Don’t get your hopes up. Nothing particularly exciting happened.
There wasn’t another theft. No two villains staged a sword-fight in the middle of my office or anything like that. Oh no. What happened was far more mundane and far nastier:
For the very first time, Mr Ambrose did not get rid of me early. For the very first time, I ended up having to working the entire day. The entire day, do you hear me?
Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not lazy or anything. It was simply that staying at the office the whole day meant that, for the first time, I had to deal with some basic needs that I hadn’t been concerned about before. The half hour Mr Ambrose allowed us for lunch took care of one of those needs: I ran out of the building and purchased something to stuff myself with. With what money, you may ask, since I hadn’t received my first pay cheque yet?
All right, I admit it. I was a bad girl. I had pawned Uncle Bufford’s walking cane. Since he hadn’t gone out walking for years, I figured he wouldn’t miss it. And I’d get it back as soon as I had my first wages. I had promised myself that.
So I wasn’t hungry when I returned to work. Yet over the course of the afternoon, another more pressing need made itself known to me. You could stay alive for several weeks without eating anything, I’d heard, but this need in the lower half of my body required more immediate release. Especially since Mr Ambrose kept me on my feet, hurrying around the room, fetching files, which didn’t exactly combine well with the building pressure down there.
Another message landed on my desk with a plink.
Mr Linton,
Bring me file 29IV229.
Rikkard Ambrose
I stood up - and suddenly knew that file 29IV229 would have to wait a little longer. I hurried out of the room into the hallway. Mr Stone looked up from his paperwork as I approached.
‘Excuse me, Mr Stone?’ I squeaked. Quickly, I cleared my throat. ‘Excuse me?’ That was better, though my voice was still slightly higher than befitted my role as a gentleman. ‘Do you know where the bathroom is?’
‘Certainly, Mr Linton.’ He pointed down the hall. ‘Two floors down, then take the first door on the left.’
Ugh! Stairs. Would I survive that? I could only hope.
‘Thank you!’ I squeaked, and hurried off.
Shortly afterwards, I returned, my steps a lot more measured and careful. My voice was still unnaturally high when I inquired:
‘Err… Mr Stone?’
‘Yes, Mr Linton?’
‘Are there any other toilets in the building? Maybe some that actually have cubicles?’
He frowned. ‘No, I don't think so. Why?’
‘Never mind!’
Back in my office, I saw two messages on my desk. Just as I closed the door behind me, a third landed beside the other two.
Mr Linton,
I refer back to my previous message. Bring me the aforementioned file.
Rikkard Ambrose
And the second one:
Mr Linton,
I’m waiting.
Rikkard Ambrose.
And the third one.
Mr Linton,
I am becoming impatient. Do not try me. Bring me file 29IV229. Now.
Rikkard Ambrose.
Bugger! What was I going to do? I couldn’t fetch the file! I probably wouldn’t get to the shelves without… well, I might not be a very polite lady, but even I wouldn’t mention that. Quickly, I considered the roads which were open to me. Could I get through the entire day like this? No, definitely not. That left two options:
A) Do it in the waste paper basket
B) Talk to Mr Ambrose
It said a lot about the personality of my dear master that option A actually sounded like the better alternative to me. However, checking the waste paper basket I discovered that, although once made of solid cast iron, it was now so old that it had rusted through at the bottom, making it unsuitable for containing fluids of any kind. There was nothing for it. I had to gather up my courage and confront the monster in its lair.
~~*~~*
I knocked.
‘May I come in?’
‘Do you have the file?’ asked a voice from inside - that terse, cool voice which I already knew so well.
‘No, but there’s something else.’
‘Important?’
‘Yeees!’
‘Then come in.’
Slowly, I entered. The office hadn’t altered much from the last time I’d seen it. The big map had disappeared off the desk and, instead, heaps of paper were lying on it. I was a bit surprised that I recognized most of them: they were the files Mr Ambrose had told me to bring him, and he was working through them diligently. So he wasn’t just ordering me around to annoy me. Good to know, if slightly unexpected.
I stepped in front of my employer’s desk and cleared my throat.
No reaction. He didn’t even look up. Instead, he picked up his fountain pen and began writing on a piece of paper.
I cleared my throat again. And again.
‘Do you have a cough, Mr Linton?’ he asked without looking up. He continued writing.
‘No, Sir. I have a question.’
‘Then put it and leave. I have work to do.’
‘Well, err… it’s a bit delicate.’
‘Then put it delicately and leave.’
Ordinarily, his ice-cold manner would have gotten my dander up. But at the moment, my thoughts were fully occupied by a certain pressing matter.
‘Err… yes, Sir. You see, I have to do some urgent… business.’
He tapped the stacks of paper with his free hand. ‘So have I.’
‘I’m sure, Sir. It’s just that my business is somewhat more personal than yours. I, um, need to powder my nose.’
That was the first time he looked up. With his dark, sea-coloured eyes, he stared at my face intently.
‘Why? Your nose looks fine to me.’
‘Um… thanks for the compliment, but…’
‘If you absolutely must,’ he continued, bending his head again and continuing his writing, ‘you can do it here. I don't mind.’
I nearly choked.
‘Err… Mr Ambrose?’
‘Are you still here, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir. I wanted to ask - have you been out in society much?’
He didn’t look up again. His fountain pen flew over the paper. Blue lines of ink spread over it with graceful ease. ‘No. I detest society. Ever since I’ve returned to England I’ve been far too busy with my business, anyway. Why?’
‘Because you seem a bit behind on social idioms. You see… to “powder your nose” is a phrase that ladies use when they want to indicate to gentlemen that they need to pee.’
There was a loud snap. When I looked, I saw that Mr Ambrose’s fountain pen had snapped in half under the sudden pressure of his fingers. Ink dripped out of the half he still held.
‘Then,’ he said in a very measured, calm voice, ‘please do not do it here.’
I nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Why don't you just do it somewhere else, then?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice wasn’t quite as calm and collected as usual anymore. My, my. Was the great businessman at a loss? I had to hide my smirk.
‘Well, Sir, I checked, and there’s a bathroom downstairs. But it’s only a pissoir, with no separate cubicles. And well, I know you think of me as a gentleman, Mr Ambrose, but I think some of the other staff members might disagree once I let my trousers down.’
‘I see your point.’
Still not looking up, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one of the country’s richest and most powerful businessmen, pondered the question of where I might pee this afternoon. If I hadn’t been so literally filled with anticipation, I might have burst out laughing. As it was, I preferred standing still.
Finally, he said:
‘You can use mine. It’s in there.’
And he pointed toward a small door at the back of the office that I hadn’t noticed before.
‘Err… your what, Sir?’
‘My toilet. Go do what you need to do, and then get back to work. I don't pay you for standing around.’
I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly. ‘You want me to use your personal…’
He looked up, sharply.
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir!’
‘What did we talk about in the last five minutes?’
Suddenly I got the feeling that an awful lot depended on me making the right answer.
‘Err… business, Sir?’
‘Very good. What kind of business?’