‘You could, if you wanted to,’ I quickly offered, with my usual awe-inspiring magnanimity. ‘I don’t mind listening to you. I mean, we haven’t got anything else to do, have we?’
He shrugged again. ‘Of course we have. We can enjoy the beautiful weather and watch the nice-looking sea.’
The bloody b-! Strangle him! Strangle him! Strangle him now!
*~*~**~*~*
‘Tell me! Tell me now! I can’t stand it any longer! Just bloody hell tell me!’
All right, as most of you will have guessed by my eloquent speech above, I finally broke down and, in a very polite and civilized manner (for me) enquired about the contents of the suitcases. It was a few days after we had watched the beautiful weather and the nice-looking sea together. Mr Ambrose was standing at the bow, and I approached him, posing my polite question.
‘Tell me, or I’ll shove you overboard!’
Slowly, Mr Ambrose turned towards me, his chiselled head cocked to one side, and in this very cool and detached and perfectly genuine voice said: ‘Tell you what, pray?’
Is he serious?
Nonsensical question. This was Rikkard Ambrose. Of course he was being serious.
‘Those suitcases! What is in them?’
He cocked his head the other way. In his sleek black tailcoat he looked like some great jungle cat contemplating the best way to slay and eat me.
‘Strange. I distinctly remember you mentioning that you were not curious about this.’
‘I lied!’
‘Indeed? I would never have guessed.’
He is making fun of me! I know it! I just know it!
So how come, if he was making fun of me, his face was still absolutely straight, looking as if it had been carved from the heart of a mountain?
Because he’s a bastard, that’s why!
Not able to find any counter-argument to this, I simply kept silent, inside and out, staring doggedly at Mr Ambrose. I was not going to beg! No, I was not!
But he merely turned away and started watching the ocean again. I wondered what had ever given me the idea that it looked nice. It was grotesque! Hideous! Beastly!
‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘Are you going to answer or not?’
He didn’t look at me. ‘That depends, Mr Linton. Will you ask?’
‘I did!’
‘I should perhaps have clarified: will you ask in a civilized, respectful manner?’
Blast him! Why did he always have to pick the things that were most difficult to do? I swallowed, gulping down a goodly portion of my pride along with my saliva.
‘Sir, will you please tell me what is in those suitcases in my cabin, Sir?’
All right, all right, I did beg, I know! I was shameless! A disgrace to feminism!
‘I will do better than that.’ Stepping back from the railing, he turned around and started striding away. ‘I will show you.’
I was after him in a flash. Disgrace to feminism be dashed! I wanted to know what was in those cases right now, or even yesterday if possible! My overactive mind had already started conjuring up all sorts of things.
Maybe it’s weapons! Guns and grenades and God knows what else…