Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

I had no clue where it had come from. This certainly wasn’t the best climate for creative thought. But it had come, and it was a whopper. Without doubt the best, most brilliant idea I had ever had in my entire life. Better than painting a smiley on the butt of my uncle’s trousers. Better than fighting for women’s rights. Better even than trying solid chocolate.

I smiled.

‘All right. I’ll get up.’

And I’ll get you for this! Drag me up indeed! Ha! You just wait! Revenge is on its way…!

Grabbing a nearby sapling, I managed to haul myself to my own two feet. They didn’t really feel like my own anymore, rather like random appendages some not-particularly-talented craftsman had stuck to my legs. Every muscle in my body was aching now, even those I should, technically, not be using for walking. But somehow, I got myself vertical again and, calling on all my feminist fortitude, started setting one foot before the other.

You can do this! You can show him - in the literal sense of the word!

And so I trudged along, biding my time. I waited until Karim had stopped grumbling. I waited until Mr Ambrose was fully concentrated on the path ahead again. For almost half an hour I walked and waited - then I put my pla

n into action!

The first sign the two of them got that something was out of the ordinary, was the subtle noise of cloth sliding over cloth. Mr Ambrose didn’t bother to look around. But Karim, ever the attentive watchdog, looked up sharply and-

He made a strangled noise in his throat.

I smiled.

Mr Ambrose must have either heard the noise or sensed my smile, because he turned around and, when his gaze fell on me, stiffened like a rod of iron.

‘What do you think you are doing, Mr Linton?’

‘Why, removing some unnecessary clothing, of course, Sir.’ Smiling, I slid the rest of the way out of my tailcoat and let it hang loosely from one hand, swinging back and forth. ‘Thanks so much for giving me the idea, by the way.’

‘I? I did nothing of the sort!’

‘Of course you did. Don’t you remember?.’ Stowing the tailcoat away in my backpack, I drew in a deep breath of air. Ah! Much better! Now, the only thing I was wearing over my clingy, sweat-soaked linen shirt was my peacock vest - a fact that Mr Ambrose seemed to be noticing, too. ‘You said the natives do it, didn’t you?’

‘True.’ Cold and hard as opals, Mr Ambrose’s eyes slowly rose where they had been lingering on the shirt clinging to my body. ‘But there are two important differences between you and a native of South America, Mr Linton.’

‘Indeed, Sir?’

He took a step towards me. ‘Yes, indeed, Mr Linton! Firstly: you are English!’

‘You don’t say.’

Another step. His dark eyes bored into mine - and then flicked, so fast I almost didn’t catch it, to the rest of me, taking everything in. ‘And secondly: they don’t work for me.’

‘How disappointing for you. Haven’t you opened a branch down here yet?’

A noise erupted from his throat, somewhere between a growl and the grinding of stone on stone. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally - then whirled around, and gave a curt shrug. ‘Fine! If you wish to run around the jungle without your tailcoat, Mr Linton, be my guest. But be warned that such improper attire will not be tolerated in my office.’

‘Of course not, Sir.’ I purred.

We continued on. I gave him a little time to recuperate, to lull him into a false sense of security. It wasn’t until noon that day that I put the next part of my plan into action. Again, there was the sound of rustling cloth. Approximately two point five seconds later, Karim cleared his throat.

‘Um…Sahib? Sahib!’

‘What is it, Karim? Is there a problem? Did you see something suspicious?’

‘Err…in a manner of speaking, Sahib, yes! Sahib, she-’

Mr Ambrose turned, just in time to witness my trousers slipping to the ground.

‘Aahh!’ Pulling in another deep, luxurious breath, I stretched my thighs. ‘Much more refreshing like this, don’t you think?’