Rashid’s own future path was less well delineated. His choices wider. But he feared Bahiyaa was right. He would not be satisfied by a relationship based on duty and friendship.
He had told Polly he would choose his own bride and he stood by that. He, and only he, would determine what would best suit him in a wife. And what would suit him was a woman who understood he was an Arab at heart.
However he’d come to it, Amrah was the place his soul felt at peace. It was foolishness to suppose a woman brought up with the freedoms of the West would live happily here and that must guide his choice.
It could not, would not, be a woman like Polly.
He turned his head at Karim’s tap on the door. His aide held the papers he’d been waiting for.
‘Everything you asked for is here, Prince Rashid.’
Rashid nodded. ‘Leave the file on my desk.’ He turned back to fill his lungs with the early morning air, looking out across the courtyard garden.
His feelings about Polly were complicated. Bahiyaa, despite it all, was a romantic, but even she had counselled he ‘love wisely’.
‘Wisely’ could not mean loving a woman who was related by marriage to a man he would ruin. And he would have justice. Bahiyaa didn’t understand that not to would lay him open to ridicule throughout the racing world. His actions would be moderate but decisive. Not revenge. Justice.
He would also act to minimise the consequences to both Polly and her mother. That was the act of an honourable man.
With no real appetite for the job at hand, Rashid sat himself at his desk and worked his way through the latest developments in their investigation. Written confirmation of what he’d already been told verbally. His agent admitted accepting payment from the Duke of Missenden.
The betrayal of a man he’d considered a close friend had wounded him deeply, but his way was clear. With immense regret he would instruct Karim to make the necessary phone calls. Quietly he would let it be known Farid had forged documentation. He would never be in a position where he could accept a bribe again.
And it saddened Rashid.
As did the details of how Shelton was run, where the day-to-day finance of the castle came from, how many staff were employed on the estate…
What was clear was that Karim’s request for the money paid for Golden Mile to be returned could only happen if the Duke of Missenden sold Shelton Castle. And only if he was given a very generous deadline to meet his obligation.
Everything Polly had worked for would be lost. It would be little consolation to her to know it was the consequence of her stepbrother’s actions when it was his hand that wielded the justice.
Rashid shut the file and placed a stick-it note on the top, writing ‘Action. Proceed as arranged’ in his usual bold hand.
He had no choice, but it was the strangest feeling. He’d finally got the evidence he’d been waiting for, he’d given the instruction to proceed and yet he felt no sense of peace about it. No satisfaction.
And the reason for that was Polly.
Not only had they not turned up anything that incriminated her, they had referred to her as Shelton’s ‘salvation’. Without her input it seemed her stepbrother would have lost the castle eighteen months ago.
She was the chatelaine of the castle. It was her strength of character that took a skeleton staff and made it possible to host evenings like the one he’d first seen her at.
Sulaiman, one of his most trusted staff members, came in with a low bow. ‘Your guests are ready to leave, Your Highness.’
He stood immediately. Surely, Polly would agree he had a right to seek redress for a multimillion-pound fraud perpetrated against him?
But Bahiyaa had hit home. He had lied to Polly by omission. And he was going to take away something she’d devoted years of her life to. By the time she returned to England her life would have been altered in a way she could never have expected.
Rashid stepped out into the bright sunshine and immediately saw Polly standing a little away from the rest of her team, her hand shading her eyes, looking up at the vast doors to the palace. Just as she’d stood looking out across the rose garden.
She seemed to sense him because she turned and smiled. Involuntarily he walked towards her.
‘Karim says we are not permitted to take photographs of the palace. Are you sure about that?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Really?’
‘It is my home and, therefore, private.’
‘Shelton Castle is my home and we allow people to take photographs all the time.’
Guilt washed through him. He needed to tell her everything, but he wanted to do so in a way that would soften the blow.
He liked her. He admired her strength.
And for all he’d told himself he would keep his distance from her he still wanted to kiss her. If he’d been able to he would have held her close and shielded her from life’s blows with his own body.
