In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

‘Are you sure about that?’ The fingers of his free hand slid over my chin, upwards over my skin, sending a shiver through my entire body. ‘Are you sure you want to be my secretary? Or do you want something else? Want to be something else to me?’

Something else? What in God’s name does he mean? He can’t be suggesting that we…? No! He can’t. Most definitely not.

‘I want to earn my money!’ I growled between clenched teeth. ‘The money to be free! Free of any man!’

‘Free of any man?’ He cocked his head a fraction of an inch. ‘Except of me.’

‘I only have to put up with you from Monday to Friday, 8 am to 8 pm, Sir!’

He regarded me for a moment, as if studying a strange and possibly dangerous specimen under the microscope.

‘You don’t belong in my office. I might have thought you’d do - but after that thing in The Spectator…’ He let the sentence trail off ominously. ‘You’re a liability, Mr Linton. If you won’t resign voluntarily, I’ll have to make you. Be warned, Mr Linton - it won’t be long until you will be begging to be sacked, and I’ll be rid of you.’

Jerking my chin free of his hand, I raised it high in the air, facing him down. ‘You can try!’

*~*~**~*~*

The drive from Dover to London wasn’t much more chatty and cheerful than the previous one. This wasn’t just because of the stubborn stone statue I had for a travelling companion. No, it had begun to dawn on me that my return might not be very warm and welcoming. Considering the fact that I had left my aunt and uncle’s house supposedly for a brief stroll in the park, and had ended up on a ship that took me to a adventure on a mysterious island on the French coast involving danger, industrial espionage and near death, I thought they might be a tiny little bit upset with me.

Of course, neither my aunt and uncle, nor my five sisters actually knew anything about the adventure on the French island. I could just tell them I had lost track of time and my walk in the park had turned out to be a little longer than I expected. The only problem with that was that my aunt wasn’t a very trusting woman. She might think that a weeklong walk in Green Park was a bit incredible.

Maybe you could say you went on a walk to Yorkshire and back, instead. That would fit the time frame much better.

It would also sound even more ridiculous.

‘What excuse would you tell your family if you had to explain having disappeared for a week?’

I only realized that I had spoken out loud when the stone statue in the corner raised his head and looked at me.

‘None,’ Mr Ambrose told me.

I blinked, taken aback. I hadn’t really expected an answer. So my next words popped out before I could really think about them. ‘You’d disappear on your family for an entire week? Just like that? Without explanation? Have you done that? Left and stayed away for an entire week without sending word?’

‘No.’ He met my eyes coldly. ‘I’ve left and stayed away without sending a word for approximately nine and a half years.’

I gaped at him. Ignoring me, he turned back to staring out the window. Well, well… so Mr Ambrose was not a family man, eh? What a surprise!

Which still didn’t answer my question: what was I going to say to my family when I returned?

Well, why say anything at all? You could simply garb yourself in mysterious silence, like bloody Mr Ice-Cold Ambrose!

Yes, I could do that - if I wanted Aunt Brank to try and rip my head off!

Well, you’ll simply have to let her try and hope it is attached firmly enough to survive.

Outside the coach, the landscape began to change. Gentle hills transformed into flat, monotonous country. After a while, it began to be dotted with a cottage here and there. More cottages came, then turned into houses. And before I knew it, we were rolling into London. The sounds of the city engulfed us, and the familiar smoky smell of the city crept into my nostrils.

Soon enough, the carriage was rolling down a familiar street - a very familiar street. Taken aback, I stared out of the windows at the neat, middle-class brick houses. Wasn’t this…? Yes, it was! The street where my aunt and uncle lived! The street where I had lived, too, ever since my parents had died.

‘What are we doing here?’ I blurted out.

Turning his head just a fraction, Mr Ambrose deigned to look at me. ‘You live here, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but…’ I hesitated. How was I going to tell him I hadn’t thought he’d care enough ab

out me to care where he threw me out of his coach without sounding rude? It was impossible. But on the other hand, since when had I had a problem with sounding rude?

‘I didn’t realize you were providing cab services, for me, Sir,’ I told him, one eyebrow raised in question.