NATASHA OAKLEY – Cinderella and the Sheikh (страница 2)

‘And Matthew Wriggley, the tame historian we found, is painstakingly putting together some wonderful detail on your Elizabeth Lewis. Really exciting. You’ll love it.’ She gathered the photographs together and put them inside her slip file. ‘It was all going great until Crown Prince Khalid fell ill and the permission to begin filming was mired in red tape.’

Polly said nothing. She took another sip of her coffee and waited. She’d known Minty for something like nine years and she knew there was more to come.

‘So now I need you to cultivate Sheikh Rashid, get his support and encourage him to fast-track it all or we’ll miss the best of the weather. Convince him we don’t have any kind of subversive agenda.’

Two frown lines appeared in the centre of Polly’s forehead. ‘I thought you said we needed to negotiate with the elder brother now Crown Prince Khalid is ill.’

‘I knew you weren’t paying attention to me. Sheikh Hanif is the brother we should be talking to since he’s generally thought to be his father’s right-hand man, but he’s completely un-get-ableat.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘You know what I mean,’ Minty said, ripping the top off a sachet of artificial sweetener and dropping the contents in her coffee. ‘He’s doing the bedside vigil thing. Which leaves us with Sheikh Rashid—’

‘Ah.’

‘—who isn’t, and who fortunately has a well-documented soft spot for English blondes.’

‘How fortuitous,’ Polly said dryly.

‘Isn’t it? Even better is that he’s going to be at your place for the big charity bash this weekend. I’ve no idea why he isn’t also sitting at his father’s bedside but that’s not important—’

Polly shook her head. That couldn’t be right. ‘His name isn’t on the guest list,’ she said with the quiet certainty of someone who’d been through it twice last week.

‘He is. He’s in the Duke of Aylesbury’s party. Part of the “plus six”.’

‘How the heck do you know that when I don’t?’

‘One very boring dinner party sat next to an inebriated old Etonian and hey presto. It’s all in the flirting.’ Minty picked up her spoon and stirred her coffee. ‘Apparently big brother Hanif was at Eton with the Duke of Aylesbury and they’re close friends. Presumably that friendship has extended to little brother, too, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, he’ll be at Shelton on Saturday.’

Polly sat back in her chair and gazed in frank admiration.

‘So, if you do your “charming lady of the castle” thing and get his support that should speed everything up beautifully. We’ve had all the appropriate forms in now for about four months—’

‘Do my what?’

Minty looked up and laughed. ‘You know what I mean. Foreigners love that stuff. Take him to see the Rembrandt or something. Talk about your mother the dowager duchess. Toss your hair a bit. Don’t mention you’re more the Cinderella of the outfit. He’ll love it.’ Distracted, she glanced over her shoulder, then back at Polly. ‘What is that noise?’

‘Aargh! That’s my phone. Sorry.’ Polly made a dive for her handbag. ‘I should have switched it off.’ The handle caught on her chair arm and by the time she’d opened her bag the ringing had stopped.

‘Important?’

Polly glanced down at the number. ‘Probably not. It’s Anthony.’ She turned it off and returned the phone to the depths of her bag. ‘I’ll call him later.’

‘Good plan! Let him sort out the latest crisis. It’s about bloody time he did something.’

Polly allowed herself a tiny smile. Loyalty to her late stepfather meant she always stopped short of joining in criticism of Anthony.

‘How long is it now since Richard died?’ Minty asked suddenly.

‘Three years. Almost. It’ll be three years in May.’ Was it really that long? Polly replaced her bag back on the floor and picked up her coffee once again. In another four months her mother would have been widowed longer than she’d been married. Unbelievable. So much had happened.

‘Plenty of time for him to have got used to the idea of running the show—’

If only. Anthony still showed absolutely no inclination to do anything of the sort.

‘And if his well-bred wife thought of something other than horses that’d help.’

‘They’ll have to manage while I’m away filming—’

‘If we get our permit.’

‘If,’ Polly agreed mildly.

‘Well, try to sound like you mind one way or the other!’

