‘A pleasing prospect, Mr Linton. However, quite unlikely. I have never had problems digesting monetary gain.’
I hid a smirk behind my champagne glass. ‘I can readily believe that, Sir.’
He watched me drinking, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. ‘Should you be drinking, Mr Linton? Remember what happened last time.’
My smirk widened into a grin.
‘Yes, that was fun.’
His eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch.
‘There was a gunfight. You were hallucinating. We nearly died.’
‘As I said, fun.’
‘I think we must agree to disagree on that, Mr Linton,’ he said coolly.
We lapsed into silence again. I wet my lips and opened my mouth - then closed it again. There was something I really wanted to ask. I didn’t, though. I was afraid of what the answer might be.
‘Messieurs! Voilà, your meal has arrived!’ The waiter swooped down on us like an eagle on a rabbit, only instead of grabbing us for his next meal, he brought us one. A steaming plate was set down in front of me, with a glistening, brown piece of something on it that looked incredibly soft and succulent. It also looked like nothing I had ever seen before, let alone eaten.
Bowing and smiling at me, the waiter departed. He completely ignored Mr Ambrose. I looked down at my plate, and tentatively picked up the thing on it with a fork. It wobbled.
‘You have no idea what foie gras is, do you?’ Mr Ambrose asked.
‘Of course I do!’ I sent him an indignant look. How dare he adopt this superior tone with me? I was a member of the gentry, after all. He was nothing but a paltry financier. Why should he just assume he knew more about French cuisine than I did? Granted, he might be right, but it was still a pretty darn cheeky supposition.
‘Indeed?’ The way he said that word alone made me want to stuff a fork down his throat. ‘Well, what is it, then?’
‘Um… it’s…’ I stared at the brown lump, trying to make deductions from the form and size. ‘Fish?’ I suggested, hopefully.
‘Not quite. Actually, it’s goose liver.’
‘Oh.’
Suddenly, I was acutely aware of how the ship pitched and rolled in the power of the waves, and I wasn’t quite so keen on tasting the French delicacy as a moment before. Raising my eyes, I saw Mr Ambrose watching me, his face perfectly expressionless, but his dark eyes slightly smug.
Ha! I’ll show him!
Quick as a flash I cut off a piece of the poor goose’s innards and stuffed it into my mouth before I could think better of it. Carefully, I bit down. It tasted surprisingly good. Not squishy at all, but soft and buttery.
‘Hmmm…’ Swallowing, I cut off another piece. ‘Quite nice. Yes, really quite nice.’ I tried the sauce that came with it, and the grin returned to my face. ‘Those Froggies really know what they’re doing in the kitchen.’
Cutting off another piece, I offered it to Mr Ambrose. ‘Do you want to try?’
Demonstratively, he took a piece of baguette from the bread basket and took a bite.
‘Oh well, suit yourself.’
We ate in silence for a while. I really enjoyed the meal. When you live off potatoes most of the time, tasting foie gras is something special simply for the scarcity value. Add to that the exquisite taste, and… well, it was just about heaven. I treasured every bite, knowing I wouldn’t taste something like this again for a long, long while. Even with my own wages, I would hardly be able to afford this on a regular basis. Especially if…
There it was again. That question. That question I didn’t want to ask.
I did it anyway.
‘Am I really that bad?’
My voice was quiet, hesitant. Mr Ambrose looked up from his plate, where he was cutting his baguette into geometrically similar pieces. ‘What?’
‘You intimated that after you had deducted money from my wages for all the things I had done wrong, there wouldn’t be anything left. Am I really that bad at my job, Sir?’
For once, there was no teasing, no scorn, no antagonism in my voice. That seemed to throw him off. He stared at me as if really seeing me for the first time. His dark eyes turned even darker.
‘No,’ he said, finally. ‘You are not. In fact…’ His jaw worked for a moment. ‘In fact, one might say your services have been moderately satisfactory, thus far.’
‘Satisfactory?’ Had I heard right? Had he just uttered praise? Praise, moreover, which in Mr Ambrose’s limited complimentary vocabulary equalled heavenly trumpets announcing a triumphal procession in honour of my utter perfection?
‘Relatively speaking, of course, Mr Linton. You are still no match for a real man, of course.’
For some reason, this didn’t make me want to bash his brains in. Instead, my lips twitched. ‘Of course.’
‘But for a member of the unmasculine persuasion, you showed considerable lack of fear, down in the mine.’
‘Courage, you mean, Sir?’ I inquired sweetly.
‘Courage would be too strong a word. I would be more inclined to attribute your actions to an impetuous nature and a tendency to rash behaviour. However, whatever the reasons might be, you exhibited a considerable lack of fear and weakness.’
‘You mean I was resilient, Sir? Strong, even?’
‘Those words are not the ones I would have chosen. It is more likely-’
‘-that my actions originated from some irrational part of my inferior mind, which simply didn’t grasp the danger, than from any real strength of character?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Why, thank you, Sir.’
‘You’re welcome, Mr Linton.’
Why was there a smile on my face? His compliments were badly disguised insults! He still was just as abominable a chauvinist as on the first day I met him. I should be shouting at him, demanding recognition of my work and my loyalty. I definitely should not be moving my right hand across the table towards where his left rested on the tablecloth.
And why was his hand suddenly starting to move, too, sliding over the table until his fingers touched mine? His fingertips brushed the back of my hand, and a little gasp escaped me. Suddenly, my mind felt very irrational indeed.
‘Will you pay me my wages?’ I asked softly. ‘Will you let me stay on?’
He seemed to weigh my words for an eternity.
‘I shouldn’t pay you a penny,’ he said, finally. ‘I should get rid of you as quickly as I can.’
It was I who remained silent now, for once. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he had told me what he thought he should do, not what he would do. So I waited in silence.
Without knowing why, I squeezed his hand. For some reason, it felt good to hold his hand, as if I were a ship in a storm, and he the line holding me in my safe harbour. Ridiculous, but there it was. The feeling wouldn’t go away.
‘Why?’ I asked, still in this soft tone of voice that was so totally unlike me. How had I managed to suddenly come up with it, without practising? Why was I even using it? ‘Why would you want to get rid of me? I was helpful, wasn’t I? We got your secret file back. Soon, you’ll be the unchallenged master of world trade. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
His fingers grasped mine more tightly.
‘But the danger…’
‘Well, there was a danger of not getting the file back. But it’s passed. So why worry?’
His eyes flashed with sharp shards of ice.
‘I was not talking about the file, Mr Linton!’ His fingers closed even more tightly around mine. It was as if they were squeezing my heart. I suddenly found I couldn’t speak.
‘What were you talking about, Sir?’
His dark eyes bored into mine, answering my question without words.
‘You remember how I told you to be careful?’ he asked, his gaze keeping mine prisoner. I nodded.
‘Down in the mine you were not careful. You never are!’
I swallowed, dislodging the lump in my throat that had kept me from speaking, and attempted a smile.
‘It would take all the fun out of life.’
His hand clenched around mine, almost breaking my fingers. Why the heck did feel good anyway?
‘You could have died!’