‘Yes, talk.’ He sounded as if it were his favourite hobby and there was nothing strange about us sitting down for a nice chat. ‘In any working relationship, it is important to establish a friendly, comfortable atmosphere. To work efficiently together, it is indispensable to get to know and trust one another.’
I wanted to say ‘So when did you reach that epiphany? Was it before or after you hounded me like a slave runner yesterday?'
But before I could get the words out, he leant forward and stroked one long, smooth finger down my cheek. Just one finger. ‘I want to get to know you, Miss Linton. I want to get to know you much better.’
My heart stopped. I’m not joking. It literally stopped right then and there. What was I going to say again? Something snarky and not very nice. The words were suddenly gone from my mind.
He called you Miss! He called you Miss! He practically admitted you’re female! And that finger on your cheek…
I cleared my throat. Somehow it had gotten dry again already. ‘Well… I suppose you’re right.’
Cocking his head like a predator on the prowl, Mr Ambrose leant closer, almost blinding me with the shine of his smile. I could feel his breath on my cheek, right next to my finger. I had never felt anything like this before in my life - mostly because I had always stabbed a man in the gut with my parasol before he could get so close to me. But somehow I didn’t feel like doing this to Mr Ambrose.
‘So glad to hear you agree with me,’ he murmured into my ear. ‘Here, have one of these.’
Something white drifted into my line of sight. A plate of biscuits. Mr Ambrose was offering me a tray of biscuits! And by the looks of them, not cheap ones either!
This has to be a dream!
But the biscuits looked tasty, and I never said no to a tasty morsel, especially if it was sweet. Never mind that I was only dreaming it. I took one of the biscuits and carefully bit into it. It was sweet and delicious, almost as good as solid chocolate. I leant back with relish and didn’t close my eyes only because I was too busy watching Mr Ambrose. He took one biscuit for himself and, leaning back away from me, bit into it with delicious slowness. Even while leaning back, though, his posture still seemed like that of a tiger ready to spring.
‘We never really got around to having a nice chat,’ he said. ‘The start of our relationship was a little… stormy, if you recall.’
‘You mean you shouting at me a lot? Yes, I recall that.’
For a moment his smile seemed to flicker. But it was over so quickly that I wasn’t sure. I had probably just imagined it.
Lifting the rest of the biscuit to his mouth, he swallowed it whole, his eyes trained on me.
‘Ah…’ he sighed. ‘A tasty morsel.’
I felt an involuntary shiver run down my back. His voice alone was more seductively sweet than all the biscuits in the world. And from the way he looked at me, he knew that. What was going on here?
‘I’m actually not referring to the day when you first came into my office and we had our first altercation, Miss Linton. I’m talking about our very first meeting in the street. Do you remember?’ He sighed nostalgically. ‘You did me a singular service that day, Mr Linton - saving me from my own folly. And then you went into that building and later were forced out of it by two policemen. Do you remember that, too?’
I took another bite of biscuit and nodded absent-mindedly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you’re likely to forget.’
Before I could try to flee, before I could even tense or start to think, he had leant forward and taken my hand again. His fingers were trailing over mine, reigniting the fire.
‘What kind of building was it again those cads dragged you away from? A polling station?’
‘Y-yes, it was.’
‘I see. Another biscuit, Miss Linton?’
‘No, I…’
Before I could finish my sentence, he had picked up one of the biscuits from the plate and was lifting it to my mouth. The sweet little thing tickled my lips, enticing them to open. They did.
‘And?’ Mr Ambrose asked, his eyes boring into mine, his fingers still setting my hand on fire. ‘Everything to your taste?’
‘Y-yes. Very much so, Sir. Thank you.’
He lifted his hands in a deprecating gesture, and I quickly tucked my tingling hand away again. To hell with looking unfeminist, it was simple self-preservation!
‘No need to thank me.’ There was that smile again. ‘By the way… why were you at the polling station? Are you interested in politics, Mr Linton?’
I couldn’t suppress a smirk. ‘You could say that.’
Suddenly he clapped his hands together. ‘Of course! You were wearing the same attire then as you are wearing today, weren’t you? Your masculine attire. And I remember the policemen saying something about what you had attempted. I didn’t pay much attention at the time because, honestly, I was rather startled, but now I understand! You were trying to vote, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I was.’ My smirk grew into a full-blown grin - but then it abruptly turned into a grimace. ‘Didn’t turn out that well, though.’
‘Do not be disconsolate,’ he said, leaning forward, actually having a kind expression on his face. Kind? Mr Ambrose? This dream got weirder and weirder by the second. ‘In any fight, there’s always another day. And from what I know of you, you have hardly given up.’
‘Well, you’re right about that.’
‘Is that issue something you feel passionately about? That women should be allowed to vote?’
I was touched. He really sounded interested, and his smile was so friendly… Maybe he had finally gotten over his irrational aversion to having a lady working for him. Maybe he regretted his outburst of yesterday and wanted to make it up to me. Maybe this was real after all.
‘I feel passionately about living my life as I wish to,’ I told him earnestly. ‘And I don't care for people telling me I cannot simply because I am a girl, and not a man.’
He regarded me with shrewd eyes. ‘So your quest for free will and independence - it’s not just political?’
‘Would I be sitting here if it were?’
‘I suppose not.’
His shining smile faded a little, and his eyes became more questioning. ‘Why do you do it? Why did you come here and seek work?’
Strangely, although his friendly smile was waning, he sounded even more interested than before. And so I answered: ‘I don't want to be dependent on anybody. I don't want to wear chains.’
‘You could marry,’ he suggested, touching my hand again and sending sparks all the way up my arm. ‘I’m sure that there would be many interested gentlemen.’
Not bothering to point out the unlikeness of that, I shook my head.
‘Chains of gold are still chains, Mr Ambrose. I want to decide what to do with my life.’ I hesitated, and then enquired: ‘Why are you so interested?’
Abruptly, the beaming smile was back in full force.
‘I am simply trying to get to know you a little better,’ he said, spreading his arms in a gesture of innocence. ‘I find that it is always much easier to achieve one’s aims if one knows about people.’
I had to admit, some part of me was flattered. Suddenly, I couldn’t really meet his eyes, but had to look down at the floor, abashed. He was being so… nice. I knew how to shout at nasty Mr Ambrose. I didn’t really know to say to nice Mr Ambrose who touched my hand and gave me biscuits. My eyes fell on the biscuit in my hand. It was the fifth I had consumed so far. They really were excellent.
‘And what about you, Sir?’ I asked, feeling the need to be polite and show interest in him just as he had shown in me. ‘Why do you do the things you do?’
His smile seemed to flicker once again.
‘Never mind about me,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘Here, have another biscuit. And tell me more about the efforts of the suffragists. It all sounds very interesting.’
~~*~~*