Storm over the Caribbean

01. Honey, I'm Home!

A very pregnant woman.

In Mr Rikkard Ambrose's hallowed halls of forced servitude.

Ignoring all the incredulous stares, I stepped to the receptionist's desk where Mr Sallow-Face, also known by some uncreative people as Mr Pearson, was scribbling in a large book, his narrow eyes completely focused on the paper.

"Good morning," I greeted cheerfully. "I'm here to see Mr Ambrose."

"Mr Ambrose is a very busy man," Pearson replied without looking up. "You may go to desk 7-B and get an appointment next summer."

"Odd. I wasn't aware that employees need appointments to see their boss."

Mr Pearson's pen froze halfway across the paper. Around them, various clerks and accountants stopped their work to stare at me.

Will you look at that? Even pregnant, I was apparently still so stunningly beautiful that I garnered all men's attention.

Slowly, very slowly, Pearson looked up. His eyes widened when he came face-to-bulge with my belly.

"Pardon me," he started, his voice a bit hoarse for some reason. "I must have misheard. Did you say you worked here?"

I nodded cheerfully. "Filling in for my brother. The fellow caught the sniffles, so, of course, he sent his pregnant sister as a substitute. Brotherly love is such an amazing thing."

"It's...you?"

"Ah, you remember me!" Happily, I clapped my hands. "So delighted to hear I made an impression."

His gaze travelled past me to where, through the open front door, my pet camel was still visible. Then his face twitched. "You tend to do things that are rather...memorable."

"Yep, I'm spiffing that way, aren't I?"

"That, young lady, would be a matter for debate. Now, pray tell, what are you doing here?"

"I told you. I came to work."

He sent me a patronizing look. "Please. I can make some allowances for your condition, but even a young woman in the family way should not make a fool of herself in such a manner. If your brother has told you anything about his employer, you should know that Mr Ambrose would never employ a—"

A whistling noise came from the horn that rested on his desk, attached to a certain system of tubes that ran throughout the building. Reaching out, Pearson lifted the horn to his ear. "Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir? How may I help...oh. Um...are you quite sure, Sir? I mean, she is here, but I would not have thought that a man such as you would...Yes, Sir! No, I didn't mean to imply any such thing, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

Slowly, Mr Pearson lowered the horn until it came to rest on the desk. His head lifted until his eyes met mine.

"Miss Linton?"

"Yes?" I enquired innocently. "Did he have something interesting to tell you?"

"You may go up, Miss Linton."

"You don't say." Smiling widely, I inclined my head in thanks, then turned away to eye the stairs that led up several floors in a narrow stairwell. "I think I'll be taking the elevator."

How splendid the elevator had recently been renovated and slowed to a reasonable pace, just after my pregnancy was discovered. An amazing coincidence, wasn't it?

With a swing in my step, I strode to the elevator door—then hesitated and glanced over my shoulder.

"Oh, and Mr Pearson...it's not Linton."