The Sheikh's Forbidden Jewel

Part 4 - Chapter 3

"Tell me what you're planning for my function."

Georgina didn't answer straight away. Her smoky eyes wandered around Idriss's office, alighting on the wall mosaics, the bronze faun in the corner, the silver goblet on his desk, in which he kept his pens. She let out a breath.

"Wow. It's like having a meeting in the British Museum."

Idriss picked up the bronze wolf he used as a paperweight and turned it between his fingers.

"I hired you to perform a service. Are you ready to start yet? Or should I find another supplier?"

She snapped to attention, her cheeks turning coral under the make-up. He let himself enjoy the little surge of satisfaction. She pulled a tablet computer out of her bag.

"I jotted down a few ideas on the plane. Theme, food, music..."

He raised a hand, stopping her in mid-flow.

"I haven't even told you what the party's for."

She tapped the screen, unfazed.

"You're planning to open a new museum in St-Roseline. The party is to advertise it. You've invited local politicians, museum curators from every capital in the world, leading archaeologists... And journalists, of course."

The surprise must have registered on his face; she chuckled.

"Why look so shocked? You've invited three hundred guests. It's not an intimate get-together. I researched it on the way here, I used this thing called the Internet. Perhaps you've heard of it, if you're not always knee-deep in history."

No one ever spoke to him like that. Not these days. And to his surprise, he found himself enjoying her insolence. Perhaps he was spending too much time with yes-men and yes-please women. Georgina's presence felt bracing, like a dip in the cool sea after too much sun.

"Thank you for the sarcasm, Miss Beaufort."

He deliberately used her name, but not her title. She didn't seem to care. The young Georgina hadn't cared either, she didn't want to be a Lady. Or claimed she didn't.

How much of a lady was she, these days?

"Tell me about your museum. What period?" she asked, in her professional tone.

He pushed the little wolf in her direction.

"This one."

She assessed the statuette with a practised eye.

"Roman. That's an easy one."

He watched her write a note on her tablet. A memory popped up. The twelve year old Georgina, curled up on a warm rock, lost in a book about... Romans, Vikings, medieval knights? She'd loved them all. And she hadn't forgotten them, it seemed. He folded up the image, locked it away. He'd brought her here so she'd reveal her family's plans, and organise that blasted party. Not to indulge in sentimental trips down memory lane.

"Easy?"

He packed enough scepticism in the word to make her react, which was what he wanted. To rip off that cool business-like mask, reveal the red nature beneath...

Her voice rose an octave as she waved her tablet at him.

"I've handled more challenging themes than that. First: food. We'll have a traditional Roman banquet."

He didn't keep the sarcasm out his voice.

"Rotten fish sauce and dormouse canapés?"

She made another note.