Modern Romance Collection: June 2018 Books 5 - 8. Jane Porter
to see how the Prince had taken this latest insult. Apart from a muscle flicking in his jaw, he remained unmoved. ‘I’m taking the girl,’ he said, ‘and I want the mother gone by the time I return. Her daughter should not be left alone at night with so many unpleasant characters roaming King’s Dock.’
A gasp of affront greeted this remark. The Sheikh remained unconcerned. ‘But she won’t be on her own, will you, my dear? She’ll have you,’ he added with a sneer for Prince Khalid.
By this time, Millie was consumed with fear for her mother. ‘I can’t leave her,’ she told the Prince when he tried to usher her away.
Gripping her arm firmly, he warned, ‘Don’t get any ideas. You’re leaving now.’
‘Not without my mother,’ Millie said stubbornly.
‘Get her out of here!’ her mother yelled with an angry gesture in Millie’s direction.
Having finally dislodged herself from the Sheikh’s embrace, her mother was standing with her fists tightly clenched. ‘You’re nothing but a little killjoy,’ she railed at Millie. ‘You always spoil my fun!’
Gasping with hurt, Millie was barely aware that the door of the grand salon had slammed behind her, making her last memory of that night her mother’s voice screaming at her to go.
* * *
‘What’s your name?’ he asked the pale, tense child as he escorted her off the Sapphire. He needed something to distract her from the ordeal, and wanted to keep her talking. She seemed so unnaturally quiet.
There was a silence and then, to his relief, she said in a strained whisper, ‘Millicent.’
‘Millicent?’ he repeated. ‘I like your name.’ It suited the girl with her serious demeanour, heavy glasses and neatly braided hair.
‘People call me Millie,’ she added shyly as they left the shadows behind and exited the vessel into clean ocean air.
The child was as refreshing as the ocean, he thought, and he was determined to do what he could to protect her from harm. ‘What do you like to be called?’ he asked when she turned back to stare up at the shaded windows behind which they both knew her mother would continue to party.
‘Me?’ She frowned and then refocused on his face. ‘I like to be called Millie.’
‘Millie,’ he repeated.
‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked, surprising him with her quick recovery.
‘If I can,’ he agreed.
They had reached the head of the gangplank, where she drew to a halt. ‘Will you tell my mother to leave?’ she begged earnestly. ‘She might listen to you. Will you find her a cab and send her home? I’ve got some money. I can pay you—’
‘You’ve got your bus fare home?’ he guessed. She was young, but she was sensible. She had to be, he thought.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed. Her forehead pleated with surprise, as if common sense were second nature to the daughter, if not the mother. ‘Of course I do. Well? Will you?’ she pressed.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he agreed.
‘Please,’ she pressed. ‘Promise me you’ll try.’
Something about her steady gaze compelled him to answer in the affirmative. ‘I promise. Now go home and do your school work.’
He followed her gaze with interest as something else occurred to her. She was staring at his brother’s chauffeur, who was standing stiffly to attention at the side of the royal limousine. He saluted as Khalid approached.
‘He’s been standing here for ages,’ Millie whispered discreetly. ‘Could you bring him a glass of water before he takes me home?’
‘Me?’ he exclaimed.
‘Why not you?’ she demanded. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your legs, is there?’
Her cheeky comment took him by surprise. She had spirit, and to spare.
‘He brought me here,’ she explained, ‘so I know he must be tired.’
Completely unaware of status or rank, she was a novelty, and a welcome reminder that their respective positions in life had been decided by an accident of birth. Her cheeks blushed red as he pointed out the iced water dispensers, both in the front and the back of the vehicle. ‘He’s fine,’ he explained in the same confiding tone. ‘Give him your address and he’ll see you home safely.’
‘And my mother?’ she said, staring back at the ship.
‘I’ll do what I can.’ He ground his jaw with disgust at the prospect of returning on board. ‘Never put yourself in such danger again,’ he added in his sternest tone.
She didn’t flinch as she retorted fiercely, ‘I never will.’
He watched the vehicle pull away with its lonely figure seated upright in the back. With her school satchel at her side, and her hands folded neatly on her lap, Millie stared straight ahead. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to her mother, and his last thought before turning to the ship was that Millie was a good girl who deserved better than this.
Eight years later...
‘OKAY, IT’S WORKING AGAIN.’ Satisfied with her handiwork, Millie stepped away from the boiler she’d just repaired.
‘You’re a gem,’ Miss Francine, the octogenarian who had worked at the laundry since she was a girl, and who now owned the business, beamed at Millie as she enveloped her favourite worker in a hug. ‘I don’t know anyone else who has the patience to coax these old machines back to life. What would I do without you?’
‘We’d go down to the stream and beat the yachties’ sheets clean with stones,’ a girl called Lucy suggested dryly.
With a grin for her friend, Millie plucked a pencil from her bundled-up hair to make notes on how to start up the ancient boiler should it fail when she had returned to her apprenticeship as a marine engineer.
‘You’d better not beat the Sheikh of Khalifa’s golden sheets clean,’ Lucy observed, matching Millie’s grin. ‘He might keel-haul you, or... What?’ she demanded when both Millie and Miss Francine froze in horror.
‘Nothing,’ Millie said quietly, forcing her face to relax as she flashed a warning look at Miss Francine to say nothing. ‘I didn’t know the Sheikh’s yacht had berthed, that’s all.’
Lucy flung her arms wide like a proud fisherman demonstrating the improbable size of his latest catch. ‘It’s enormous! You couldn’t miss it, if you hadn’t had your head stuck in the boiler cupboard.’
Then, thank goodness she had, Millie thought.
‘When did those sheets come in?’ Miss Francine asked, obviously trying to distract from a topic she knew Millie would not want to discuss.
Lucy held out the yards of gold fabric overflowing her arms. ‘The housekeeper from the Sapphire brought them, saying they needed special handling.’
‘Ripping up?’ Millie suggested beneath her breath. The golden sheets reminded her of one particular night and all its heartwrenching associations.
Miss Francine stepped in to her rescue again. ‘If a yacht the size of the Sapphire has berthed, we must get back to work. We’ll have laundry coming out of our ears,’ she enthused, with an anxious look at Millie. ‘And it might be the pressing machine that goes next.’
‘Well, I’m here if it does break down,’ Millie soothed, appreciating the change of subject.
‘Are you