Moon Of Aphrodite. Sara Craven
waiting for her, Helen decided, because as soon as her feet touched the deck it seemed to become a hive of discreet activity, and she could feel the throb of powerful engines springing into life. Her cases had vanished, she noticed, and she stood feeling rather solitary, and a little lost.
A man wearing jeans, and a pale blue vest which showed off a powerful torso and arms, went past her, and Helen detained him with a quick ‘Oh, please!’ He paused, looking at her enquiringly.
She shrugged rather helplessly. ‘Where are the passengers?’ she asked. ‘How long does it take to get to Phoros?’
He spread his hands out in front of him. ‘Then sas katavaleno, thespinis.’
‘You don’t speak English,’ Helen said resignedly, and turned away, to find the man in the white uniform beside her.
‘Welcome to the Phaedra, Miss Brandon,’ he said with a heavy accent. ‘It is pleasant on deck, ne? But there are refreshments below, if you prefer.’
Some coffee, Helen thought longingly. The scents and flavours emanating from the tavernas they had passed on the way here had served to remind her just how hungry she was, and how Damon Leandros had rushed her off from the hotel without allowing her to order the soup she had craved.
‘I’d like to go below,’ she said rather shyly. She looked round the deck. ‘Is—are the other passengers there too?’
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