One Shots

A Bun in the Oven

Lilly: Sir?

Mr. Ambrose: What is it?

Lilly: *slightly red* Umm sir. I need to powder my nose.

Mr. Ambrose: Again? You just did so half an hour ago. I employ you to discharge your duties regularly  not your bodily fluids.

Lilly: *now completely red* You do not need to tell me that sir. But this is quite urgent.

Mr. Ambrose: *uncomfortable* Umm you wouldn't be umm suffering from a case of *mumbled* •backdoor-trot• are you?

Lilly: *flaming* No! I just need to powder my nose really urgently. Now, if you'll please excuse me.

Mr. Ambrose: Of course. Get on with it quickly.

20 minutes later

Mr. Ambrose is with a client who also happens to be a doctor. Mr. Linton is diligently taking notes.

Mr. Ambrose: Go get me file P13737XX.

Lilly: *grumbling* You always order me around. Never a word of appreciation.

Mr. Ambrose: What did you say?

Lilly: Nothing at all, sir. I'm just going..*stumbles and almost falls but is quickly caught by Mr. Ambrose*

Mr. Ambrose: Watch your step.

Lilly nods quickly and leaves slightly unsteady on her feet. Mr. Ambrose watches after her cautiously while the doctor looks on bemused.

As Lilly walks into the room again she is filled with a sudden sense of nausea and the last thought that crosses her mind before she rushes to the powder room is that Mr. Ambrose would not be pleased with her sick all over his important papers. Oh well his unadorned office could do with a spot of colour. *Blech*

Mr. Ambrose alarmed stayed still unsure of what to do, the last time  he ventured after her into the powder room nested firmly at the back of his mind. His shoulders relaxed by a millimeter as she came out slightly paler than usual.

Mr. Ambrose: If you have ceased with this sudden sickness, we can resume the important meeting with Dr. Watson.

Lilly: *slightly sour* Forgive me sir for the inconvenient timing of my illness. *sarcastically* I'll be sure to correct that in the future.

Mr. Ambrose: Sufficient. I don't suppose you could advise us as to Mr. Linton's condition, Doctor?

Doctor: *chuckles* I'm sure Mr. Linton is just under the weather this morning. Though of course were he a woman, I would say Mr. Linton appeared to have a bun in the oven.

Dr. Watson continued to laugh loudly at his own joke unaware of the sudden stillness of his companions. Of course this wouldn't have seemed unusual for Mr. Ambrose had it not been for the fact that his quill now lay shattered with ink spilled all over. And if  this didn't give you enough of a clue, his eyes had reduced from its usual inexpressible manner, if it were possible. In fact the financial magnate who usually managed to show little expression now showed no expression at all.

Mr. Linton was the only one who worked up enough courage to ask in a strangled voice, "Bun in the oven?"

The doctor replied with a trace of humour still remaining, "Yes not to worry, young man. These symptoms are for a lady expecting a child. Nothing for a man to worry about."

No one seemed inclined to join him in his mirth. The doctor finally took in his surroundings as he asked curiously, "There shouldn't be, surely?"

NOTE:
•backdoor-trot• refers to diarrhea. The expression came from having to trot or run out the back door to the outhouse.

Oh and please do let me know if you spot any errors. I am prone to ruining my tense every now and then.