Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

My sister Ella wasn’t quite so easy to deal with. Since she actually (for some strange reason) genuinely cared for me, a cut of my monthly payment probably wouldn’t be the right approach to soothe her tears. Instead I tried a mixture of pats on the back and ‘there, there’s’. It seemed to work quite well. I decided that next time I went on a dangerous journey into the South American jungle, I should probably warn her beforehand.

Soon, my little sister was so overtaken by joy that I was not dead in a ditch somewhere that she had forgiven me for my disappearance. Normal home life resumed.

At work, too, the usual office routine was back in place. Mr Ambrose pelted me with little notes demanding for me to get this and note down that, and I ran around doing my best to soothe his tyrannical disposition. Only one thing was a little different: in my absence, a whole mountain of correspondence had accumulated. I was a bit puzzled as to why, at first - after all, we hadn’t been gone that long - until I started to dig through the pile and came across the pink letters.

Dozens upon dozens were heaped onto my desk - maybe even hundreds! With a sigh, I started to deposit them in my full-to-bursting bottom drawer. Three days later, I was still busy trying to find a place to stash the last of them so Mr Ambrose would think I had destroyed them all. I was just contemplating whether I could nail some of them to the underside of my desk when a brisk knock came from the door.

‘Y-’ I began. That was about all I got out of my intended ‘Yes, who is this?’ before the door burst open and a young woman strode into the room as if she owned the place (and the rest of the world besides).

My mouth dropped open.

She was a girl, of course, so she had curves and long hair, but apart from that…the determined, chiselled jaw, the perfect face, the dark, sea-coloured eyes with the look inside them that could freeze your butt off at fifty paces…

I swallowed, hard.

She was young, probably a bit younger than me, and her face was still too round and childlike for the resemblance to be perfect, but no matter. I knew. I just knew.

‘Where is he?’ the girl demanded, eyes blazing.

Not for one moment did I doubt to whom she was referring. Unable to manage speech, I lifted one slightly trembling hand and pointed to the connecting door to Mr Ambrose’s office, which he had (very unwisely, as I currently believed) left unlocked.

‘All right.’ The girl cracked her knuckles. I am not joking. She actually cracked her knuckles. Her gaze fell on the stack of unanswered pink letters on my desk. Her eyes flashed with anger, and then darted to the connecting door. ‘You stay here and don’t interrupt! I have a few things to say to this brother of mine!’

And, marching to the door, she tore it open

and marched inside. It slammed shut behind her like a thunderbolt.

This time, unlike with his mother, I didn’t try to listen in. But that was only because this time, unlike with his mother, the whole conversation was perfectly audible through the thick stone walls. If you could call something a ‘conversation’ that rattled the windows and probably shook the building to its foundations. I winced, for the first time in my life feeling genuinely sorry for Mr Rikkard Ambrose. When the girl stormed out of the office half an hour later, I had stuffed my fingers in my ears so as not to go deaf from the noise.

She stopped at the door to the hallway and turned around one last time. ‘If you’re not there by the end of the month, I’ll come and drag you there by the ears!’ she shouted. ‘Mother is hurting! Enough is enough!’

With that, she stormed out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

Silence descended over the office.

It’s funny, really. In my time with Mr Ambrose I’d had plenty of experience with it, but still, I had never realised until now what a wonderful thing silence could be. Cautiously, I removed my fingers from my ears.

Even more cautiously, I glanced at the half-open door to Mr Ambrose’s office. It was quiet as the grave in there. Maybe quite literally. I wouldn’t put much past that little raven-haired vixen, including blackmail and manslaughter.

But then, to my infinite relief, I heard footsteps approaching from inside the other office. Slowly, the door creaked open, and there he stood: Mr Rikkard Ambrose, looking as cool and controlled as ever, not betraying a hint of the fact that he was just ravaged by a mad fury from hell. Except…well, his left little finger was twitching. Fast.

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Pack your bags. It appears we are going on another trip.’

‘Indeed, Sir?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ His eyes as he looked at me were as deep, dark and unfathomable as the farthest depths of the ocean. ‘It is time I pay a visit to my family.’

THE END

Special Additional Material

THREE CHAPTERS FROM MR AMBROSE’S PERSPECTIVE

‘Happily Ever After with Whiskers’, ‘Really Hot Jungle Heat’ and ‘Interesting Ideas’