I’m not a teenager, finding my way and feeling awkward, but a successful woman, confident in my own skin.
She had silently chanted this mantra from the moment she’d entered the locked dock. The past couldn’t hurt her, if she didn’t allow it to. The emotional scars from that night hadn’t weakened her, they’d made her strong. Unfortunately, none of these self-administered reassurances helped to soothe her as she stepped onto the recently swabbed teak and all the memories came flooding back. Her throat dried when the guard beckoned her towards the impressive double doors leading into the interior of the vessel.
Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and walked in.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of a sickly-sweet smell. She hadn’t known what it was eight years ago, but now her best guess was cannabis. The air inside the vessel today was as clean and as fresh as the air outside. And there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen, let alone a carelessly stubbed out cigarette, or an empty bottle left to roll aimlessly about. There was certainly no jarring music, or cruel laughter, just the low, almost indiscernible hum of a well-maintained engine of the type Millie loved—
She jerked alert as the guard coughed to attract her attention. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘I was just getting my bearings.’
A steward was on hand to take charge of her oilskins and the wheeled trolley. Watching her oilskins disappear around a corner definitely gave her second thoughts. She wanted to call him back and return to the safety of the laundry.
Don’t be so ridiculous!
What about her determination that the past couldn’t hurt her? And the note she intended to leave for Sheikh Khalid, asking if he could make time to see her.
Where was he? she wondered. Somewhere on board? Somewhere close?
A ripple of awareness tracked down her spine. Her overactive imagination getting busy again, she concluded as the steward returned to her side. He suggested, and tactfully, she thought in view of the state of her trolley, that it might be an idea to unpack the laundry here.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the wheels were quite so muddy.’ Or that they would leave such obvious tracks on the pristine floor. Not wanting to cause extra work for the crew, she was glad of the blue plastic overshoes the steward handed her.
She was sorry about everything, Millie thought, which was hardly the mind-set required to make the most of this opportunity. The steward might pass on a note to someone in authority who had contact with the Sheikh. And though Sheikh Khalid almost certainly wouldn’t agree to see her, she had to try.
‘I’ll help you unpack,’ the friendly steward offered.
The Sheikh’s staff seemed nice. She took some comfort from that. There were no stony faces—apart from his guards—and the atmosphere was different; very different, Millie thought as she introduced herself.
‘Joel,’ the steward replied with a friendly smile.
After a brief handshake they got to work, and the familiar actions of lifting the laundry from its nest reassured her. She knew what she was doing, and working side by side with Joel boosted her confidence. His uniform was very smart, and not at all intimidating, as she remembered the black-clad servants at that other party. Crisp and white, it was quite a contrast to her comfortable work clothes of jeans, a long-sleeved top and sneakers.
If it came to running for it, she was ready, Millie concluded dryly as she straightened up to announce she was ready to make up the bed. The guard would escort them, he said. Things had certainly changed since the free-for-all days of Sheikh Saif, she thought as they set off at a brisk walk with Millie like a sandwich filling between the two men.
Passing through another set of double doors, they entered a world of unimaginable luxury and calm. Or massive wealth and relentless control, depending on how you looked at it. Either she found some humour in this situation, or she’d lose her nerve and run. She couldn’t believe the last time she’d been here her mother was alive. It seemed so long ago. And now her senses were heightened to an unparalleled degree. She felt like a sponge, obliged to soak up everything, whether she wanted to or not. Though she had to admit that the vibrant works of art, tastefully displayed on neutral walls, were beautiful, as were the priceless artefacts housed in glass cases. She would have loved the chance to take a longer look at them. Glimpses into staterooms as they passed revealed one luxurious setting after another, but the walk was so long, she began to wonder if they would ever arrive at their destination. The Sapphire was bigger than she remembered, but then she had only seen the grand salon eight years ago.
I could get lost here and never be heard of again. Like my mother.
That imagination of hers was working overtime again. She was here to work, and when that was done, she was out of here!
* * *
Millie Dillinger, Khalid mused as he strode through the immaculately maintained vessel in the direction of the guest quarters. The girl’s name would be branded on his mind for ever. How could he ever forget the dramatic events surrounding their first encounter? He’d been in a furious mood that night, too angry by what he’d discovered at Saif’s party to spend much time reassuring the girl. His first impression had been of a quiet and contained young person, which had made the way she’d stood up to him all the more surprising. She’d showed no deference for his rank, or for that of his brother, and, in being completely open and frank, had opened his eyes to a world where women didn’t simper and preen in the presence of immense wealth and power. If only she’d known it, Millie Dillinger had consigned every prospective bride of his to the remainder bin of history. None of them had her spirit.
Even though she’d been just fifteen, the connection between them had been immediate and strong, his overwhelming need to protect her his only concern. As he turned onto the corridor leading to what would be Tadj’s suite, he thought 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
