Cinderella and the Sheikh. NATASHA OAKLEY

a restlessness about him. A man who exuded an edginess. Danger. As Minty said, a bad idea. Unquestionably. Why were bad boys always so attractive?

      â€˜Neither of them have been to Shelton. I’m sure. They’re both a good twenty years younger than the men I met.’

      Minty flicked through the pages of her notebook. ‘I can’t get my head round these names at all. The dad is Crown Prince Khalid bin Abdullah bin Abdul-Aalee Al Baha. Jeez.’

      â€˜â€œBin” means “son of”,’ Polly said, putting the photographs down and picking up her coffee. She wrapped her fingers round the comforting warmth and blew across the top of the mug. ‘Think of it like a family tree. And Baha is King Abdullah’s family name so that pinpoints them as being close to the centre of things.’

      â€˜That makes it all as clear as mud.’ Minty rubbed at her forehead. ‘Not that it matters. I think as long as you cover your shoulders and don’t wear miniskirts while in Amrah we’ll be just fine even if we don’t get all that sorted.’

      â€˜Right.’ Polly stretched out long legs encased in the finest ten-denier stockings. ‘I can manage that. Seems a bit of a pity to hide my best feature, though, don’t you think?’

      â€˜Better than getting arrested for immorality in a public place.’

      â€˜Do they do that?’

      â€˜I’ve absolutely no idea. Let’s not risk it.’ Then as she caught the edge of Polly’s startled gaze, ‘Don’t let it worry you. I’ve got a team working on the practical side of things. Nothing horrible will happen to you, I promise.’

      Polly nodded, only partially reassured.

      â€˜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.

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜That’s not a word.’

      â€˜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—’

      â€˜Ah.’

      â€˜â€”who isn’t, and who fortunately has a well-documented soft spot for English blondes.’

      â€˜How fortuitous,’ Polly said dryly.

      â€˜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.

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

      â€˜How the heck do you know that when I don’t?’

      â€˜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.

      â€˜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—’

      â€˜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?’

      â€˜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.

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜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.

      â€˜How long is it now since Richard died?’ Minty asked suddenly.

      â€˜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.

      â€˜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.

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

      â€˜They’ll have to manage while I’m away filming—’

      â€˜If we get our permit.’

      â€˜If,’ Polly agreed mildly.

      â€˜Well, try to sound like you mind one way or the other!’

      â€˜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.