Sadie touched her shoulder, a gesture that said she understood. ‘Let’s see how it goes today, shall we?’

Okay. She got the message. This was her opportunity to show what she could do; it was up to her to make the most of it.

Diana responded to the challenge by peeling off the latex gloves she used for cleaning out the minibus with a decisive snap. Then she stepped out of her garage overalls and replaced them with well-pressed trousers, a fresh white shirt and, instead of her usual Capitol Cars sweatshirt, her rarely worn burgundy uniform jacket.

Sadie, consulting a sheet on the clipboard she was holding, said, ‘Sheikh Zahir is flying into the City Airport in his private jet, ETA seventeen-fifteen hours. Wait in the short-term parking area. The VIP hostess has the number of the car phone and she’ll give you a call when his plane touches down so that you can be at the kerb, waiting for him.’

‘Got it.’

‘His first stop will be his country’s embassy in Belgravia. He’ll be there for an hour, then you’re to take him to his hotel in Park Lane before leaving at nineteen-forty-five hours for a reception at the Riverside Gallery on the South Bank, followed by dinner in Mayfair. All the addresses are on the worksheet.’

‘Belgravia, Mayfair…’ Diana, unable to help herself, grinned as she buttoned up her jacket. ‘Be still my beating heart. Is this a dream? Should I pinch myself?’

‘Don’t go all starry-eyed on me, Di. And keep in touch, okay? Any problems, I want to hear about them from you, not the client.’

Sheikh Zahir bin Ali al-Khatib was still working as the jet touched down and taxied to the terminal.

‘We’ve arrived, Zahir.’ James Pierce removed the laptop, passed it on to a secretary to deal with, and replaced it with a gift-wrapped package.

Zahir frowned, trying to recall what it was. Then, remembering, he looked up. ‘You managed to find exactly what she wanted?’ he demanded.