Cold Black. Alex Shaw

The warmer air entered but this time it was moist and bearable. A man in a white jacket appeared and was handed the keys. Basil then gestured that Fox should follow him and they walked around the house and into a large area at the back. To the left a huge, white, single-storey building sat apart from the rest of the house, and on the right a large swimming pool nestled perfectly amidst a landscaped garden. Basil ushered Fox towards the canopy to one side and the portly, robed figure who sat there.

      ‘Your Highness.’ Basil bowed.

      Prince Fouad Al Kabir rose from the lounger and extended his right hand.

      ‘Mr Fox. How pleased I am to welcome you here.’ His English was accented, but not Sandhurst, unlike both his brother’s and Basil’s.

      Fox took a step forward and bent at the waist to meet the royal hand. The grip was limp, as though Fouad didn’t quite know how to shake hands. ‘It is an honour to be invited, Your Highness.’

      ‘Sit, please, Mr Fox.’

      Fouad sat back on the white linen lounger and Fox sat on a lower one to his left while Basil remained standing. ‘That will be all, Captain Barakat.’

      Basil bowed and headed back to the house as members of the serving staff appeared with a pitcher of fruit juice, trays of fruit and pastries, dates, and an urn of Arabic coffee. A coffee cup was filled and presented to Fouad then a second was handed to Fox. The staff retreated out of earshot. Fouad leaned forward.

      ‘I really am very grateful for what you did for my daughter. I will forever be in your debt.’

      ‘I did what anyone would have done, Your Highness.’

      Fouad held up his finger. ‘Now, I know that is not true. You are a man of honour and of discipline, Mr Fox. My brother speaks highly of you.’ He drank his coffee and Fox did the same. ‘So, what do you think of my humble home?’

      Fox let his eyes wander before answering. ‘I like it.’ He could think of nothing else to say; as far as houses of the Saudi royal family went, it was the first he had been in.

      Fouad stood and Fox hastily followed.

      ‘I like it here because there is a lesser need for air conditioning than the city. We have our own micro climate thanks to my very clever gardener.’ Fouad gestured towards the many palm trees lining the walls before he started to walk towards the other building. ‘This is not your first time in the Kingdom? I believe you were here when there were troubled times for our neighbours?’

      ‘Yes, your Highness.’ Fox didn’t want to elaborate but knew what the prince was alluding to. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and followed his new employer. Between the heat, alcohol, and sheer fatigue, he was finding it hard to stay polite, however grateful he might be.

      The prince abruptly stopped and turned. ‘Mr Fox. What happened to my daughter in England was outrageous.’ He turned back and continued along the path. He waved his arm. ‘What happened to me here in my own home was also unacceptable. This is something that I have not experienced before. Allah be praised, you were my daughter’s saviour, but now I also need you to ensure my continued safety.’ At the door to the building he again faced Fox, as if to express the severity of the matter. ‘Much damage was done to my most prized pieces but my general collection was untouched.’

      Fouad pushed the door and stepped into the building. Fox entered behind him and could hardly believe what he saw. The room was vast, like a giant aircraft hangar, and full of rows upon rows of cars. Fouad smiled like a kid showing off a new toy to a friend as he watched Fox look around. ‘Do you like cars, Mr Fox?’

      ‘Yes, Your Highness, they are a hobby of mine.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Fouad was happy and clasped his hands together. ‘How so?’

      ‘When I left school I wanted to be a mechanic like my dad; that’s why I joined the army.’ He had, however, been placed in the infantry and not the Royal Engineers as requested, so had had to learn the inner workings of the internal combustion engine in his spare time. A knowledge that had served him well in the Regiment’s Mobility Troop.

      ‘What car do you drive in England?’

      ‘I have a Porsche 930 Flachbau.’

      ‘What is that?’ Fouad looked earnest.

      ‘It’s the 930 with a 935-style “slantnose” conversion, Your Highness.’

      The prince nodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course, yes. You must forgive me, my German is not very good – I did not know the word. If I remember rightly, that had the uprated 330 bhp performance kit?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Ah, I can see you ask how I would know such things? Well, I am one of the founding members of the Porsche Club of Riyadh. Porsches are a particular fondness of mine. Let me show you.’ They crossed to the other side of the room, passing as they did so a ‘Who’s Who’ of twentieth- and twenty-first-century sports cars.

      ‘Here!’

      With a flick of the arm he unfurled a dustsheet that had been covering a silver Porsche Carrera GT, the fastest road-going Porsche yet built. Fouad glanced back at his new employee to gauge his reaction. Fox was smiling and shaking his head slowly from side to side.

      ‘Each year we have a race from Riyadh to Bahrain. I fly out three engineers from Porsche Germany in Stuttgart to check the cars before we leave. The race starts at 3 a.m., when the tarmac is coolest, otherwise the tyres would not be able to cope. I hold the current record at three hours and five minutes.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘But then I do have the fastest Porsche in the race.’

      Fox leant forward and looked in the ‘cockpit’. He was beginning to like his new boss. ‘You have great taste, Your Highness.’

      ‘True. Some collect art, but to me this is art. Working art.’ The prince suddenly clapped his hands. ‘We shall speak at another time. I see you are tired after your journey. I fear first class is not what it once was. Captain Barakat will take you to your rooms. You shall start work tomorrow.’

      Basil appeared at the door and the prince bade Fox farewell. In the Bentley once more, they made swift progress back towards the city suburbs. Fox’s driver was, he knew, eager to make further conversation but sensed that Fox was beyond speech. Fox started to nod off, despite the speed they were travelling at, but within twenty minutes they had reached a residential area. The Bentley slowed at another high wall and gate combination; again it was ushered in unchecked.

      They stopped and Fox looked around. They were inside what looked like an upmarket holiday park made up of one- and two-storey villas, some terraced, some detached, which were built in two horseshoes, the two-storey buildings making up the outer ring. In the centre was a swimming pool and what looked to be a barbecue area. To one side were three tennis courts and landscaped lawns. At the barbecue area the residents were cooking or standing drinking.

      ‘This is where all the Riyadh-based foreign employees of the Al Kabir Group live.’

      ‘How many are there?’

      ‘In Riyadh there are about one hundred or so. There are many more in Dammam, of course, for the oil refineries, and in Jeddah. The Al Kabir Group is one of the Kingdom’s largest and most successful employers.’

      ‘Really? That’s interesting.’ Fox didn’t add that, as it was owned by a branch of the royal family, of course it would be successful.

      ‘Let me show you to your house.’

      Basil unloaded the car and headed for the larger outer row of villas.

      ‘This one, Paddy.’

      He pointed to a two-storey villa at the end, nearest the gates. The villa, as did all the others, had a three-feet-high white picket fence around it and a small, very green lawn. It was painted brilliant white and Fox took a guess that the interior colour would be the same. On entering he wasn’t disappointed. Basil heaved both case and rucksack with ease up the flight