And yet, now that he was gone I wished him back. Bloody hell!
‘Mr Linton! Look what I’ve found!’ His shout roused me from my dangerously unfeminist thoughts.
‘I can’t look,’ I pointed out, turning towards where his voice had come from. ‘It’s dark.’
‘Actually, I was aware of that, Mr Linton.’ Suddenly, a light flared up, making me raise my hand instinctively to shield my eyes.
‘How…?’ I demanded, grasping for the edge of the cart for balance. The bright yellow shine forced its way through my fingers and, after the long time spent in utter blackness, almost made me dizzy.
‘There is a wooden case with spare equipment attached to the back of the cart,’ I heard the voice of Mr Ambrose from beyond the golden glow. ‘A safety lamp, knife, flint, food, water - you can say what you like about Lord Dalgliesh…’
‘Really? Well, then I’d like to point out that he is a pretentious, lying, bloodthirsty ball of slime!’
‘That was not meant as a prompt, Mr Linton.’
‘Oh. Sorry, Sir.’
‘As I was saying, say what you like about Lord Dalgliesh, but he does take all possible safety precautions. And this time, they work to our advantage.’
Slowly, I lowered my hands from my eyes and let my eyes get used to the brightness. Slowly, I looked around, and for the first time since starting on this mad, muscle-tearing ride, actually paid attention to my surroundings.
The orange glow of the safety lamp fell on rugged stone walls rushing past at a prodigious speed. They rose up about three meters, forming a vaulted ceiling above our heads. Both in front of and behind us, the tunnel disappeared into seemingly endless darkness, not giving away any of its secrets about where it would lead. For the moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care very much, as long as it brought us away from hostile men with guns. What I did care about was the ice-cold wind in my face, making my sweat-drenched clothes feel as if they would freeze any second.
My teeth began to chatter.
All right, maybe I cared a little bit.
‘Come.’ Suddenly, Mr Ambrose was beside me, nodding towards the rear of the cart. ‘Get into the container. It will shield you from the wind.’
He was right. The metal was cold to sit on, but it was a relief to have the biting wind out of my face. And there was an old sack in the metal container. The material was rough, but warm, and we huddled together, pulling it around us.
‘Where do you suppose the tunnel leads?’ I asked, after a while.
‘As I said before, I smelled sea-air from down there. I still catch a whiff of it now and again. Also, the tunnel is going down, and we started at the centre on the island, inside a mountain. This all would support my theory that the tunnel leads to the coast.’
As the last words left his mouth, the scene around us suddenly changed. Where before there had only been the stone walls of the tunnel rushing past, there now gaped a black opening. For just a moment I glimpsed another tunnel, and another set of rails splitting off from the ones we were riding on and heading down the other way. It was gone as quickly as it had come.
I hesitated for a moment.
‘And how do you know that that wasn’t the way which leads to the coast?’ I asked, my voice unusually timid.
‘I don't.’ His voice wasn’t timid at all. It was as cool and composed as a cucumber on ice. ‘But since this car does not have brakes and is going too fast for us to change direction, it is of little consequence. Cheese?’
‘Excuse me, Sir?’
‘I asked you whether you want some cheese.’ He held out a piece of something yellowish towards me. ‘Or bread. There are some emergency rations in the container in which I found the lamp.’
Again, I hesitated. We were supposed to be in a desperate rush to escape our enemies. That hardly seemed the right time to be eating cheese. But then, I had worked harder today than ever before in my life, and a chocolate croissant wasn’t much to go on.
‘Some bread, please, Sir.’
‘Here.’
He handed me a neatly cut-off piece, and took another for himself. We sat in the semi-darkness and ate in silence. The bread was dark and coarse, but I didn’t really mind. It was hearty and gave me new energy.
Only after a while did I notice that Mr Ambrose was watching me. In the shadowy half-light, the planes of his perfect, stony face stood out more sharply than ever. The look in his dark eyes as he watched me nibbling on a piece of cheese made my skin tingle.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘What is what, Mr Linton?’
‘Why are you looking at me like that? And don’t you dare deny it, because you are looking at me, and not like you normally look at me.’