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‘People call me Millie,’ she added shyly as they left the shadows behind and exited the vessel into clean ocean air.
The child was as refreshing as the ocean, he thought, and he was determined to do what he could to protect her from harm. ‘What do you like to be called?’ he asked when she turned back to stare up at the shaded windows behind which they both knew her mother would continue to party.
‘Me?’ She frowned and then refocused on his face. ‘I like to be called Millie.’
‘Millie,’ he repeated.
‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked, surprising him with her quick recovery.
‘If I can,’ he agreed.
They had reached the head of the gangplank, where she drew to a halt. ‘Will you tell my mother to leave?’ she begged earnestly. ‘She might listen to you. Will you find her a cab and send her home? I’ve got some money. I can pay you—’
‘You’ve got your bus fare home?’ he guessed. She was young, but she was sensible. She had to be, he thought.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed. Her forehead pleated with surprise, as if common sense were second nature to the daughter, if not the mother. ‘Of course I do. Well? Will you?’ she pressed.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he agreed.
‘Please,’ she pressed. ‘Promise me you’ll try.’
Something about her steady gaze compelled him to answer in the affirmative. ‘I promise. Now go home and do your school work.’
He followed her gaze with interest as something else occurred to her. She was staring at his brother’s chauffeur, who was standing stiffly to attention at the side of the royal limousine. He saluted as Khalid approached.
‘He’s been standing here for ages,’ Millie whispered discreetly. ‘Could you bring him a glass of water before he takes me home?’
‘Me?’ he exclaimed.
‘Why not you?’ she demanded. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your legs, is there?’
Her cheeky comment took him by surprise. She had spirit, and to spare.
‘He brought me here,’ she explained, ‘so I know he must be tired.’
Completely unaware of status or rank, she was a novelty, and a welcome reminder that their respective positions in life had been decided by an accident of birth. Her cheeks blushed red as he pointed out the iced water dispensers, both in the front and the back of the vehicle. ‘He’s fine,’ he explained in the same confiding tone. ‘Give him your address and he’ll see you home safely.’
‘And my mother?’ she said, staring back at the ship.
‘I’ll do what I can.’ He ground his jaw with disgust at the prospect of returning on board. ‘Never put yourself in such danger again,’ he added in his sternest tone.
She didn’t flinch as she retorted fiercely, ‘I never will.’
He watched the vehicle pull away with its lonely figure seated upright in the back. With her school satchel at her side, and her hands folded neatly on her lap, Millie stared straight ahead. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to her mother, and his last thought before turning to the ship was that Millie was a good girl who deserved better than this.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight years later...
‘OKAY, IT’S WORKING AGAIN.’ Satisfied with her handiwork, Millie stepped away from the boiler she’d just repaired.
‘You’re a gem,’ Miss Francine, the octogenarian who had worked at the laundry since she was a girl, and who now owned the business, beamed at Millie as she enveloped her favourite worker in a hug. ‘I don’t know anyone else who has the patience to coax these old machines back to life. What would I do without you?’
‘We’d go down to the stream and beat the yachties’ sheets clean with stones,’ a girl called Lucy suggested dryly.
With a grin for her friend, Millie plucked a pencil from her bundled-up hair to make notes on how to start up the ancient boiler should it fail when she had returned to her apprenticeship as a marine engineer.
‘You’d better not beat the Sheikh of Khalifa’s golden sheets clean,’ Lucy observed, matching Millie’s grin. ‘He might keel-haul you, or... What?’ she demanded when both Millie and Miss Francine froze in horror.
‘Nothing,’ Millie said quietly, forcing her face to relax as she flashed a warning look at Miss Francine to say nothing. ‘I didn’t know the Sheikh’s yacht had berthed, that’s all.’
Lucy flung her arms wide like a proud fisherman demonstrating the improbable size of his latest catch. ‘It’s enormous! You couldn’t miss it, if you hadn’t had your head stuck in the boiler cupboard.’
Then, thank goodness she had, Millie thought.
‘When did those sheets come in?’ Miss Francine asked, obviously trying to distract from a topic she knew Millie would not want to discuss.
Lucy held out the yards of gold fabric overflowing her arms. ‘The housekeeper from the Sapphire brought them, saying they needed special handling.’
‘Ripping up?’ Millie suggested beneath her breath. The golden sheets reminded her of one particular night and all its heartwrenching associations.
Miss Francine stepped in to her rescue again. ‘If a yacht the size of the Sapphire has berthed, we must get back to work. We’ll have laundry coming out of our ears,’ she enthused, with an anxious look at Millie. ‘And it might be the pressing machine that goes next.’
‘Well, I’m here if it does break down,’ Millie soothed, appreciating the change of subject.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Miss Francine asked discreetly as soon as everyone else was distracted by work.
‘I’m fine,’ Millie confirmed, ‘and happy to take responsibility for those sheets. I’ll supervise their care every step of the way,’ she assured her elderly friend grimly, ‘and I’ll take them back on board to make sure they’re fitted properly.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Miss Francine said, flashing Millie a concerned look. ‘I’ll take them.’
‘I want to,’ Millie insisted. ‘It’s a matter of pride.’ She had to prove to herself that she could do this, and after eight years of hunting for clues into her mother’s death, this was the best lead she’d had.
‘Well, if you’re happy to do it, I won’t argue with you,’ Miss Francine confirmed. ‘We’ll have more than enough work to go round.’
Something about the way her elderly friend had capitulated so quickly rang alarm bells in Millie’s head. Which she dismissed as overreaction. Discovering the Sapphire was back was a shock.
‘What do you think of the golden sheets?’ Lucy asked later as they worked side by side.
‘Magnificent, I suppose,’ Millie admitted, ‘but too gaudy for my taste.’ Though typical of the Sapphire, she thought, grinding her jaw as pictures of gemstones falling from a hand that might have pushed her mother to her death swam into her mind.
‘Too gaudy for mine too,’ Lucy agreed.
‘Try not to think about it,’ Miss Francine whispered as she drew Millie to one side. ‘Take a few deep breaths,’ she advised.
If only breathing steadily could be enough to shut out the past. ‘I gave birth at sixteen, you know,’ her mother had told the Sheikh.
Why must Millie always remember the bad things?
