'You know, I don't think I gave my little sister enough credit. Weddings really are a fiendishly difficult thing to plan.'
'Indeed, Mr Linton?'
'Yes, indeed, Sir. Take this matter of inviting people whom you dislike, for instance. No, that's not quite right...perhaps I should say inviting people whose guts you hate and who you wish would slowly roast in hell over a small flame, subsequently to serve as food for a deserving little brood of hungry demon children.'
'Indeed, Mr Linton?'
'Yes. You see, on the one hand, you really don't want to invite them, because you don't want them within a hundred miles of your special day. On the other hand, you really want to invite them, to rub it in their faces how incredibly happy you are, and how you are marrying the most fantabulous man in the world, while all three of their daughters are still single.'
Mr Ambrose considered the matter for a moment or two.
'Invite them,' he finally decided. 'Then, when they arrive, send out Karim to tell them there's been a misunderstanding, and the invite was sent to them by mistake.'
A grin spread across my face. 'You, Sir, are fiendishly evil.'
'Thank you, Mr Linton.'
'I'm glad I'm marrying you.'
Something flashing deep in his dark eyes, he leaned over to caress my cheek. 'Believe me,' he whispered. 'So am I.' Abruptly, he straightened. 'Which does not mean, however, that I will tolerate any further delay of our work schedule. Time to type, Mr Linton!'
'Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!'
Turning towards the machine I sat up straight, waiting for the dictation to begin. Over the last few days, the hellish machine and I had struck a Faustian bargain. It had promised not to suck out my soul and drown me in frustration, and I had promised not to beat it into smithereens with my office chair. So far, it had worked out fine.
Mr Rikkard Ambrose on the other hand...he would certainly not be as peaceful and amiable as a soulless piece of metal. The clock was ticking, slowly but surely counting the seconds to the moment we would embark on our journey into the country. My heart pounded at the thought, and not just because I was burning to see this mysterious place that he called 'home', though he had not visited it in years.
No, the main reason why excitement was pounding through my veins, was that once the two of us had left London to be married, I would have won, once and for all. He wouldn't be able to try and get rid of me ever again. I would be at his side, standing on my own two feet, where I belonged.
Unable to help it, my eyes were drawn away from the keyboard—and when they found him, they met his, as he watched me.
'Concentrate on the keyboard, Mr Linton!' he commanded.
I cocked my head. 'Concentrate on your notes, Sir.'
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.
So did mine.
'I said concentrate, Mr Linton!'
I felt sparks flitting through the air between us.
'I am concentrating.'
'On my dictation!'
'What dictation, Sir? You're not talking.'
With all his might, Mr Ambrose tore his gaze back to his notes. '...to facilitate this process, we must encourage intercontinental communication. Such intercontinental intercourse—um...'
'Pardon, Sir?' I blinked up at Mr Ambrose. "Intercontinental intercourse"? What an exciting development. I didn't know technology had developed that far.'
Mr Ambrose gave me an icy stare that might have scared me more if I didn't love it so much. Love him so much.
'Communication, Mr Linton. Intercontinental communication.'
'Of course, Sir. Just as you say, Sir.'
He continued dictating. And what's more, he did it at an astonishingly moderate pace. Something was brewing in his head, all right. Something besides intercontinental intercourse.
The last battle was coming. What would it be this time? A trap? Another horrifying machine? What would he come up with this time? A machine with teeth for ripping up confidential documents? One with a brain that did the thinking for his employees?
I shook my head, smiling.
You're getting fanciful, Lilly! Nobody would ever be crazy enough to try and build something like that.
***
'Mr Linton?'
I stopped and glanced around. I had just been about to leave for the evening—but now there was Mr Ambrose, standing in the door to my office, gazing at me intensely, as if I were about to dare to leave five seconds early. Glancing down at my pocket watch, I saw that, no, that was not the case. I was not committing the grievous sin of slacking off. So why was he staring at me like that?
Well, it wasn't exactly an accusing stare. It was more...more like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.
