IT WAS BACK to earth with a bump when Millie walked into Miss Francine’s laundry. She’d gone straight back to college from Khalifa, needing time alone to get her head straight, and had bunked in with a new student who asked no questions, not even when Millie had carelessly left packaging from several pregnancy tests in the bin. Bloating, feeling sick in the morning, suffering from a severe dose of emotional incontinence, as well as sore breasts, could not be ignored for ever and she’d taken her first test the week she got back. And the result was positive. All five had been positive.
Having scoured the news each day, she’d found no announcement of an engagement in Khalifa. But that meant nothing, Millie thought, as Lucy’s head shot up with surprise as she walked in. Everyone was staring at her, and trying not to. They must be wondering how she felt about her time in the desert with the ruler of Khalifa. Nothing travelled faster than bad news, but confirmation of her pregnancy was the very best of news, so no one at the laundry knew about that yet, not even Miss Francine. Millie couldn’t wait to tell the elderly woman who’d done so much for her that Miss Francine was about to become a grandmother. Now it was just a case of finding the right moment to inform the mighty ruler of Khalifa that he was about to become a father.
Millie and Lucy hugged warmly, and then Millie asked about Miss Francine.
‘In her office,’ Lucy said, adding worriedly, ‘with her lawyers.’
‘Lawyers?’ Millie echoed with concern.
‘Go and join them, and then you can tell me what’s happening,’ Lucy whispered so their colleagues couldn’t hear. ‘You’re like a daughter and she’s missed you. Here, let me take your things. It doesn’t look good,’ Lucy added with a glance at the firmly closed door to Miss Francine’s office.
‘Millie!’
Lucy was right. Miss Francine couldn’t have been more relieved, or happier to see her, but Millie was disturbed to see how frail she looked. She could feel her ribs through the thin cardigan and blouse as they embraced. When they parted, Miss Francine introduced Millie to the two lawyers sitting in front of the desk. ‘Mr Frostwick’s firm has worked in my best interest for years,’ she explained to Millie, ‘but I’ve given him a real problem this time.’
‘Can you tell me about it?’ Millie asked her old friend gently, with an enquiring look at the two men. What could have gone so badly wrong while she was away?
Miss Francine lost no time explaining. ‘I’ve been advised by my doctors to retire from the business with immediate effect. And with no one to take over from me...’ She spread her arms wide. ‘Millie is studying to be a marine engineer, you know,’ she told the Frostwick team with all the warmth of a proud mother.
‘I’m on holiday from college, so I can stay and help out,’ Millie offered.
‘It might not be enough,’ the older of the two lawyers commented gruffly.
‘And I won’t hear of it,’ Miss Francine said, closing that avenue down. ‘You’ve worked too hard to give up now.’
‘I’m not talking about giving up, just taking a longer break,’ Millie soothed.
‘The business will have to be sold,’ the lawyer cut in. ‘There’s no money to save it,’ he added bluntly, ‘unless you have a suggestion,’ he said as he stared at Millie.
If the business was sold, Miss Francine’s name would be lost, Millie thought, and a lifetime’s work would count for nothing. ‘Could the name be retained, perhaps?’
The flash of hope in her old friend’s eyes stabbed Millie in the heart. She could come up with as many suggestions as she liked, but if only money would save the laundry—
‘I’m afraid the name can’t be kept if an offer is accepted from one of the big chains,’ the lawyer was saying, crashing into her thoughts, ‘and the creditors will insist on a sale. There’s been a lot of interest,’ he continued on a brighter note. ‘Miss Francine’s reputation is second to none—’
‘Of course it is,’ Millie interrupted, seeing how distressed her elderly friend was becoming. Millie had been too young to help her mother, but nothing would get in the way of helping Miss Francine. ‘I’ll sort it out,’ she said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘And now I think Miss Francine needs to rest.’
‘Of course,’ the lawyers agreed, standing up. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she told Miss Francine as soon as the door had closed behind the visitors. ‘I meant what I said.’
Miss Francine gave a grateful smile, which at the same time seemed to accept there was nothing to be done. Millie had other ideas. There was one person with enough money to put this right, and, after everything Miss Francine had done for Millie, she was going to enlist his help.
Ask Khalid for money when she’d broken off with him? See him again? Speak to him? He wouldn’t even take her calls. He’d wanted a clean break too.
She wouldn’t let Miss Francine down. Her elderly friend deserved a far better end to her working life than this. She didn’t waste any time placing the call to Khalid. The sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could...well, if not exactly relax, at least satisfy herself that she’d tried every avenue.
Khalid answered on the second ring. She might have thought he’d been waiting for her call, if his comment hadn’t been quite so crisp and short. ‘I’ll send transport for you,’ he said.
