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

‘Stop wasting your muscle energy on useless facial contortions, Mr Linton!’

My grin got even bigger. ‘Of course, Sir! Just as you say, Sir!’

‘Now bring me the file!’

‘Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’

‘And be quick about it! I don’t tolerate tardiness!’

‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!’

And I danced from the room, happier than I had ever been in my life.

THE END

Special Additional Material

TWO CHAPTERS FROM MR AMBROSE’S PERSPECTIVE

‘Cold and Hot’ & ‘Hot and Sweaty’

Chapter Titles are a Waste of Ink

I woke up to the sensation of being tortured. You want to know what it felt like? All right. Prepare yourself.

I was lying on a bed. A soft bed, that smelled of flowery perfume. With a mattress that had feathers inside. The thick blanket on top of me was intolerably warm and comfortable, and someone had actually deposited a pillow beneath my head!

Whoever did this should pray they paid for these useless luxuries out of their own pocket. If they didn’t… if they had even dared to touch one single penny in my purse—

My thoughts abruptly cut off as something soft touched my cheek. God! Not another pillow!

But… no. This wasn’t nearly big enough. And it almost felt alive. Like a hand. Why in the name of King Midas would anybody dare to touch my face with their hand? This was intolerable!

‘There, there,’ a sickly-sweet voice whispered somewhere above me.

A woman? A woman was touching my face? Scratch intolerable. This was outrageous!

‘There, there…’

There? Where, exactly? And what was supposed to be there? What was this female prattling on about? I tried to open my eyes, but they felt as if they had been glued shut with molten tar. I croaked, trying to speak.

‘There, there, my little honey-bunny. Don’t strain yourself.’

Honey-bu… This woman was out of her mind! I had fallen into the hands of a crazy person! I had to get out of here before she tried to smother me with another of her cushions.

‘Violet?’

Another voice. Thank God! Someone who could rescue me from the madwoman.

‘Yes, mother?’

Or maybe not. Mothers were notorious for their disinclination to put their daughter in a straightjacket.

‘How are you getting on?’

Terrible! Horrifying! Gruesome!

‘Simply wonderful, Mother. He’s such a dear.’