Storm and Silence

37. Ambrosian Waste Disposal Squad

"Mr Ambrose?"

It shouldn't be possible for a man to narrow his eyes while not moving one muscle in his face, but somehow, Mr Ambrose managed it. "I notice you're still here, Mr Linton."

"Yes, Sir."

"I told you to go."

"I know, Sir. I stayed anyway." Swallowing, I tried to gather my courage. "What is in the stolen file? What have they taken from you?"

His eyes flashed again. They looked more like the sea than ever. But if before they had been stormy, now there was a thunderstorm in progress. "I already told you that you will never know. I do not appreciate my time being wasted with unnecessary questions."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"It may surprise you to hear this, Mr Linton, but as your employer, I am in charge, and you have to do what I say. So if I do not wish to tell you something, I am perfectly well within my rights. Your incessant questions are wasting valuable time."

I gave him my most charming smile. "Then why not just tell me anyway? It would mean I'd never have to waste your time again."

There were a few moments of silence. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. His silence invaded your ears and pressed on your mind, making you wish for a single word to relieve you of the freezing, cold emptiness.

"Because," he finally said, his voice lower than usual, "your life has been put in danger enough already."

My breath hitched. What did he mean? He couldn't mean what I thought he meant, could he?  He couldn't mean that to get that piece of paper, somebody might try to kill me?

And the more important question: Why the heck would he care if they did?

"And," he added, in a more usual, cool tone of voice, "because my last secretary sold this secret to my enemies. Something I wish not to happen again. I have plenty of enemies left."

Indignation rose up in me. "Do you honestly dare to suggest that I might betray you like that?"

He pondered the question for a moment.

"Yes," he finally decided, nodding dispassionately. "Everyone has his price."

"I would never betray you," I said with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. He looked at me intently for a moment – then quickly looked down at the papers on his desk.

"Bring me the file box I asked for, Mr Linton."

I didn't move. "When Simmons gives up his information..." I began.

"I will inform you," he cut me off. "Go get the file box, Mr Linton. Now!"

Ouch. What crawled up his derrière and died?

I quickly cut off that line of thinking, because it made me think about his derrière, and that wasn't a place I wanted my thoughts to go after the disturbing dreams I'd had last night.

Liar, a little voice in the back of my brain cackled.

I'm not lying! I assured myself. I have no interest in Mr Ambrose's derriere. None whatsoever!

 Quickly, I hurried off to fetch the aforementioned box. And then the next. And the next. And for the entire rest of the day, I managed to keep my thoughts off Mr Ambrose's rather nice-looking behind. Yes, I did.

 And how were things at home? Well, my aunt was pretty miffed about Lieutenant Ellingham's disappearance, but was consoled by Sir Philip's frequent evening visits. They became so frequent, in fact, that Ella missed several rendezvous with Edmund and became increasingly agitated. She didn't even notice my frequent absence from the house while I was at work.