herself look vaguely human. ‘I don’t need you here,’ she told him edgily. ‘The nausea is passing,
and in a while I’ll eat something.’ When he still did not move she cast around her mind for
something to convince him she was perfectly all right. ‘I thought I might look into some charities
that I could support. You said you have a friend who organises fund-raising events,’ she
prompted him.
‘Yes, Melina Demakis. I’ll find you her number. But I don’t want you to take on too much.
Your main priority should be caring for your health, and that of the baby.’
‘I realise that, and I will take care of myself.’ Kitty thought of the lonely hours she had spent in the apartment since he had returned to work. ‘You’re at your office all day, and I can’t just sit
around for the next seven months until the baby comes.’
He stared at her for a moment more and then nodded. ‘All right—come with me now and I’ll
give you Melina’s contact details.’
Nikos’s office was decorated in the same minimalist style as the rest of the apartment, pale walls
and black furniture, a couple of modern prints in silver frames on the walls. The only personal
item in the room was a small framed photograph on his desk.
‘My mother,’ he said when Kitty glanced curiously at the picture of a woman with dark hair and
a gentle smile. ‘That was taken when I was a child. I found it among her things after she died.
It’s the only photo I have of her,’ he added, taking the picture from Kitty and staring down at it.
‘She was very pretty,’ she murmured, ‘and she looks kind.’
‘She was.’
Kitty was startled by the flare of pain in his eyes, but it was quickly hidden behind the sweep of
his thick lashes. He set the photo down without further comment and flipped open the address
book on his desk. ‘Melina’s details are here. I’m afraid I must go, I’m running late, and I may
not be back for dinner. But Sotiri will cook for you, so make sure you eat—for the baby’s sake.’
His concern for his child was indisputable, Kitty thought when he had gone. Naturally she
wanted to do what was best for the baby, but sometimes Nikos made her feel more like an
incubator than an expectant mother.
By late morning she was feeling more like her usual self, and when she had showered and
dressed, and eaten a huge breakfast, the day stretched before her. She had phoned Melina
Demakis and spoken at length about possible charities she might like to support, and had
arranged to meet the older woman and several of her committee members the following week. It
seemed that she was destined to spend her life attending fund-raising events, and because of her
royal status she was likely to bring attention to the organisations she supported, but it seemed an
empty existence, and she wished she could do something more worthwhile.
She flicked idly through the daily newspaper, pausing when a familiar name caught her
attention. She had met Father Thomaso a few years ago when she had opened a hospice on
Aristo that he had raised funds for. Now in his late sixties, the priest was at an age when he could have retired, but instead he was living in Athens and had set up a charity to help underprivileged
young people.
In the article Father Thomaso spoke movingly of the problems facing the very poor, especially
children and teenagers—many of whom were immigrants who had come to Athens for a better
life and had ended up living in slums or rough on the streets. He had opened a youth centre to
provide a place of safety for children and adolescents, and was asking for financial and practical
support.
Deeply touched by the case stories she had read, Kitty picked up the phone, and when she set it
down again twenty minutes later she had arranged to visit the Father and his youth centre to see
what she could do to help.
Later that day Kitty stared worriedly out of the taxi window at the volume of traffic on the road.
She had stayed at the youth centre for much longer than she had planned, and a glance at her
watch told her that she was going to be seriously late to meet Stavros at the National
Archaeological Museum.
Up until now her plan had worked well— although she didn’t feel comfortable about tricking
Stavros, or deceiving Nikos. She wasn’t really deceiving him, she told herself. She had actually
phoned his office to tell him she was going to visit the youth centre run by Father Thomaso, but
his secretary had said he was in a meeting and had given instructions not to be disturbed unless
there was an emergency.
She could have left a message, Kitty acknowledged. But it had seemed easier to keep her plans