'Yes, Sir?' I inclined my head.
'Why do you want to work for me?'
I frowned. 'I thought we already discussed this. I want to work.'
'Yes, but...' He was silent for a moment or two. But it wasn't his usual silence. Not one of cold, hard, distance. This was a silence of deep thought. 'But it isn't as if you would be idle as head of my household. There would be plenty of work to do.'
'With you living in the house?' One corner of my mouth quirked up. 'Imagine that. I would never have suspected.'
'Be serious, Mr Linton!'
Stepping towards him, I reached up to place one gentle hand on his cheek. 'I am,' I told him, my eyes wide open and unguarded. 'I imagine you will be a lot of work. But I also know you're worth it.'
A strong, masculine hand came to rest over mine.
'Then why do you persist in this? Why do you feel the need to work here?'
'Besides being able to have your back against competitors and nefarious lords, and wanting my independence?'
'Yes.'
'Well...' I bit my lip. 'I just feel this is the kind of work I'm better suited to, you know. I've never been good at staying home to mend clothes, do the wash, scrub the ceiling, polish the chimney and whatever else a housewife would get up to. Don't misunderstand me, it's not that I don't understand the work has value. Wives and mothers...' I couldn't help but swallow as an indistinct image flickered in front of my mind. A woman I had nearly forgotten—and yet, somehow, would always remember. 'They perform wonders every day, a fact all the more clear to me since I had to make do with Aunt Brank for a substitute. Personally, I'd be lost without my little sister to get stains out of my clothes! But it's just...not for me, you know? I've always wanted to go out there and do things that affect the world—not just the little world of my own four walls.'
'Hm...' Considering, Mr Ambrose stroked his chin—then nodded. 'I see. Thank you for explaining.'
I blinked. 'You...you understand?'
He inclined his head. 'Indeed I do.'
'And you're not angry?'
'How could I be angry for you being truthful with me? For sharing something about the woman I love?'
I could hardly believe my ears. Reaching up around his neck, I instinctively pulled myself up and planted a hot, passionate kiss on his lips.
'Thank you,' I whispered.
We had done it! We'd had the first honest, open conversation of our relationship. If this was an omen, it promised nothing but good things for our marriage.
It wasn't until the next day that I realized how wrong I was. It hadn't been an open, honest conversation. It had been an open, honest interrogation.
***
When I entered my office the next morning, everything seemed just as always. The walls were bare, the bin was empty, and the chirographer was resting on my desk, waiting for me to start work. Just another day at the office.
From inside the wall, I heard the whizz of pneumatic tubes. Hurrying over to my desk, I settled myself down just in time to catch the tiny capsule as it shot out of the hole in the wall. What would be on the schedule today? A letter to be dictated? Pulling it open, I unfolded the message.
Darling,
Please be so kind as to fetch me a cup of tea.
Thank you.
Rick
I was on my feet and halfway to the rack of files before the words reached my brain and truly registered.
Wait a moment.
Fetch him what?
And...Darling?
Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horrendously wrong. And whatever it was, I had to save Mr Ambrose from it! Rushing to his office door, I started hammering against the wood.
'Hello? Hello, are you in there? Are you on drugs? I didn't leave the cough drops out, did I? Or have you been captured and replaced with a doppelganger? Please! Talk to me! Tell me what's wrong!'
Plink.
The sound diverted my attention to my desk. Another message was lying there, awaiting me. Dashing over, I snatched it up.
Why would you think that something is wrong, honey? I'm perfectly fine. Although I could use a cup of tea. There's nothing more relaxing than a good cup of tea, don't you think?
Your loving fiancé,
Ricky
Oh God, it was getting worse! Whatever 'it' might be. Crap, crap, crap! What was I going to do? Should I fetch a doctor?
Well, gone crazy or not, he's still your boss. So, first of all, you'd probably best fetch him a cup of tea.
Easier said than done. This wasn't what secretaries were supposed to do! My position was that of a trusted confidante! That of his right hand in all important business matters. Whoever heard of such an outlandish idea as secretaries being sent to fetch beverages?
