An Ordinary Girl and a Sheikh. Nicola Marsh

to any suggestion of a problem.

      ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. Then, ‘Absolutely nothing.’ And she allowed herself a small smile. The Sheikh hadn’t split on her … ‘We’re running a bit late, that’s all. Sheikh Zahir needed to shop.’

      ‘Really?’ Sadie instantly morphed from boss to woman at the “S” word. ‘Where did you go? Aspreys? Garrard?’

      ‘The Toy Warehouse.’

      She didn’t add that it had been her choice—probably just as well because there was a long pause before Sadie said, ‘O-kaaay,’ the last syllable stretched to breaking point. ‘Well, I suppose that even a sheikh has ankle-biters to keep happy.’

      ‘Not his,’ she said quickly. Although, actually he hadn’t confirmed or denied whether he had any children of his own. ‘He wanted something for the Ambassador’s daughter. It’s her birthday.’

      ‘As long as you kept him happy.’ ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

      ‘I’m sure I’ll hear soon enough if he’s not.’ Then, ‘I called your father, by the way. He said he had it covered.’

      On the point of reassuring Sadie that she’d already called home, she realised that she might not appreciate her priorities and left it at, ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You seem distracted, Zahir.’ Hanif had drawn him to one side, away from the excitement of Ameerah as she showed her five-year-old brother and her little sister her new toy. Metcalfe had been right about the glass. It would not have done at all. ‘Are there problems with the Nadira Creek project? Or the airline you’re so keen to get off the ground?’

      Zahir smiled. ‘Business is never a problem, Han. Lucy’s charities will not suffer.’

      ‘Then it must be family. How is your father?’

      ‘Pushing his pacemaker to the limits. He’s in the Sudan this week, doing his best to broker peace …’ He lifted his hand in a helpless gesture. ‘I cannot help but feel guilty. It should be me.’

      ‘No, Zahir. Your talents lie elsewhere.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      ‘There’s something else?’

      Zahir looked across the room to where the five-year-old Jamal was watching Ameerah, entranced by the snowstorm. Then, turning back to Hanif, he said, ‘He’s impatient for a grandson to bear his name. Impatient with me for denying him that joy. I’m afraid I’ve been a disappointment to him in every aspect of my life.’ He managed a smile. ‘But not for much longer, it would seem. My mother has taken it upon herself to find me a bride.’

      He’d anticipated wry amusement, but Hanif was not smiling. ‘Marriage is a lifelong commitment, Zahir. Not something to be entered into lightly, even to gratify your father. And the timing could be better.’

      ‘A point I made quite forcibly. My mother’s response was that if I waited until I had time, it would never happen.’ He shrugged. ‘Along with a lot of other stuff about being wilful, selfish …’

      ‘She’s anxious to see you settled, Zahir. You may be wilful, but you’re not selfish and she knows it. You surrendered more than two precious years to watch over me. You did that for the family.’

      ‘I did it for you, Han. For you I would surrender my life.’

      That finally brought a smile to his cousin’s face. ‘Surrendering your life is easy, Zahir. Take it from one who’s been there. It’s the living of it that takes effort.’

      ‘No one could accuse me of neglecting that duty.’ He worked hard, played hard, lived hard. ‘But it’s time to do something to show my feelings for him. Respect his wishes.’

      ‘If it’s written, insh’ Allah, whether it is your mother’s wish or your own, it will happen and I wish you happy of your bride.’

      ‘You believe in fate?’

      Hanif sounded so certain, but then he’d seen for himself how fate had tossed the lovely Lucy Forrester into his cousin’s arms. Who could have foreseen that in his future?

      Or that the deliciously curvy and delightfully offbeat Metcalfe would be at the wheel of his car today.

      ‘Can I borrow Ameerah for a moment? My driver found her the snowstorm when my original gift was broken. I’d like her to know that it was appreciated.’

      ‘Her?’ Hanif’s brow scarcely moved. But it moved.

      Diana checked her watch. It was time to go and bring the car round to the front but, as she stood up, the sitting room door burst open and a lanky, olive-skinned, dark-haired girl launched herself through it.

      ‘Thank you!’ she exclaimed dramatically. ‘Thank you so much for finding me the snowstorm. I absolutely love it!’

      Diana, taken aback by such an over-the-top performance, looked up, seeking a responsible adult.

      What she got was Sheikh Zahir, leaning on the door frame. Oh. Right. This was his doing …

      ‘I’m very glad you like it, Princess Ameerah. Are you having a lovely party?’

      ‘Oh, we’re not having a party today. I had school and Mummy has to go out tonight. We’re going to take all my class out on Saturday. We’re going on a canal boat trip to the zoo and having a picnic. I begged Zahir to come but he said that it’s up to you.’

      ‘Me?’

      ‘You’re his driver!’ ‘Oh, I see.’

      Diana glanced up at the man leaning casually against the door frame. His expression was giving nothing away and yet she had the strongest impression that he was making a point. Reassuring her that she wouldn’t be reduced to the minibus, perhaps?

      ‘I promise,’ she said, turning back to the child, ‘that, whoever is driving Sheikh Zahir, he’ll have absolutely no excuse not to be at your party.’

      ‘You see!’ Princess Ameerah, triumphant, swung round to face him. ‘I told you it would be all right.’

      ‘So you did.’ He ruffled her curls. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, Trouble.’

      She ran off, but Zahir remained. ‘Whoever is driving?’ he repeated.

      ‘Jack Lumley will be back at work long before Saturday.’ ‘But do I want him when you’re so much more entertaining?’

       Entertaining!

      ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘whatever you do, don’t use that word if you speak to Sadie Redford. This is my big chance and I’m doing my best to be totally efficient, one hundred per cent VIP chauffeur material. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not a “natural” and if you suggest that I’m “entertaining” I’ll be finished.’

      ‘I won’t say a word, Metcalfe, but it’s not true, you know. Natural is exactly what you are.’

      She made a valiant effort to keep the groan silent. She wasn’t entirely successful.

      ‘I know what I am. Not the first driver you’d think of if you were looking for someone to take the wheel of the newest limousine in Capitol’s fleet.’

      ‘You’re doing just fine.’ Then, before she was overcome with gratitude, ‘Just promise that you won’t abandon me to the dull and efficient Jack Lumley and I won’t breathe a word about just how “natural” you can get to Sadie Redford.’

      She swallowed. ‘You wouldn’t …’

      ‘Shall we go?’

       Oh … sheikh …

      ‘I’m just going to bring the car round,’ she said and, aiming for Miss Efficiency, checked her watch—anything to avoid those dark, amused