Storm over the Caribbean

05. Wrath

We were about to commit career suicide by attacking a charity event organized by Britain's richest businessman?

I could practically hear potential answers flick through his mind. Then he stepped back, and closed his mouth again.

"Um...nothing, really, Sir. Just passing through, you know? Relaxing a bit and all that."

"And your..." Mr Ambrose's eyes swept to the rest of the men. "...acquaintances?"

"Err..." The good sergeant raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. "Taking a walk in the park?"

Mr Ambrose stared at the man for a long, long moment—then nodded.

"Ah, I see."

I blinked. He did?

"Y-you do?" the sergeant stuttered.

"Oh yes." Mr Ambrose nodded again, his cold eyes surveying the men in uniform. "Helmets, truncheons, handcuffs...certainly the standard equipment for casual walks in the park." Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose sent the sergeant a questioning look. "What do you think, should I and my men come for a walk to Scotland Yard?"

The officer gulped. His gaze flicked to the towering form of Karim behind my husband. "M-M-Mr Ambrose, Sir, you wouldn't—"

"Or," he continued, cutting the man off, "I could just have a chat with your superiors."

"Byallmeanscomevisitus! We'dbehappytowelcomeyouanytime,Sir!"

My, my. I couldn't keep the grin from spreading across my face. How the worm turns.

"Now..." Linking his arm with mine, Mr Rikkard Ambrose took a step towards the park exit. "My wife and I will be leaving. Any objections?"

"No objections, Sir! None at all!"

"Adequate."

He strode past the sergeant—then suddenly halted in mid-step. Without a hint of hesitation, he knelt in the dirt. Right beside the fallen Patsy. Ice-cold eyes met defiant ones, scrutinizing, judging.

"Yes," he repeated. "Adequate."

Then he extended a hand.

She huffed. "I suppose you'll do."

Grasping the extended limb, she let herself be pulled to her feet. And if she happened to try and squash my husband's hand in the process, that was mere coincidence. Behind Mr Ambrose's back, I grinned like a Cheshire cat, mouthing "Traitor to feminism" at her. That made her grind her teeth and tighten her grip. Mr Ambrose didn't even blink or react in any noticeable way.

My grin widened. They were going to get along so great!

The bobbies dispersed quickly after that. Mr Ambrose led me off towards the park gate, the crowd of women cheering behind us. The few men among them who had been commandeered into coming along were also cheering, although they looked considerably less sure why they were doing so.

Smirking, I turned back to Mr Ambrose. "You're now a hero to feminism, Dicky Darling."

In answer, I received deafening silence.

"And Patsy likes you."

More silence. Silence so cold and icy it would freeze my bollocks off if I had any.

"Dear me, what is the world coming to?" Scandalized, I shook my head. "What will be next? Charity events? Donations to orphanages?"

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, Dicky Darling?"

"Be. Silent."

"Yes, Dicky Darling."