Storm and Silence(101)

My hand shaking slightly from the shock, I quickly composed an answer.

Dear Mr Ambrose,

Careful, Sir. People might start to think you actually cared if everything goes well in my life.

Yours Sincerely

Lilly Linton

The reply to that came just as quick.

Mr Linton,

Care? Do not be ridiculous. I simply need you to work efficiently, without distractions.

Rikkard Ambrose

Of course. And there was I thinking that maybe he had asked just to make me feel better. Ha! I had forgotten who I was talking- err, writing to.

Yet regardless of his motivations, he wanted to know what was the matter. Panic began to well up inside me. How could I tell somebody I was being pursued by a man I detested? More terrible still, how could I tell that to Mr Granite-Face All-Businesslike Ambrose? The concept alone filled me with unimaginable horror! And what about Ella? I could never tell him about Ella’s secret romantic rendezvous. To mention the word 'love' in his presence would be like trying to explain bicycles to an eel.

It’s really nothing, I scribbled on a piece of paper. Really, really nothing. Don’t concern yourself with the matter. I am sure you have more important things to do.

Hurriedly, I shoved the message into a container and the container into the pneumatic tube - only then realizing that I had forgotten my usual teasing salutation. Well, that could only be good, right? He had complained of my teasing him all the while, after all, and right now I wouldn’t want to rile him up any more.

Twenty seconds later, a message returned.

It consisted of two simple words.

Tell me.

Oops. Maybe I had been wrong. Again I took up pen and paper.

Dear Mr Ambrose,

As I said, it is nothing. Please do not concern yourself with my petty troubles.

Yours Sincerely

Miss Lilly Linton

I shoved the message into the tube, pulled the lever and waited anxiously. When, after a minute or so, no reply had come, I dared to breathe again. He was going to let it go. So now I’d just have to find those files he wanted…

I was just about to get up when a noise from the room next door froze me in mid-movement: The scrape of chair legs over a stone floor. Then, quick, hard steps approached the connecting door and a key turned in the lock.

Holy Moses! He was coming over!

*~*~**~*~*

He stood in the doorway like a statue of some Greek god about to pass judgement on a poor mortal and maybe throw a thunderbolt or two.

‘Tell me,’ he ordered.

‘I’m not obliged to tell you anything about my personal life,’ I mumbled, and thought: I’m looking down at the floor! Why the hell am I looking down? I’m a strong, independent woman! ‘That’s not part of the job description of a secretary.’

‘It’s also not part of the job description of a secretary to tour the hotels of London in a dress and with a sack full of onions at the ready, but you did it anyway. Tell me. Now!’

I stayed silent.

‘If you will not tell me, I’ll deduct the time we spend arguing from your wages.’

I gasped. That was a low blow.

Well… maybe I could just tell him about me, personally. I couldn’t tell him about Ella, of course. That wasn’t my secret to share. There was only one thing left to tell. I took a deep breath.

‘Well…’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m being pursued by a man.’

‘What?’ With three long strides, Rikkard Ambrose was at my desk and had grabbed hold of my hands. Startled, my eyes flew up to look at him.

Hey! He was supposed to be calm and immovable as granite! I wouldn’t have thought him capable of an emotion such as this. True, his face still was as impassive as ever, but his eyes… His dark eyes were emitting sparks of fury.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’ he demanded.

‘Why should I? It was none of your business!’

I tried to free my hands from his grip. It felt disturbing, having him hold my hands in his strong grasp after the episode in his personal powder room. I tried to shove that from my mind and concentrate on the moment.

‘None of my business?’ he repeated, coldly. ‘A man has been chasing you through London, and it’s none of my business? Tell me, is he connected with Simmons? What did he want? Did he mention the file or threaten to harm you? How far did he pursue you? Was he on foot or on horseback? How did you escape?’

It all clicked into place then: his reaction, the grip of his fingers on mine, even the cold fire in his eyes. I almost started to laugh. Almost.

‘Err… Mr Ambrose? When I said he’s “pursuing” me, I meant he wants to marry me.’

Mr Ambrose’s grip on my hand slackened, and he blinked.

‘What?’

‘He’s trying to get me as his wife, not chasing me through town with a knife in his hand.’