princess and the jewels I always assumed were the tall stories.' Her great-great-grandfather had braved artillery fire to carry wounded soldiers to safety, had a Military Medal to attest to his heroism, and she wasn't having him publicly branded a thief. 'Great-Great-Grandma Fatima was real enough. I have a photograph of her.'

There was a stiffly posed sepia-tinted photograph of a tall, exotically handsome woman, standing behind her seated husband, in the "family gallery" on the kitchen dresser.

'And a letter. In Arabic…'

'Well…' For a moment he appeared lost for words-twice in one day had to be a record. 'Well, you have a real story. And a rich treasure. Knives like these are very much in demand, and if you were to put it up for auction in a specialist sale…'

He mentioned some ridiculous sum of money, and all around her she heard gasps. And she was the one left struggling for words.

It was, Violet thought, numbly, a bit like a fairy tale.

She'd been in her late grandmother's bedroom, emptying her wardrobe, sorting out what was good enough to send to the chaiity shop, when she'd stepped back and gone through a floorboard that had creaked for as long as she could remember. And then, having pulled out her foot, she'd seen the carefully wrapped black silk bundle.

Buried treasure.

She was still in shock when the photographer from the local newspaper said, 'Smile!' and took her photograph.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, Fayad,' the ambassador said, but the press attache has just received a call from the news desk of the London Chronicle about a story they're running tomorrow. It's something I thought you might want to know about.'

Sheikh Fayad al Kuwani, grandson to the ruler of Ras al Kawi, looked up from his laptop. His cousin would not have disturbed him unless it was something important.

'What scandal has my father visited upon us now?' he asked, sitting back, prepared for the worst.