‘I do.’ Her smiled twisted. Sort of. It was just…leaving Shelton was going to be difficult, particularly since she knew it wasn’t in safe hands. Every time she tried to imagine herself packing her case and walking away from it…she couldn’t.

Instead she’d think about how much there was to do. The Burns Night Supper, for example, or the Valentine’s Ball, or the craft fair held at the castle each Easter weekend…

All bringing in desperately needed revenue if the conservation programme was to continue. The trouble was she cared. Somehow, and she didn’t really understand how, it had got into her bones. Shelton Castle had become her raison d’être.

And, the truth was, it wasn’t hers to love. It was Anthony’s. His birthright. His privilege to nurture and succour the castle for future generations. And if she didn’t manage to detach herself she would eventually be left with nothing.

Minty watched her with narrowed eyes. ‘We agreed. It’s time you left Shelton.’

They had agreed that.

‘And way past time you did a job for which you’re being properly paid.’

Also true. Her head agreed. It was her heart that was more difficult to control.

‘You’ve got no savings, no pension, no career structure—’

‘I know.’ And she did. It wasn’t something that kept her awake at night, but she did know she’d allowed herself to drift for too long.

And she knew Amrah could be the answer. The first real attempt she’d made to cut the umbilical cord that tied her to the castle.

‘Well, then, be nice to Sheikh Rashid and I’ll have you on a plane within twenty-four hours of getting the paperwork through.’

‘Be nice to Sheikh Rashid.’ That was easier said than done. There was no getting near the man. Polly moved back to conceal herself behind an extravagant white floral display of alstromeria, lisianthus and roses so she could watch him more easily. Or, more accurately, so she could watch him without anyone noticing that was what she was doing.

Sheikh Rashid sat facing out across the ballroom. As he’d done all evening. His long legs stretched out in front of him, a look of faint boredom on his face. Silent. Arrogant. And rude, if she was honest.

From the very first moment he’d arrived he’d been permanently surrounded by women who looked as if they’d stepped out of a Bond movie, but they could have been invisible for all the attention he paid them. Perhaps he was so used to it he didn’t notice they were there?

But it was rude all the same. And, speaking as someone who’d often been all but invisible, she didn’t like it.

Of course, they should have moved away rather than continue to try to attract his attention. That would have been classier, but they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. They hovered about, smiling and laughing. Hoping he might notice them.

All of which made Minty’s cunning plan just that little bit more difficult to bring to fulfilment and left Polly stuck behind a large floral arrangement completely uncertain what to do next.

Polly bit her lip. Minty would have powered her way across the ballroom and flicked aside all competition like flies off a trifle, but she wasn’t Minty.

And he wasn’t the kind of man she’d ever be comfortable approaching. Contact lenses in, she was able to confirm her initial assessment of His Highness Prince Rashid bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha as sex on legs. Or would be, if you liked that kind of thing. Which she didn’t.

He was all too much. Too tall. Too handsome. Too…powerful. He looked like the kind of man who could crack a nut with his bare hands and wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to people if he had to. And, from all she’d read, he came from a long line of men who’d had to. Centuries of tribal disputes, years of colonial occupation and violent coups had shaped Amrah into the country it was. They’d shaped the men who ruled it, too.

It was strange to think her great-great-grandmother had been an active participant in all that history. Or a small slice of it at least.

‘Something wrong?’

Polly turned to look down at her mother. ‘No. Why?’

‘You’re frowning. I wondered if the ice sculpture was melting or the fireworks had got damp,’ she said, bringing her wheelchair into line. ‘It’s not often I see you frowning.’

‘Nothing like that. As far as I know.’ Polly smiled and set her glass of untouched champagne down on the window sill behind her. ‘But I ought to stop standing about and check.’

‘Polly—’

She stopped.

‘I just wanted to say you’ve done a beautiful job tonight. Again.’ Her mother reached out and lightly touched her hand. ‘I know Anthony doesn’t appreciate the work that goes into something like this, but I do.’