Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Be silent!’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Follow me.’

‘Right away, Sir. Bye!’ Waving to my Greek friend and to the curator who was still mumbling about mad Englishmen, I hurried after Mr Ambrose.

Our next stops were the Champs-Élysées a

nd the Arc de Triomphe. By the time we had switched directions and were heading towards the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Mr Ambrose had pretty much given up the pretence of reviewing possible real estate for purchase and development—which was good, because I don’t think the Catholic Church would have been happy. I heard the Pope can be difficult about things like levelling cathedrals to build apartment buildings. We climbed all the way up to the top (after Mr Ambrose stared at a priest who said we couldn’t, and the little man hurried off to pray) and stood at the stone railing, looking over the city of Paris in the setting sun.

For the first time in a long while, I was away from all work, from all noise, breathing in clear air. It made me feel free. I gave a sigh.

‘I could stay up here forever. Too bad I don’t have a hump on my back.’

Mr Ambrose stared fixedly ahead into the sunset. Or…did his eyes flicker over to me for just a millisecond?

‘I cannot say I feel similar regret over that particular lack, Mr Linton.’

Mr?

I jabbed his ribs.

‘Oh, come on! We’re at the top of a church, hundreds of yards away from anyone, in a city where the people don’t speak English! Even if I’m wearing trousers, I think you could call me Lillian without risking a scandal, don’t you?’

‘No.’ Still, he would not look at me. ‘I can’t. Because if I were to call you Lillian, if I’d let myself think and feel what you really are to me, I would do something that would cause a scandal. Especially in a church.’

‘Oh.’ I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Thank God it was fast getting dark. ‘Mr Ambrose, I…’

Suddenly, he whirled to face me, and, in the last light of the setting sun, his usually cold eyes seemed to gleam with fire.

‘You haven’t given me an answer yet.’

I didn’t even pretend not to know what he was talking about. His question still echoed in my mind, haunting me at every opportunity.

So, have you changed your mind? Will you be my wife?

I swallowed.

‘You know I didn’t say no the first time because of you, don’t you?’ Whose voice was this timid, whisper? Who was speaking? Surely not I. I was a strong and independent woman, and I bloody well sounded like one!

Silence was the only answer I got.

Quickly, I turned towards him. ‘You do, don’t you?’

More silence. Cold. Hard. Icy. Silence. Grabbing his beautiful face in both hands I stood up on tiptoe to press my forehead pressed against his. Our breaths mingled in the cool evening air. Revelling in the feeling, I closed my eyes.

‘It’s not because of you,’ I whispered. ‘I love you. But…those vows…I…I…can’t…’

I can’t swear to obey a man. Not even you. And you won’t take me unless I do.

Opening my eyes, I gazed up at him, hoping he would read in my face what I couldn’t put into words right then.

His left little finger twitched.