‘Stay!’ I told it. ‘I’m going to go to powder my little toe now, and you’re going to stay right where you are. Understood?’
The floor nodded, and I raised my chin in triumph. There! I had gained a complete victory. The little yellow piggies cheered and applauded as I paraded past the desk to the little door behind it.
The powder room was just as I remembered it. One toilet, one shower, and no powder at all. Not even gunpowder. But then, I had come to shower, not to blow things up, so maybe that was just as well.
It was a little darker in the room than the last time I had been in here, though. For a moment I wondered why, until I remembered.
Of course! It’s nighttime, and that bright thingy in the sky is missing. What’s it called again?
The sun! Yes, that’s what it was called.
So… you need those other thingamies now. Those whatyemaycallit… lamps!
Dear me! I was really quite impressed by my vast memory and intellect. It even led me to suspect that there might be some sort of switch for the lamps beside the door - and voilà, I was right! My fingers found the switch and turned it.
Bright light exploded from my left and I gave a little gasp, shielding my eyes from the sudden invasion. After a few seconds of familiarization, I took my hand from my eyes and saw that the room was now bathed in a soft yellow light. Now all I needed was for me to be bathed, too - only with water instead of light.
The shower head protruded from the left wall, over a broad, white, ceramic basin. Of course, it had absolutely no gold ornaments or other adornments like any other decent upper-class British bathroom. This was Mr Ambrose’s shower, after all. At the moment, though, I didn’t care about ornaments. All I cared about was that water would come out of the pipes.
Closing the door behind me, I strode over to the shower. For some strange reason, I felt as though I had forgotten something, but the prospect of the shower was so alluring I put it out of my mind.
The floor in here seemed to be friendlier than the office floor. It only wobbled slightly once or twice as I made my way across the room.
‘Good floor,’ I mumbled. ‘Nice floor. That’s right. Just stay where you are.’
The floor obeyed, and soon I had reached my destination and could grab one of the pipes for support.
I noticed there wasn’t just a shower, there were towels, too. Perfect! Though a bit strange, admittedly. Who kept bath towels in his office?
He probably practically lives here.
Well, all the better. I wasn’t in the mood to drive miles to our bathtub at home, and I needed the calming feel of water on my skin. Maybe my head would feel a little clearer after I sprinkled a little water on it.
Humming contentedly to myself, I slipped out of my remaining clothes, getting it done much more quickly than usual. Trousers were really handy things to wear, compared with hoop skirts. I grabbed one of the towels, all of which, of course, weren’t made of embroidered terry cloth, but simple white linen. They felt so smooth and cool that they reminded me of him. Wrapping myself in them was almost like wrapping myself in him. It felt nice.
But… wasn’t I supposed to do that only after the shower? I felt a bit confused. Oh well, it couldn’t hurt and, as mentioned before, it felt so nice. I was so engrossed in the task of wrapping the towels tightly around me that I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps outside.
Only when the door swung open and I heard a gasp behind me did I realize I was no longer alone.
‘Mr Linton!’
Drat! I knew I had forgotten something. Nobody was supposed to be able to come in, right? Though I couldn’t remember how or why exactly…
I turned, towels pressed against my chest, just in time to see Mr Ambrose back out of the room, his eyes tightly shut. The door slammed behind him.
‘Mr Linton?’ His voice came from the other side of the door. Was it just my imagination, or did he sound just a little bit not his usual cool self?
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘The next time you decide to use my private bathroom, would you be so kind as to bolt the door?’
Bolts! That’s how you made sure the door didn’t open. I remembered it now. With effort, I squinted at the door.
‘I can’t, Sir. There’s no bolt on it.’
‘Of course there isn’t!’ he snapped. ‘Do you think I would waste money having a bolt installed on the door of a bathroom which only I ever use?’
I nodded gravely. ‘Of course not, Sir. Time is money is pumpernickel, right?’
‘Power, Mr Linton, power. Not pumpernickel.’
‘Oh. Right you are, Sir!’
‘Next time you go in there without informing me, wedge a chair under the door! Understood, Mr Linton?’
I nodded again. That sounded like a sound policy.
‘Yes, Sir. As you say, Sir. And by the way… I think you can stop calling me “Mister” Linton now.’ I giggled a little. ‘You’ve probably seen enough evidence to the contrary.’
‘Mister Linton!’
‘No, no. Not Mister. Didn’t you hear what I just said?’
There was a silence from the other side of the door.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’ I asked. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I am counting to ten to calm myself. Do not disturb me, Mr Linton.’
‘As you wish, Sir.’
I tried to count along, to know when it would be all right to speak again, but it didn’t quite work. Every time I got to three I sort of stumbled and couldn’t remember the number that came next.
‘Mr Linton?’ His voice finally came from the other side.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Tell me when you are done in there. I, too, am not completely clean and wish to freshen up before retiring for the night.’
‘You can come in now, if you want,’ I offered generously. ‘There’s room enough for both of us here.’
‘No!’
He sounded quite adamant. That was strange. Confused, I looked around the bathroom.
‘Yes, there is. Don’t you know the size of your own bathroom? There’s plenty of room, believe me.’
‘I am not disputing that. However, I still cannot come in.’
I frowned. He was so stubborn sometimes. ‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ he explained to me, his voice painfully calm, ‘persons of different sexes do not shower together. Society generally frowns on that kind of thing.’
My frown deepened as I tried to concentrate. If I tried very hard, I vaguely seemed to remember something of the sort.
‘But Napoleon is in here with me, too,’ I pointed out, waving at the Emperor, who was leaning against the opposite wall, playing chess with one of members of the piggy dance troupe.
‘Err, well… he’s a Frenchman. That’s different.’
Before I had a chance to argue, I heard hurried footsteps receding on the other side of the door. Strange. Why had he run away?
Pouting, I removed my towels and stepped under the shower. It would have been a novel experience taking a shower with somebody else. For some reason I couldn’t recall at the moment, I had never done it before. Thoughtfully, I eyed Napoleon on the other side of the room, but he didn’t seem interested. He was much too engrossed in his game of chess. The yellow piggy appeared to be winning, and the Emperor’s face was set in grim lines of concentration.
Ah well, it would be a new experience anyway. To be honest, I had never stood under a shower before. They were a pretty new and fancy invention - expensive, too, by all I had heard. Much more expensive than the traditional bathtub. Mr Ambrose probably only had installed one because he had calculated that in thirty-seven years or so, the water he had saved would justify the additional investment.
Money is power is pumpernickel, right?
Oh well, there couldn’t be that much difference between a hot bath and a hot shower. Shrugging, I grasped the tap and turned it.
A banshee-like scream echoed through the halls of Empire House. Outside the door, I could hear the sound of running footsteps, and then Mr Ambrose’s voice, calling: ‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, has something happened?’