you might have met him through that slimy stepbrother of yours. But if not it doesn’t really matter. We’ll manage.’
Polly picked up the more traditional of the two pictures and held it out in front of her. Long flowing white robes and his dark hair concealed beneath a white headdress. Minty was right. Prince Rashid bin thingy was really very sexy. If he’d been to Shelton she’d have remembered.
She closed one eyelid to focus more clearly. ‘A couple of sheikhs did come over from Amrah but they were both much older. And I doubt they were royalty because Anthony would have been much more impressed. I can probably get their names for you if you need them.’
Minty shook her head and bent over to open the file resting against the leg of her chair. ‘I don’t. But while we’re at it, have a look at his elder brother,’ she said, passing across another glossy A4 picture. ‘His Highness Prince Hanif bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha. Again he tends to contract all that to Sheikh Hanif Al Baha. And who can blame him?’
Polly picked up the photograph.
‘Now their daddy’s so ill Hanif’s probably the one we should be talking to,’ Minty said slowly, her eyes focused on her notes. ‘They’ve both got the “bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha”. Exactly the same. Not very imaginative, is it? The only difference is the Hanif-Rashid bit.’
There was more difference between the brothers than that. Sheikh Hanif looked like a ‘safe pair of hands’. At least, he did as far as you could ever judge anything from a single photo when you weren’t wearing your glasses.
Polly closed one eyelid and brought the blurry image into sharp focus again. He had a solid sort of responsibility. Maybe a hint of sadness in his dark eyes? Certainly steeliness.
But Rashid was something else. There was 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?
‘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.’
‘“Bin” 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.’
‘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.’
‘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?’
‘Better than getting arrested for immorality in a public place.’
‘Do they do that?’
‘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.
‘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