‘That’s not what I want,’ Millie said tensely. ‘I’m not coming back to Khalifa.’ She drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m asking for your help.’
‘Money?’ he said flatly.
‘But not for me,’ Millie said quickly, going on to explain the situation.
‘Is money all you want?’
‘Should there be anything more?’ Of course there should! She had to tell him about the baby—Over the phone? No. She couldn’t do that to him.
‘Anything more?’ he queried. In the pause that followed, she could picture him frowning.
‘No. There’s nothing more,’ she confirmed, knowing she could never agree to his terms. Becoming Khalid’s mistress while he lived with an arranged bride would break her, and that was even supposing he hoped for something more.
Millie’s heart was in pieces to hear Khalid sounding so unemotional. It was as if he hadn’t missed her at all—and why should he? They were still worlds apart, Millie concluded sadly, not only in the physical sense, separated by thousands of miles, but by a yawning gulf in their destiny. But she couldn’t allow any of that to matter now. She had to try and do a deal with him, to save Miss Francine’s laundry. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she hit him with her first idea.
‘Would you have any objection to my putting Miss Francine’s lawyer in touch with your Development Grant department? I thought that perhaps they could look at the possibility of franchising the business,’ she went on. ‘It would mean everything to Miss Francine to keep the name.’
‘And she could be a figurehead?’ the deep, husky voice at the other end of the line said thoughtfully.
‘Exactly,’ Millie agreed, relieved that he’d caught on so fast. She smiled to herself, thinking, when did the hawk of the desert ever have any difficulty in making a decision?
‘I’ll think about it, and let you know,’ he said.
The line cut abruptly. She stared at the receiver in her hand, and only then realised that tears were streaming down her face.
* * *
Millie, Millie, Millie. Just the sound of her voice was enough for him to start cancelling appointments. Since the moment they’d parted, he’d realised that there was only one woman he could ever care for. To be a better man than his brother meant leading by example. It took time to effect change in an ancient constitution like that of Khalifa, but alterations would be made. On that he was determined.
He had omitted to mention to Millie the fact that he was in England. An invitation to dine with royalty in London at the palace tomorrow night to discuss various matters had prompted this visit. After talks and a dinner, a ball was to be held in his honour. Anticipating hopeful parents with a daughter to offload, he had planned to make his excuses and leave the palace before the ball. Hearing Millie’s voice again had changed that decision.
* * *
Impatiently knuckling away tears, Millie replaced the receiver in its nest. There was no point cradling it, as if that could keep Khalid close. She had to be patient and wait to see if he would be as good as his word. She believed franchising Miss Francine’s laundry would be a good investment, and could only hope that he agreed. But now she had work to do. Sprucing up the laundry to entice any investor was essential. She owed it to Miss Francine to make sure the business looked its best.
Everyone at the laundry was only too eager to repay Miss Francine’s kindness by pitching in to touch up paintwork in rooms that hadn’t been decorated for years. Millie’s job was to check the machinery was working smoothly, and when they finished Miss Francine had promised a special supper to celebrate what she was already calling ‘a new era’ in the laundry’s history, as if the deal to save it were already done.
Much to Millie’s relief, her elderly friend seemed to have regained her former vigour, and brightened even more when Millie mentioned another idea she’d come up with, which was for Miss Francine to invite some of the workers to move into her spare bedrooms, much as Millie herself had done after her mother’s death. Miss Francine was known for her soft heart, and many of the girls had experienced unpleasantness in their past like Millie. This would not only provide those who needed it with stability, but would give Miss Francine company and a little extra cash.
When their long day had finally ended, Miss Francine hurried out of the office with a printout in her hand. ‘This has just arrived from the Sheikh’s office,’ she explained in a voice trembling with hope. ‘His business development team is coming here to look us over!’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Millie exclaimed as excitement rose around her.
Khalid hadn’t let her down.
Maybe jobs would be saved, and the name of the laundry kept intact. The expression in Miss Francine’s eyes was so full of happiness that it took hold of Millie’s heart and twisted it hard.
‘Do you really think we’ll be okay?’ she asked Millie.
‘I know we will,’ Millie said confidently as she plucked the pencil out of her up-do to tick another job off her list.
* * *
Everyone was laughing at each other’s paint-streaked faces, especially at Millie’s face, as she had added a good dose of black, greasy oil, and not just to her face, but all over the dungarees she’d been wearing to work on the boiler.
‘I need to check one more thing,’ Millie said as she climbed back into the tiny, spider-infested cubbyhole where the ancient boiler was housed. She would clean it out, once she had a minute—if that ever happened, Millie thought, grimacing as she stared around in the gloom. Brushing a web out of her hair, she checked the valve she’d replaced was working smoothly, and then carefully backed out of the confined space on all fours.
