp relief. He looked regal, standing in a lightly braced stance in the chariot, his legs slightly apart, knees just relaxed. The beaming rays set the gold buckles of the horses’ bridles, the burnished rail of the chariot, the golden ridge and strap of Damian’s helmet flashing as if they were ablaze.

Side by side in costume, Oriel and Damian make the perfect pair. Will adopting the roles of Ancient Greeks help them see that they belong together?