Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

He started rattling off dates at an incredible rate, detailing when and where he was to go exactly. The list went from various factories to places at the harbour, several banks, business associations and meetings. Whatever his business interests were, exactly, they were many and varied. I did my best to take all the dates down in a legible manner, and did pretty well, I think, until he dropped the bomb.

‘At three pm on Saturday, I shall be attending the opera.’

I left a blot of ink on the page.

‘What?’

He looked up at me with those cool, sea-blue eyes of his.

‘There is that word again. Are you particularly fond of it, Mr Linton?’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ I accused him. ‘You attend the opera?’

‘Yes.’

‘You do not consider such a frivolous activity to be a waste of your time and money?’

‘No.’

‘And why not, if I may ask?’

‘Because I own it.’

‘Oh.’

‘I like to keep the management on their toes. And the ballet dancers as well.’

I blinked. Had he just made a joke? His face told me otherwise. It was as stony as ever. But nobody could be that serious, could they?

The opera…

Suddenly, a thought shot through my mind. A very annoying thought in a green ball gown.

‘Will anybody be going with you?’ I enquired suspiciously.

Like Miss Hamilton, for instance? Or the writer of the pink letters? Or… both?

‘Is that any business of yours, Mr Linton?’

‘It is if you want me to procure tickets for you.’

‘I see.’

He thought for a moment, tapping with his fingers on the desk, looking away from me, out of the window and over the city of London. I waited with bated breath.

‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘I think somebody will be going with me. Procure two tickets for the opera.’

Somebody? Somebody? Was he torturing me on purpose? Did he know that I was dying to know? There wasn’t the slightest indication of it on his face. But then, when was there ever any indication of anything on his face? He was as easy to see through as a brick wall and just as friendly.

‘Anybody in particular?’ I asked, and immediately regretted it. After all, he shouldn’t be thinking I was… interested in him in any way, which I clearly was not.

He swivelled around and fixed me with his cool gaze again. ‘Why do you ask? Do opera tickets have to bear names nowadays?’ If it hadn’t been Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I could have sworn there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Blast it! Blast me! And blast the opera! Who needed Mozart and Meyerbeer anyway?

I hid my face behind the appointment book and wished it were larger. ‘Just curious.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Any more appointments, Sir?’