was a relief to step out on deck. Being too close to a man like the Sheikh was unnerving. And exciting. It was as if she had been plugged into a power source. And that was dangerous, Millie concluded. No one with any sense played with fire.
‘I imagine your engineering skills must be very useful to Miss Francine,’ he remarked as they stood in that awkward moment before parting.
Awkward for her, at least, Millie concluded. Once again, he seemed frighteningly composed. While her mind had just clicked into gear. ‘You remember the name of the laundry and its owner after all these years?’
‘Your trolley?’ he said, tamping down on a smile. ‘Until later, Millie.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured distractedly, already having second thoughts. There was something not right about this.
‘Don’t forget you’re coming back.’
‘How could I forget?’ she called back, subduing the brief spike of panic. She might not have achieved her goal to learn more about that night yet, but the Sheikh had given her a second chance. She had no idea what to expect at his party, but she wasn’t a teenager now and could handle it.
What if the Sapphire slipped its moorings and sailed away?
She’d reach for her mobile phone and call the coastguard. She wasn’t an impressionable teen, but a soon-to-be successful woman who decided her own fate.
The security guard had brought her roll-along bag dockside and she followed him without a backward glance. But once outside the dock gates, she paused and turned, to see the Sheikh still on deck, watching her.
‘Until tonight,’ he called out, raising a relaxed hand.
Decision time. Bottle out, or opt in. Her choice. ‘Until tonight,’ she yelled back.
THERE WAS UPROAR at the laundry when Millie got back. Everyone wanted to know why she’d been delayed. Miss Francine hovered anxiously while the younger women clustered around Millie with endless questions, outrageous suggestions, and raucous laughter, as well as enough racy jokes to fill the playbill at a comedy show for a week.
Before she said anything, Millie brushed the hair out of her eyes and shed her oilskins. Hanging them up on the peg by the door, she grimaced. ‘I’m drenched.’
‘With passion?’ Lucy suggested, nudging her closest companion.
For the sake of good humour, Millie adopted a mock aloof air. ‘I hardly think the Sheikh invited me back tonight so he can seduce me.’
‘He invited you back!’ Lucy shrieked with a meaningful look at their colleagues.
‘Out of politeness,’ Millie insisted, catching Miss Francine’s attention to reassure her with a look that Millie was okay with this comedy sketch. ‘Something about making up the numbers,’ she said vaguely.
‘At the ruler of Khalifa’s party?’ Lucy exclaimed with obvious disbelief. ‘You don’t expect us to believe he left something like that to chance, do you?’ she demanded with an eye roll.
‘I’m just not seduction material,’ Millie insisted, turning serious. At least that much was true. Her mother’s looks might have been ravished by pain and abuse, but Roxy Dillinger had always been beautiful, while Millie made the best of what she’d got, which wasn’t much. But what she lacked in kerb appeal, she tried to make up for with zest for life.
A barrage of questions about her time on the Sapphire hit her from every side. What was the Sheikh like? What was it like on a billionaire sheikh’s superyacht? Editing heavily, Millie gave as full an account as she could.
‘Why you Millie?’ Lucy demanded in a teasing tone. ‘What have you got that the rest of us lack?’
‘The rest of you have got too much work to do, to be gossiping like this,’ Miss Francine insisted above a chorus of groans. ‘We’ll have our own party when the work’s completed,’ she promised to a second chorus, this time of cheers.
‘I’d rather be Millie,’ Lucy called out cheerfully as she got back to her work.
Everyone took the hint and got their heads down, though Millie still had to field a whole host of questions, as well as the teasing remarks of her co-workers, but it had the good effect of making time fly. Good for everyone, Millie concluded, but herself, as, before she knew it, work ended and she had to get ready for the party. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so brave.
Don’t be such a wuss, she told herself impatiently as she ran up the stairs to her cosy bedsit. She had no excuse not to know how fast things could change from hope to tragedy. She had to seize the moment and make the most of it.
Relax. Chill, Millie mused, eyes tightly shut as she stood beneath the shower. If she didn’t take this chance to find out the truth about that night, she’d spend the rest of her life wishing she had.
What to wear to a billionaire’s party when you wanted to blend into the crowd? That was the burning question. Millie should have asked about the dress code, she realised now. Sheikh Khalid had mentioned something about a casual evening. Good. Casual she could do. An apprentice engineer had more overalls in her closet than frocks, but she did have one nice dress.
It was red, which was unfortunate. Would it make her stand out too much? She didn’t want to look as if she’d tried too hard. She’d bought it in the sales, thinking it perfect for the next Christmas party. At least it was an unfussy style, just a simple column of bright red silk. Having made her decision, she hung the dress on the back of the door.
Hair up or down? She’d tie it back, Millie decided. Tossing her long, honey-gold hair for effect wasn’t her style. Having trialled a few different looks, she settled on her customary messy up-do. She’d got the knack of arranging that now, but she swopped out the infamous pencil for a simple mock tortoiseshell clip.
Shoes?
Wearing high heels on a ship grated, somehow. She compromised with a strappy flat.
Underwear. She rootled through her drawer. Sensible big knickers, obviously...
So why was she holding a flimsy thong?
Who was going to see what she wore? No one. So she settled for the thong. It wouldn’t show any lines beneath the dress.
As she got ready she kept on glancing out of the window to where the Sapphire was berthed and blazing with light. When she’d finished she leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to blot out that other party and replace it with the new. If she didn’t, she’d never have the courage to step back on board the Sapphire.
Music from the superyacht wafted over the marina and into Millie’s bedroom. It was tasteful, tuneful music. She’d be all right. She had to be. No one could pick up the pieces. She had to do that for herself, and owed it to her mother to move forward, which was exactly what she intended to do.
Checking her appearance in the mirror one last time, she declared, ‘No problem. I’m ready to enter the lion’s den.’
