‘Surely you were told that royalty never carries its own bags?’
Now she was quite sure he was laughing.
‘The rumour is that they don’t carry money either and you should know that I can’t help you there.’ Then, ‘Besides, I really shouldn’t leave the car.’
‘Are you refusing to come with me?’ he enquired, a faint edge beneath the chocolate silk of his unbelievably sexy accent. A reminder that she was there at his bidding. ‘The school run is that appealing?’
Maybe she’d been too quick to leap to judgement on the ‘kind’, she decided, locking the door and following him without another word.
Inside a store of aircraft hangar proportions, aisle upon aisle of shelves were stocked with everything a child- and quite a few grown-ups-could possibly desire.
Diana found herself staring at the shopping trolleys, the serve-yourself warehouse-style shelving, not through her own eyes, but through the eyes of a man for whom ‘self-service’ was undoubtedly an unexplored concept.
It was most definitely another one of those ‘oh, sheikh’ moments.
‘So much for this being quicker,’ he said, looking around. ‘How on earth do you find what you’re looking for?’
‘With difficulty,’ she admitted, realising that at one of those Top People’s stores, someone would have found exactly what he was looking for in an instant. ‘The, um, idea is to get you to pass as many shelves as possible. That way you’re more likely to impulse buy.’ Then, ‘How many people, do you suppose, leave with the one item they came in to buy?’
He turned to look at her. ‘That sounds like the voice of experience.’
‘Isn’t that what I’m here for? My experience? You’re the one who bought something made of glass for a little girl.’
‘Actually…’He stopped, shook his head. ‘I take your point, although I’m now beginning to think I’d be better advised to buy Ameerah shares in the company.’
‘Shares in a toy shop?’ she said, clutching her hands to her heart. ‘Now why didn’t my parents think of that?’
‘Because they’re not so much fun to play with, I imagine,’ he said seriously. ‘Not what a little girl imagines for her birthday surprise.’
‘True, but just think what I could do with them now.’ His brows rose slightly, inviting an explanation. ‘Instead of the five-minute gratification of a plastic car for my favourite doll, I could now afford to buy my own taxi. Be my own boss.’ Then, because his eyebrows lifted another millimetre, ‘I’d go for the fun version in sparkly pink, obviously…’
CHAPTER TWO
ZAHIR watched as Metcalfe swiftly turned and walked across to the enquiry desk, jolted out of his preconceived notion of who she was, what she was.
Not just an attractive young woman at the wheel of a car, but an attractive young woman with aspirations, dreams.
Not so long ago, he’d been there.
People assumed that because he had been born the grandson of the Emir of Ramal Hamrah life had fallen into his lap. Maybe they had a point. He’d been indulged, he knew that, with every benefit that life could bestow, including a privileged education in England, the freedom of post-graduate studies in America. But there was a price to pay.
Duty to his country, obedience to the family.
He’d spent two years in the desert, with his own life on hold, as companion to his grieving cousin. His reward had come when Hanif, seeing that his heart lay not with the slow-grinding wheels of government, but in the fast- moving world of big business, had given him his first chance. Had given his own precious time to convince his father that he should be allowed to tread his own path.
Had taken time to explain that what he was doing was as important for his country as playing the diplomat, the courtier, particularly when he would be such a reluctant one.
Even so, he’d had to go to the market for the money he’d needed to build his empire from the ground up, but, while his name could not guarantee success, he knew it had opened doors for him. People had been polite, inclined to listen, because of who he was, whereas even now he could see that his chauffeur was getting the most grudging attention from the assistant at the desk.
‘Do they have what we’re looking for?’ he asked, joining her.
‘Who knows?’
As she went to ask for help from an assistant, Diana was desperately wishing she’d gone for the obvious shopping destination instead of trying to be clever. In Knightsbridge she would have had to stay with the car to fend off the traffic warden while he ‘shopped’ all by himself.
‘If they have any they’ll be with the novelty items.’ Her imitation of the assistant’s couldn’t-be-bothered gesture, made without looking up from whatever she was finding so gripping in the magazine she was reading, was meant to be ironic. ‘Over there, apparently.’
Maybe Sheikh Zahir didn’t ‘get’ irony because he turned to the woman behind the desk and said, ‘We don’t have a great deal of time…’he paused to check out her name tag ‘…Liza. Would you be kind enough to show us exactly where we can find what we’re looking for?’
She turned a page and said, ‘Sorry. I can’t leave my desk.’
Big mistake that, Diana thought, warmed by his ‘we’.
‘I can’t’, as she’d already discovered for herself, did not impress him one bit.
‘The sign above your desk says “Customer Service”,’ he pointed out and then, as she sighed and finally looked up, he smiled at her.
Diana watched, torn between outrage and amusement as, without another word, the assistant leapt to her feet and scurried round the desk.
‘This way,’ she said, switching on a smile of her own. One of the hundred watt variety.
‘We seem to have beaten the system, Metcalfe,’ Sheikh Zahir said as, with a gesture, he invited her to follow the woman.
‘Nice work,’ she said, ‘but somehow I don’t think that technique would work for me.’
That earned her a smile of her own. Rather less than he had used on the assistant, but at the same time more, she thought.
Less teeth. More eyes.
‘You use what you have,’ he said with a shrug.
Fortunately, before she was called upon to reply, they arrived at a shelf lined with a colourful selection of snow globes.
‘Cinderella. Snow White. The Princess and the Frog.’ The assistant, her attention now fully engaged by Sheikh Zahir, indicated the range on display. She couldn’t have been more enthusiastic if she’d made each one personally. By hand.
‘Thank you,’ Sheikh Zahir said as he picked up the Princess and the Frog.
‘If there’s anything else…?’ she offered, lingering, transformed by his smile into a candidate for Customer Services Assistant of the Year award.
‘I’ll be sure to come and find you.’
It was polite, but there was no doubt about it. She’d been dismissed. Diana almost felt sorry for her as she backed away, dragging her tongue after her. Almost.
‘The Princess and the Frog, Metcalfe?’ he asked, holding out the globe for an explanation.
He had beautiful hands. Not pampered or soft. There was an old scar running across his knuckles and, although his fingers were long, thin even, it was the slenderness of tensile steel.
‘I am not familiar with this fairy tale,’ he said.
‘I’m surprised you know any of them,’ she said, forcing herself to focus on the globe. It contained a scene in