Marching to the door, I pushed it open and stuck my head out through the crack. 'Err...Mr Stone?'
The fresh-faced receptionist hurriedly looked up from the book he was reading and tried to shove the colourful cover under the table.
'Um, yes, Mr Linton?'
'Do you perchance have any idea where to get a cup of tea around here?'
He sighed. 'I wish. I could use one in the afternoon, too, but I'm afraid you're out of luck. Shockingly, Mr Ambrose does not pay for beverages for his employees.'
'The tea isn't for me, Mr Stone. It's for Mr Ambrose.'
There was a thump as Mr Stone's book slipped from his hand and hit the floor. He stared at me.
'Mr...Mr Ambrose wants something to drink?'
'Yes.'
'Something that isn't tap water?'
'Yes.'
'Should I call the doctor?'
'I had considered that myself, but...no. Not yet. Maybe he's having a strange day. Maybe he has guests in his office.'
'No, he doesn't.' Mr Stone frowned as, with one hand, he tried to fish for his novel as inconspicuously as possible. 'I'm quite sure I didn't see anyone go in this morning.'
'So...the tea really is for him.'
Maybe fetching the doctor might not be such a bad idea after all. It would certainly be the easier option, considering one rather salient fact: I had no clue whatsoever how to make tea. It was one of the many social skills that ladies were supposed to master, and which I had most ardently resisted when my aunt had tried to hammer it into my head.
Rushing back to the pneumatic tube, I scribbled a quick note.
Dear Mr Ambrose,
Are you quite sure you mean 'tea', Sir? Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a nice glass of tap water?
Yours Sincerely
Miss Lillian Linton
It waited for the reply.
And waited.
And waited a bit more.
Finally...
Plink!
Instantly, I snatched the container up and ripped it open.
Darling,
No, a nice cup of tea will do fine. It'll be just the right thing to relax me a little.
XOXO,
Rikkard Ambrose
XO...!
Hugs and kisses?
Had the whole world gone mad?
I raced out of the room. I needed an excuse to get into that office, and I needed it right now!
'Mr Stone? I need tea!'
With a thud, a certain book landed on the floor. Flustered, Mr Stone tried to shift his chair to hide it and hurriedly sat up straight.
'Err...now?'
'Yes, now!'
Marching forward, I shoved the note under his nose. He read for a moment—then his eyes went wide.
'Hugs and...'
'Yes.'
'And this came from Mr Ambrose?'
'Yes.'
'Perhaps we really should get a doctor. I might be able to arrange a free consultation at a charity hospital for the insa—'
In that moment, a knock came from the door. From inside Mr Ambrose's office.
'I don't wish to disturb you, Mr Linton,' he called out, 'but if you have time, I'd appreciate biscuits with the tea. Take your time, I'm in no hurry.'
Mr Stone and I exchanged looks.
'See if you can find that doctor,' I told him.
A few minutes later, I found myself knocking at the office door of Mr Rikkard Ambrose with a steaming cup of tea in my hand.
'Err...Mr Ambrose, Sir? May I come in?'
With bated breath, I waited for the terse reply that I knew, no, I prayed would be coming any moment now...
'Certainly, certainly, come in and take a seat. You know you're always welcome.'
Oh God. This was really serious.
Pushing open the door, I slipped into the room—and froze.
Mr Rikkard Ambrose was sitting in his familiar place behind the desk. But that was about the only familiar thing regarding the scene in front of me. This wasn't just serious. This was worse than anything I could have imagined.
The office looked comfortable.
And I don't just mean comfortable as in familiar and reassuring. Oh no. Someone, may he roast forever in the seventh circle of hell, had replaced the straight-backed wooden visitor chairs with plush leather arm chairs. On the arm chairs lay cushions. Plush ones, with flowers and kittens embroidered on them. The same wicked devil who had brought those sacrilegious items had placed a beautiful vase of flowers on Mr Ambrose's hallowed empty desert of a desk. And on the stone wall behind Mr Ambrose, normally blissfully bare and cold, there now hung—I shuddered at the sight—two paintings of romantic sunsets, and, worst of all, a sign proudly proclaiming the words Home Sweet Home.
