Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

A) Do it in the waste paper basket

B) Talk to Mr Ambrose

It said a lot about the personality of my dear master that option A actually sounded like the better alternative to me. However, checking the waste paper basket I discovered that, although once made of solid cast iron, it was now so old that it had rusted through at the bottom, making it unsuitable for containing fluids of any kind. There was nothing for it. I had to gather up my courage and confront the monster in its lair.

*~*~**~*~*

I knocked.

‘May I come in?’

‘Do you have the file?’ asked a voice from inside - that terse, cool voice which I already knew so well.

‘No, but there’s something else.’

‘Important?’

‘Yeees!’

‘Then come in.’

Slowly, I entered. The office hadn’t altered much from the last time I’d seen it. The big map had disappeared off the desk and, instead, heaps of paper were lying on it. I was a bit surprised that I recognized most of them: they were the files Mr Ambrose had told me to bring him, and he was working through them diligently. So he wasn’t just ordering me around to annoy me. Good to know, if slightly unexpected.

I stepped in front of my employer’s desk and cleared my throat.

No reaction. He didn’t even look up. Instead, he picked up his fountain pen and began writing on a piece of paper.

I cleared my throat again. And again.

‘Do you have a cough, Mr Linton?’ he asked without looking up. He continued writing.

‘No, Sir. I have a question.’

‘Then put it and leave. I have work to do.’

‘Well, err… it’s a bit delicate.’

‘Then put it delicately and leave.’

Ordinarily, his ice-cold manner would have gotten my dander up. But at the moment, my thoughts were fully occupied by a certain pressing matter.

‘Err… yes, Sir. You see, I have to do some urgent… business.’

He tapped the stacks of paper with his free hand. ‘So have I.’

‘I’m sure, Sir. It’s just that my business is somewhat more personal than yours. I, um, need to powder my nose.’

That was the first time he looked up. With his dark, sea-coloured eyes, he stared at my face intently.

‘Why? Your nose looks fine to me.’

‘Um… thanks for the compliment, but…’

‘If you absolutely must,’ he continued, bending his head again and continuing his writing, ‘you can do it here. I don't mind.’

I nearly choked.

‘Err… Mr Ambrose?’