The Sheikh's Shock Child. Susan Stephens
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back to his attempts to persuade Millie to leave the Sapphire for her own good, and her refusal to go without her mother. The child had become the carer, he’d thought at the time. She’d be twenty-three now, and had been an orphan for eight years, but, remembering the fire in those cornflower-blue eyes, he knew she was too strong for life to break her as it had broken her mother.
* * *
Wow! Quite literally: wow! Millie’s jaw had dropped a little more with each step she’d taken on board the Sapphire, where every corner revealed a new wonder, but this guest suite was beyond belief. Ablaze with gold, it glowed with sapphires. Every surface that could be gilded was gilded, and every practical item, even down to the tiny waste-paper bin placed at one side of the solid-gold dressing table, was intricately worked, and studded with precious stones. Striking works of art hung on the walls, while soft furnishings begged to be stroked and snuggled up to. Carpets and rugs? Oh, yes. She was sinking in those up to her ankles. And it was brilliantly lit. No dark corners here. No den of vice. Miss Francine was right to say the Sapphire had been completely transformed.
* * *
And now it was fit for a king, Millie thought as she stood back to review her handiwork. Glancing in the ornate mirror, she reassured herself that, in the unlikely event that the laundress met a sheikh, the sheikh wouldn’t look twice at that laundress. In weather-sensible shoes covered with blue plastic overshoes, an old pair of jeans and a faded top, she’d come straight from fixing a boiler, so although she’d washed her hands until her skin had turned red she almost certainly still had the tang of oil about her.
Turning full circle, she tried to record every detail, so she could tell her friends when she got back to the laundry. She had no doubt they would be in fits of laughter when she told them about the erotic hangings above the bed. Though, in fairness, even the most particular guest would be comfortable here. The suite was definitely over the top, but it was also very airy and welcoming. She had to admit, she was impressed.
The guard and the steward had remained outside the door while Millie was working, so she could touch this...lift that...peer behind the curtain at the elegant balcony lit by the warm glow of a lantern—gold, of course—and even quietly open the drawers... There was nothing in them. She hadn’t expected there to be, but couldn’t resist having a nosey. Unlatching the door to the balcony, she stepped outside. Leaning over the railings, she wondered if her mother had stood here, and had maybe fallen from this very spot. It was possible...
Remaining quite still, almost as if she expected an other-worldly voice to fill in the details, she was finally forced to give up and return inside.
There was nothing sinister about this room, Millie told herself firmly. It smelled lovely, felt lovely, was lovely, apart from the lurid hangings. Could people really contort their bodies like that? Angling her chin, she tried to work out the mish-mash of limbs and faces, and had to give up. Anyway, the stateroom looked fabulous with those golden sheets in their rightful place. But who would sleep here? she wondered with a frown. Was this a gilded cage, waiting for another broken bird?
Stop it! This was a particularly lavish suite on board a billionaire’s yacht, and nothing more. Millie had merely provided some final touches for a guest—
Khalid’s mistress?
Why should she care? He might be married, for all she knew—
‘Mademoiselle Millie?’
She almost jumped out of her skin as the door opened, but it was only the steward wanting to know if she needed any help. ‘I’m doing fine, thank you,’ she reassured him with a smile. ‘I’ve nearly finished.’
Aladdin’s cave could take another pop of gold, Millie concluded as the door closed quietly behind the steward. And her overactive imagination could take a hike. The Sheikh probably wasn’t even on board. And even if he were, would he have changed that much? He was probably the same, devastatingly good-looking charmer who made promises he couldn’t keep; a man who’d spirited his brother out of the country after her mother’s death.
Power and money made anything possible, Millie concluded, firming her lips into an angry line. Eight years ago, the headlines had read: ‘The Nightingale of London found drowned in King’s Dock.’ But had her mother drowned? Or was she murdered? And did anyone care?
Millie cared, and was determined to uncover the truth of a night she would never forget. She wouldn’t rest until she found justice for her mother. Cause of death had never been established, let alone convincingly explained to Millie. It felt to her as if everything had been brushed under the carpet. Claiming diplomatic immunity, Sheikh Saif had left the country, while his brother, now Sheikh Khalid, had remained in the UK to clear up his mess. As far as Millie was concerned, he was responsible for allowing Saif to get away. The coroner’s court had managed to establish that drink and drugs had contributed to her mother’s drowning, but who had given her those things? Miss Francine had warned Millie to leave the past alone, but how could she ignore a chance like this? Sitting down at the dressing table, she plucked the pencil out of her hair and began to write a note on the order pad she always carried.
She flinched guiltily as the door opened a second time, and stood, as if to demonstrate her readiness to leave. The guard was talking into his mouthpiece.
‘Just collecting up my things,’ she said.
If he noticed that she was nowhere by the bed, he didn’t respond. He was too busy talking to whoever was at the other end of the line. She relaxed as he left the room. Maybe now she could finish that note.
Maybe not. The door opened again almost immediately.
* * *
He deplored ostentation. Even the intricately decorated solid-gold handle of this guest stateroom jarred as he closed his fist around it, but this particular suite of rooms had been kept intact, and was in the traditionally ornate style, favoured by his late brother. It served as a reminder to Khalid that extreme wealth could be extremely corrupting. He thought Tadj would appreciate the irony. The last time they’d stayed together had been in a basic tent when they were both serving in Special Forces.
After his brother’s death, Khalid had insisted on a deep clean of the entire vessel, following which he’d brought in several cutting-edge designers to modernise the ship, with the proviso that this vintage suite be left intact. The best palace craftsmen had worked on the project, and the suite had fast become a talking point, both for its recording of unique and authentic historical detail, and for the erotic hangings above the bed.
‘Your Majesty...’
He thought his guard seemed slightly uncomfortable. ‘Yes?’ Khalid paused with his hand on the door.
‘I didn’t expect you here so soon,’ the guard admitted.
Khalid was instantly suspicious. ‘Well, I’m here,’ he said, opening the door wide.
‘Millie?’
He would have known her anywhere, even after all this time. Eight years simply faded away. She’d changed beyond recognition, but the bond between them remained the same. She was a very beautiful woman. The braids were gone, likewise the spectacles, and there was no panic in her steady stare, reassuring him that her vibrant spirit was intact too.
The girl on the dock. Of course!
‘Your Majesty!’
She seemed equally surprised, and for a few moments they just stared at each other. Her long, honey-gold hair was still damp from the rain where her oilskins had failed to protect her. Bundled up loosely on top of her head, the messy arrangement boasted an unusual ornament in the shape of a pencil, which she’d just stabbed into it as she catapulted away from the dressing table to stand in front of him, in what he guessed was the best expression of innocence she could muster. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Writing you a note,’ she said with the frankness he remembered from all those years ago. ‘I suppose I don’t have to now,’ she added.