'Ah, there you are, Darling.'
The words roused me from my horrified paralysis and drew my eyes, for the first time, to Mr Rikkard Ambrose himself. A moment later I wished I hadn't looked. Because he sat, leisurely leaned back in his armchair, his feet propped up on the desk.
'Ah! My tea and biscuits.' Rubbing his hands, he pulled the cup out of my hands, took a sip and sighed in contentment. 'There's nothing better in the afternoon to relax a little, is there?'
Relax? Relax?
That certainly wasn't what was on my mind. And it bloody well shouldn't be on his!
'Err...Mr Ambrose? Are you sure you're feeling all right?'
'Why yes, certainly, Darling.'
'You don't feel the secret, irrepressible urge to rip those paintings off the walls and start working obsessively?'
'I don't think so. Would you mind getting me some sugar for my tea?'
Severely traumatized, I staggered out of the room and pushed the door shut beside me.
'He wants sugar,' I informed Mr Stone.
'Sugar.'
'Yes.'
'Not salt or lemon juice?'
'No.'
Our gazes met.
'Is the doctor on his way?' I demanded.
Mr Stone cleared his throat. 'I'm afraid not.'
'What? Why not?'
'I believe his exact words were, "Tell that stingy bastard, Ambrose, if he tries to get free consultations out of me one more time, I'll prescribe him syrup of ipecac!".'
'Oh.'
'Exactly.'
'Then what should we do?' My legs started moving by themselves, carrying me up and down the corridor. Back and forth, I went, back and forth. Wringing my hands, I threw a desperate glance at Mr Stone. 'We have to do something!'
'Are you quite sure the situation is really as drastic as you fear?' He hesitated. 'I mean, as I understand, Mr Ambrose is getting married soon and starting a new chapter in his life. Many men change a little when they reach a certain stage in life.'
I was just about to reply, when I heard a soft plink out of my office. Rushing inside, I grabbed the capsule and tore it open.
P.S: While you're getting the sugar, run over to the florist and get a nice potted plant, will you? I think I'll need something to make my office more homely permanently.
XOXO
Rick
'Mr Linton?'
Turning, I saw Mr Stone standing at the door to my office. Raising an eyebrow, he pointed at the message. Wordlessly stepping towards him, I handed him the piece of paper. He glanced at it, and gulped.
I cocked my head.
'What were you saying about the situation not being drastic?'
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
You might be surprised to find an expression such as "Hugs and Kisses" in Victorian times, but similar expressions had, in fact, very early roots, as does the abbreviation XOXO. Ready for a little history lesson? All right, here goes!
In medieval Europe, many people could not read. So instead, they placed a cross, the most commonly known symbol in Christianity, under any documents they had to sign, and kissed the cross as a sign of their sincerity. Over time, as the absolute power of the church diminished and people forgot the origin of the custom, the cross became turned on the side and transformed into an "X", and the meaning of the kiss shifted from religious to romantic. As for the "O" – that, some scholars have discovered, most likely originated from non-Christian, strongly religious immigrants to the US several centuries later. Unwilling to sign any documents with what they perceived as still essentially a cross, they instead opted for the letter "O", and the custom spread, until in modern time, the X became exclusively associated with kisses and the O with hugs. So, next time you sign a message with XOXO, you will know that you are using an ancient greeting with a proud and diverse history spanning many faiths and continents.
So, taking that into consideration...
XOXO
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Faustian: Faustian is a word derived from the legend of Johann Georg Faust, a German medieval academic who supposedly made a contract with a demon from hell to gain wisdom, eternal youth and various less age-appropriate things. Thus, its meaning refers to something which involves a kind of deal with the devil, whether literal or metaphorical.
Syrup of ipecac: Syrup of ipecac, a powerful vomitive agent that was, for a long time, sold as an over-the-counter medicine.