‘I know, Sir. I stayed anyway.’ Swallowing, I tried to gather my courage. ‘What is in the stolen file? What have they taken from you?’
His eyes flashed again. They looked more like the sea than ever. But if before they had been stormy, now there was a thunderstorm in progress. ‘I already told you that you will never know. I do not appreciate my time being wasted with unnecessary questions.’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’
‘It may surprise you to hear this, Mr Linton, but as your employer, I am in charge, and you have to do what I say. So if I do not wish to tell you something, I am perfectly well within my rights. Your incessant questions are wasting valuable time.’
I gave him my most charming smile. ‘Then why not just tell me anyway? It would mean I’d never have to waste your time again.’
There were a few moments of silence. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. His silence invaded your ears and pressed on your mind, making you wish for a single word to relieve you of the freezing, cold emptiness.
‘Because,’ he finally said, his voice lower than usual, ‘your life has been put in danger enough already.’
My breath hitched. What did he mean? He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant, could he? He couldn’t mean that to get that piece of paper, somebody might try to kill me?
And the more important question: Why the heck would he care if they did?
‘And,’ he added in a more usual, cool tone of voice, ‘because my last secretary sold this secret to my enemies. Something I wish not to happen again. I have plenty of enemies left.’
Indignation rose up in me. ‘Do you honestly dare to suggest that I might betray you like that?’
He pondered the question for a moment.
‘Yes,’ he finally decided, nodding dispassionately. ‘Everyone has his price.’
‘I would never betray you,’ I said with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. He looked at me intently for a moment - then quickly looked down at the papers on his desk.
‘Bring me the file box I asked for, Mr Linton.’
I didn’t move. ‘When Simmons gives up his information-’ I began.
‘I will inform you,’ he cut me off. ‘Go get the file box, Mr Linton. Now!’
Ouch. What crawled up his derrière and died?
I quickly cut off that line of thinking because it made me think about his derrière, and that wasn’t a place I wanted my thoughts to go after the disturbing dreams I’d had last night.
Liar, a little voice in the back of my brain cackled.
I’m not lying! I assured myself. I have no interest in Mr Ambrose’s derrière. None whatsoever!
Quickly, I hurried off to fetch the aforementioned box. And then the next. And the next. And for the entire rest of the day, I managed to keep my thoughts off Mr Ambrose’s rather nice-looking behind. Yes, I did.
And how were things at home? Well, my aunt was pretty miffed about Lieutenant Ellingham’s disappearance but was consoled by Sir Philip’s frequent evening visits. They became so frequent, in fact, that Ella missed several rendezvous with Edmund and became increasingly agitated. She didn’t even notice my frequent absence from the house while I was at work.
My friends did, of course. Since our last day out in the park, a considerable time had passed, and they were wondering how it could be that I had so little time on my hands these days - until Ella let slip that I had a secret lover. Then they laughed themselves silly.
Thanks so much, my dear little sister! Where is the nearest butcher knife for sibling-dismemberment?
~~*~~*
‘Mr Linton!’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I panted. ‘The files are coming.’ I burst through the door and let the boxes of files drop onto his desk.
‘Almost acceptable pace, Mr Linton,’ he said, sounding quite close to not disapproving and frozen. ‘Almost.’
‘Thank you so much for the compliment, Sir,’ I huffed, clutching my sides with a grimace.
‘Bring me that file from over there, will you?’
Luckily, the ‘file from over there’ was not a gargantuan monster with enough weight to break my back, but a rather slim file in a black folder. It wasn’t numbered like the other files, but said in bold white lettering: L.E. from L.L. Waste Disposal.
I walked over to get it and hand it to Mr Ambrose.
‘You seem no longer as distracted as the other day,’ came his voice from behind me.
‘Well, I have less dead weight to carry around,’ I answered, distractedly. I was still focused on the black file. Waste disposal? I didn’t know that belonged to the businesses Mr Ambrose was conducting. Strange. By now, I thought I had seen something of everything he did. ‘Do you remember the man I told you off the other day? The one who wanted to marry me. He’s gone. Poof. Vanished into thin air.’
‘Indeed.’
Seizing the file, Mr Ambrose flipped it open and placed a big, black-ink check mark at the very bottom. For a moment I thought I saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes, but surely I was mistaken. After all, what could be so satisfying about getting rid of garbage?
‘Well, I hope your performance won’t be affected like this again.’
‘Yes, Sir. Um… if you don’t mind me asking, Sir..?’ Taking back the file, I waved it in the air. ‘Are you expanding your business, Sir? I didn’t think you were in waste disposal. Are you branching out?’
‘No. This was a special case I had to take care of. Definitely a non-recurring venture.’ He fixed me with his dark eyes and sent a glare at me that was as cold and threatening as an army of banshees and hydras at the North Pole. ‘At least I hope so for your sake, Mr Linton.’
For my sake? What the dickens was that supposed to mean? What did I have to do with his waste disposal? Wait a moment… The initials on the file…!
Before I could let myself think too deeply about those initials, my thoughts were rudely interrupted.
Thump! Thump! THUMP! THUMP!
Heavy footsteps of a man running came up the hallway and intruded into the office. We both stared at the door, distracted. A moment later it flew open and Karim stood in the doorway, panting.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sahib!’ he exclaimed, the accent in his deep voice more distinct than usual from his excitement. ‘I have done it! He is ready to confess! Ready to confess it all!’
‘Simmons?’ One second Mr Ambrose sat behind his desk, the next he was on his feet, erect, ready to move. This time there was no mistaking it: there was triumph in his eyes.
‘Let’s go,’ he ordered and was already out the door. Karim turned and followed, wanting to close the door to the office behind him. I put my foot in between just fast enough.
‘Excuse me. You seem to have forgotten me,’ I said, sweetly.
The bearded mountain grumbled something in some foreign language - probably ‘I wish I could!’ in Urdu or Punjabi or some other Indian language. Then he marched after Mr Ambrose, who was already charging down the stairs. We could hear the harsh staccato of his shoes on the stone steps.
‘Wait up!’
Mr Stone looked up, surprised, as he saw Karim stomp past him. Then his surprise doubled when I flitted by, even faster than the large Indian. I got to the staircase just before Karim did and flashed him a charming smile. If his face hadn’t already been so dark, it would have turned red like a tomato. This was just oojah-cum-spiff! Finally some excitement!
If only that bloody man would stop!
‘Mr Ambrose! Wait!’
I ran down the stairs after him and, behind me, heard the Mohammedan muttering again. I caught the word ifrit mixed in with several expressions that, in spite of the foreign language, didn’t sound very complimentary.
Oh well. I suppose there are worse things than being seen as a 12-foot-tall demon with fiery wings.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir! Wait, please!’
Did he wait? Did he slow? Well, let me put it this way: Are lions vegetarians? Probably not.
It took me forever to catch up with the basted man! He wasn’t running, but he seemed to have the ability to march with military speed, even down a staircase. I just caught sight of him as he stepped off the last landing and into the great hall, which was buzzing with people.