The Demetrios Virgin by Penny Jordan Page A

Northern European blood.
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    Saskia gave a small emotional sigh as she finally turned her back on the Acropolis and started to walk away. She had managed to persuade the driver that she would be perfectly safe on her own, but onlyafter a good deal of insistence, and she had enjoyed her solitude as she had absorbed the aura of the ancient building in awed appreciation.
    Now, though, it was time for her to go. She could see the limousine waiting where she had expected, but to her consternation there was no sign of its driver.
    There was a man standing close to the vehicle, though, white-haired and elderly. Saskia frowned as she recognised that he seemed to be in some distress, one hand pressed against his side as though he was in pain. A brief examination of the street confirmed that it was empty, apart from the old man and herself. Saskia automatically hurried towards him, anxious for his well-being.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ she asked in concern as she reached him. ‘You don’t look well.’
    To her relief he answered her in English, assuring her, ‘It is nothing…the heat—a small pain. I have perhaps walked further than I should…’
    Saskia was still anxious. It was hot. He did not look well, and there was certainly no way she could possibly leave him on his own, but there was still no sign of her driver or anyone else who might be able to help, and she had no idea how long it would take them to get to the airport.
    â€˜It’s very hot,’ she told the old man gently, not wanting to hurt his pride, ‘and it can be very tiring to walk in such heat. I have a car…and…and a driver…Perhaps we could give you a lift?’ As she spoke she was searching the street anxiously. Where was her driver? Andreas would be furious with her if she was late for their flight, but there was no wayshe could leave without first ensuring that the old man was alright.
    â€˜You have a car? This car?’ he guessed, gesturing towards the parked limousine.
    â€˜Well, it isn’t mine,’ Saskia found herself feeling obliged to tell him. ‘It belongs to…to someone I know. Do you live very far away?’
    He had stopped holding his side now and she could see that his colour looked healthier and that his breathing was easier.
    â€˜You are very kind,’ he told her with a smile, ‘But I too have a car…and a driver…’ His smile broadened and for some reason Saskia felt almost as though he was laughing a little at her.
    â€˜You are a very kind girl to worry yourself so much on behalf of an old man.’
    There was a car parked further down the street, Saskia realised, but it was some distance away.
    â€˜Is that your car?’ she asked him. ‘Shall I get the driver?’
    â€˜No,’ he denied immediately. ‘I can walk.’
    Without giving him any opportunity to refuse, Saskia went to his side and said gently, ‘Perhaps you will allow me to walk with you to it…’ Levelly she met and held the look he was giving her.
    â€˜Perhaps I should,’ he capitulated.
    It took longer to reach the car than Saskia had expected, mainly because the old man was plainly in more distress than he wanted to admit. As they reached the car Saskia was relieved to see the driver’s door open and the driver get out, immediately hurrying towards them and addressing some words to her companion in fast Greek. The old manwas now starting to look very much better, holding himself upright and speaking sternly to the driver.
    â€˜He fusses like an old woman,’ he complained testily in English to Saskia, adding warmly, ‘Thank you, my dear, I am very pleased to have met you. But you should not be walking the streets of Athens on your own,’ he told her sternly. ‘And I shall—’ Abruptly he stopped and said something in Greek to his driver, who started to frown and look anxiously up and down the