She looked very different from the woman in the rose garden. Her face was clear of make-up, her blond hair secured in a single braid and her clothes were Western. Very much more the woman he’d first met at Shelton.
He wanted to kiss beneath her ear lobe and down the length of her neck to where her clavicle met her collarbone. Run his tongue along her bottom lip, coaxing, teasing…
Beyond foolish. Rashid moved away, walking towards the waiting cars.
Baz looked up from the maps he’d laid out across the bonnet. ‘Will we be taking the main coast road?’
He was deliberately slow to answer, and grateful when Steve sauntered over to ask, ‘How long a drive? It looks like it’ll take the best part of the day.’
Another lie by omission. At least this one was to ensure their safety.
‘Your Highness,’ Karim interrupted, ‘there is a telephone call I think you should take.’
A chill spread through him like ink through water. Rashid forced himself to swallow, finding his voice. ‘I apologise. I will be the shortest possible time.’ Abruptly he turned on his heel and walked back inside.
Karim kept pace. ‘It is His Highness Prince Hanif, Your Highness.’
He nodded, his emotions held taut. Rashid reached across his desk and picked up the receiver. ‘What news?’
His brother equally wasted no time. ‘I’ve just spoken to the consultant oncologist and we’re talking days. His kidneys have failed.’
It was news he’d been expecting, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. Days. Rashid looked up to see Bahiyaa standing in the doorway. ‘Is he still able to hold a conversation?’ he asked, his eyes watching for his sister’s reaction to his question.
‘Sporadically. He is taking large doses of morphine and is sleeping most of the time.’
‘Has he—?’ Rashid began.
‘No.’
No. He still refused to see Bahiyaa.
‘And I think we have passed the point we might have expected it.’
Rashid shook his head at his sister and she nodded. She had no tears left to cry and that ripped him apart. All that was left was acceptance.
‘Rashid, do you want to be here at the end? I’m sure he could be persuaded to see you. Or at the very least you could be sent for as soon as he slips into unconsciousness…’
His hand gripped the receiver until his knuckles showed white. What was the point of that? He could watch his father take his last breath—but only as long as his father wasn’t aware he was there to see it.
‘No.’
At the other end of the phone there was silence.
‘I will make sure nothing goes awry during filming. The next few days will be crucial for you. We will continue as we discussed.’
‘Rashid—’
‘We agreed.’
There was another lengthy pause. ‘Bahiyaa shouldn’t be alone. Should—’
‘She is here.’ Rashid motioned for his sister to come closer and passed her the receiver.
He turned his back to give her privacy, but he couldn’t help but hear her side of the conversation. It was punctuated by long pauses in which he could only imagine what Hanif was saying.
‘Perhaps it is better like this.’ Another pause and then Bahiyaa said, ‘Will you ring me as soon as you have… news?’
Quiet and dignified and completely in control of her emotions. Rashid heard the click as Bahiyaa ended the call and he came back to hold her in his arms.
She still didn’t cry but stood so stiffly and he couldn’t think of a single thing that might comfort her. Her father was dying, so angry with her he refused to see her. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ he asked softly.
‘No.’ Bahiyaa pulled back. ‘Nothing has changed. I want Hanif to be Amrah’s next king. Nothing must go wrong now. When he is King he will be able to give me my freedom.’
That was true. They had talked about it often. Bahiyaa clung to that with tenacity. It was her one hope.
‘Omeir will never be able to touch me again. I can endure far more than being here alone knowing that.’ She smiled. ‘But I am sorry you have suffered because of me. You should be with our father.’
Rashid leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘I am sorry you are suffering because of his blindness. He is wrong and makes his own choice.’
‘Where is he?’ Baz asked, looking at his watch for the fifteenth time. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘He’s a prince, we are but mortals,’ John quipped, pulling out a cigarette and patting his pocket for matches. ‘Light, anyone?’