‘Phew, it’s hot in there,’ she exclaimed as she emerged into the light. ‘I’ll have to set up a fan or something before the Sheikh’s team arrives—’
It was the silence that alerted her to something out of the ordinary. Standing, she turned around. ‘Khalid?’
Millie’s stomach clenched alarmingly and, turning away, she was forced to put her hand over her mouth.
One. Two. Three. Time up! Turn around.
‘We were only speaking on the phone an hour or so ago,’ she exclaimed heatedly, as if he were in the wrong. ‘How on earth did you get here so quickly?’
‘I’m overwhelmed by my welcome,’ he said dryly.
His smoky, mocking tone, and those eyes...those all-seeing, darkly amused eyes, made her heart beat off the scale.
Was he really here? Their baby! How would he take it? I love you—so, so much. Oh, good grief, what do I look like with webs in my hair and oil on my face? I never thought to see you again, and now you’re here—
And breathe.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she yelped, backing away as Khalid, looking like the master of the sexual universe in a rugged jacket and jeans, advanced. ‘I’m covered in oil and spiders’ webs.’
As she spoke the room cleared as Miss Francine quickly ushered everyone out.
There was no stopping Khalid now. Closing the distance between them in a single step, he took hold of her arms in a non-negotiable grip, and, blazing a fierce look into her eyes, he demanded, ‘Do you really think I care about a few spiders’ webs?’
‘You should—I mean, your expensive jacket—’
He snarled something in Khalifan that needed no translation, and dipped his head; he savaged her mouth with a kiss so deep, so firm and passionate, she almost swooned in his arms. When he let her go there was a moment she would never forget, when they stared at each other. So many frustrated hopes and dreams must be reflected in her eyes, while his were stonily determined. ‘I can’t do this again,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘And you will.’
He was to marry some suitable princess. Why pretend? Millie’s heart had already been dashed to pieces on the harsh rock of reality. But that didn’t stop her heart aching with love, even as the more sensible part of her wished they could have remained continents apart, so she would never have to go through the grief of losing him again.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he rapped.
‘No, I’m not,’ she argued, incredulity ringing in her voice.
‘That wasn’t a suggestion,’ Khalid assured her. ‘We’ve wasted enough time. Do you want my help or not?’
‘At the laundry?’ she said in confusion. ‘Of course, I want your help. But not if you’re blackmailing me—I’ll find some other way.’ She stared at him tensely. They had to get this straight.
Neither was prepared to back down, or give in. They were perfectly matched, she thought a little wistfully.
‘You have a decision to make,’ Khalid told her.
Think—think straight—make the right call.
She only had one shot at this. A lifetime of work had gone into the laundry, as well as all the precious lives Miss Francine strived so hard to put back on track. It wasn’t just jobs at stake here, but people’s futures and their happiness, and maybe even survival for some of her friends. She had to get this right. It wasn’t about her feelings for Khalid, or even for her own self-respect; it was a bigger decision than all of that.
‘Where are you going from here?’ she asked tensely.
‘To my London home,’ Khalid told her succinctly, his eyes stern, his mouth firm.
Well, that wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as far away as Khalifa. ‘Can’t we talk here?’
With a sound of impatience, Sheikh Khalid—for she could think of him as nothing else now, and in this setting—raked his hair. ‘I can’t just book into the local motel.’
He had a point.
‘You wanted to discuss Miss Francine’s case,’ he reminded her. ‘And you convinced me this meeting can’t wait. I can’t wait,’ he added in a clipped tone. ‘I have a country to run, and business at the palace in London. Either you come with me now, or I return to the capital without you, in which case you can go through the usual channels to apply for the grant.’
Millie’s jaw dropped. ‘You are blackmailing me.’
‘I’m telling you how it is,’ Khalid stated without emotion, though there was fire burning behind his eyes.
So much for romantic reunions, Millie thought, feeling her spirits dip even as her determination to do something right strengthened. ‘I’ll have to change my clothes—’
‘No time,’ he rapped. ‘Everything will be waiting for you when we arrive. Go and say goodbye to your friends.’
Millie’s mind was in turmoil. This was crazy. She was still getting over the shock of seeing him. And coming to terms with how much she’d missed him, she silently admitted. Khalid’s stern expression held nothing but impatience, though his kiss had suggested he was pleased to see her, she accepted wryly. If she had a chance of saving Miss Francine’s business, she didn’t have a choice, and better she told him about the baby when they had some prospect of privacy in his London home. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.
‘Five,’ he countered.
She fired a look into Khalid’s fierce dark eyes, to let him know she’d do this, but was no pushover. He held her stare locked in his, and in that split second she knew there would be trouble ahead. Putting down her tool bag, she headed into the next room to break the news that she was leaving to her employer and friends.