Cinderella and the Sheikh. NATASHA OAKLEY

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      â€˜Th-that sideboard came to Shelton in seventeen ninety-two.’ Polly could feel the heat burning in her cheeks. ‘It would be dreadful if I was the first person in all that time to put a mark on it.’

      Rashid smiled. He’d smiled before, politely, but this was something different. For the first time it reached his eyes. Maybe he was human, after all? Wouldn’t that be a surprise?

      â€˜I’m sorry. Please take a seat.’ She pulled at the chain around her neck. ‘I should have said that before. I’m afraid I’m a little nervous.’

      That devastating smiled widened. ‘There is no need to be.’

      â€˜You clearly don’t know Minty. I’m no good at this type of thing.’ Polly took her water with her and sat back down in the corner of the sofa. ‘She’d do this so much better than I can.’

      Rashid chose the sofa opposite. His eyes were still firmly resting on her face. It was unsettling. And that was putting it mildly.

      â€˜Take it to him.’ Minty’s final words to her were echoing in her head. She was fairly sure her friend hadn’t factored in spilling water over a valuable antique, tripping over her words and generally not being able to think of anything anyway. Her mind was a complete blank.

      And all the while those blue eyes watched her. Polly looked away and gently chewed at her bottom lip.

      â€˜I would be interested to know how you come to be involved?’ he prompted, as though he knew she was never going to be able to get started alone.

      He had an amazing voice, too. His accent wasn’t so dissimilar to the ones she heard every day, but the way he put his words together, the stress he placed on the syllables was certainly different. Unmistakably foreign despite his English-public-school education.

      â€˜I suppose it’s because it was my idea. In a way. Although I didn’t expect it would happen.’ She raised her eyes back up to his face. ‘Minty’s the film-maker. She wants to make an hour-and-a-half programme which could be broken up into three half-hour slots. Something like that.’

      His feet moved and Polly found herself looking down at his highly polished Italian shoes. She was sure they were Italian. Expensive and very beautiful. Everything about him screamed an understated wealth. The kind of wealth that could buy a racehorse like Golden Mile as an individual rather than as part of a consortium. Even in her stepbrother’s world that was unusual.

      And here she was, sitting in the North Sitting Room with her heart in her mouth and her future, it would seem, resting on her ability to convince this man it was a good idea.

      â€˜With you presenting?’

      â€˜Yes, that’s the idea.’

      Rashid inclined his head. He was like a panther. The thought slid into her head. That was a far better analogy than a spider. He was all contained power, unpredictable and dangerous.

      â€˜I know we’d be the first film crew allowed into Amrah—’

      â€˜The second.’

      â€˜Second?’

      â€˜When my grandfather became King he was eager to open our country to the West. Fourteen years ago he allowed a programme to be made and the result was deeply offensive to both my family and our people.’

      Talk about wanting the ground to open up beneath you. ‘I didn’t know that.’

      Any other man and she’d have asked what had been offensive about it, but she didn’t feel she could. There was an impenetrable barrier around Rashid Al Baha.

      Polly moistened her lips and tried to find the words that would convince him that their intention was not to offend. Not in any way.

      â€˜Our programme would focus on Elizabeth Lewis’s journey across Amrah in the late eighteen eighties. We’d like to retrace her steps, see some of the things she describes.’

      â€˜Such as?’

      â€˜The desert. Fortresses.’ This was so difficult. She was floundering and she knew it. She hadn’t thought much about what she would see as the decision wasn’t hers. ‘Camel-riding. Maybe even camel-racing. I believe she did that at one point.’

      Rashid sat back on the sofa. ‘An important part of Amrah’s culture, but not one that is generally looked on favourably in the West.’

      â€˜But the king has forbidden child jockeys by law. It—it was that,’ she struggled on, ‘which people found difficult to accept. Over here, I mean.’

      Was she imagining a hint of a smile in those cold blue eyes? He really was the most unfathomable man. But, if his reputation with women had any basis in reality, he must be able to use that smile to good effect sometimes.

      What would that feel like? If Rashid Al Baha looked at her with desire? With wanting? She felt a slightly hysterical bubble of laughter start in the pit of her stomach and spiral upwards. If His Highness Prince Rashid bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha turned his notorious playboy charm on her she’d run in the opposite direction. He was an absolutely terrifying man.

      â€˜I see. It is helpful to have it explained.’ The smile in his eyes became more definite.

      Polly just hoped she’d wake up in a few minutes and realise this whole conversation had never happened.

      Of course he didn’t need her to tell him what the international community thought about child jockeys. He was a highly educated man. A leader of men. He’d probably even been instrumental in implementing the ban.

      She could feel the heat rise in her face and a dry, nervous tickle irritate the back of her throat. Just wait ’til she got Minty on the phone tomorrow. If it turned out she had known about the ‘offensive’ programme made earlier Polly was going to personally shoot her.

      â€˜What I meant to say was that we wouldn’t be saying anything…contentious. It’s more a human-interest type of thing. A personal journey.’

      â€˜Personal?’

      â€˜Yes. Well, yes. That’s the plan.’

      â€˜But not yours?’

      She shrugged. ‘Only in as much as Elizabeth Lewis is my great-great-grandmother.’

      â€˜Your great-great-grandmother?’

      â€˜On my father’s side.’

      A frown snapped across his forehead. ‘That wasn’t in the paperwork.’

      â€˜I suppose because it’s not really relevant, is it?’

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