a new experience anyway. To be honest, I had never stood under a shower before. They were a pretty new and fancy invention - expensive, too, by all I had heard. Much more expensive than the traditional bathtub. Mr Ambrose probably only had installed one because he had calculated that in thirty-seven years or so, the water he had saved would justify the additional investment.
Money is power is pumpernickel, right?
Oh well, there couldn’t be that much difference between a hot bath and a hot shower. Shrugging, I grasped the tap and turned it.
A banshee-like scream echoed through the halls of Empire House. Outside the door, I could hear the sound of running footsteps, and then Mr Ambrose’s voice, calling: ‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, has something happened?’
‘Yes!’ I yelled back. ‘Yes! A bucket full of ice water, that is what has happened! Where the dickens does the water in your pipes come from? Antarctica?’
I heard something from the other side that sounded very much like a wall being punched with energy. Or maybe the floor. I hoped it was the floor. He deserved it more.
‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘Where the heck do you get your water from?’
‘A rainwater tank on the roof,’ came the cool reply. ‘Why?’
‘You use rainwater?’
‘Yes. You don’t honestly expect me to pay for water when I can get it for free, do you?’
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’ I asked, as sweetly as I could.
‘Yes?’
‘Is the water in this tank per chance heated in any way?’
‘No, of course not. Why would I waste money on that?’
I proceeded to explain to him exactly why. My explanation might have contained an expletive or two, or maybe a dozen, most directed at him, his ancestry to the tenth generation, and most especially his architect. When I was finished, his cool voice came from outside:
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Do not make any unnecessary noises again. I am trying to work.’
And with that, he was gone.
Quivering with cold, I stood under the shower, cursing the icy water running over my skin, and cursing Mr Ambrose. If he were in here with me, damn him, I was sure I would not be half as cold. He could be surprisingly warm considering how icy he was all the time.
Closing my eyes, I imagined him here with me, wrapping his arms around me, holding me tightly against him. For some reason, I was sure it would feel very nice having him here. He would be much more interesting company than Napoleon, who was still standing against the wall, bent over his chess game.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw him.
He had come after all! Mr Ambrose had entered the room. I wondered briefly why he was dressed in a red hunting costume, but who cared. I smiled a wide smile.
‘You came,’ I mumbled.
He smiled back at me, opened his mouth, and growled like a tiger. Hmm… that wasn’t something he did normally, was it? And normally, he wasn’t so fuzzy around the edges. But you couldn’t expect everything, could you? He was here, that was the main thing. Who cared if I got tiger growls instead of intelligent conversation. It wasn’t as if he was a great talker under normal circumstances.
He stepped closer, his cold eyes raking up and down my body in a way for which any man deserved a slap in the face. Yet, strangely, I felt no urge to slap him. I felt an urge to draw him closer. Maybe then the cold water would be easier to bear. Heat already began to simmer in my belly…
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir…’
My words were cut off as he took another step forward and reached out for me.
*~*~**~*~*
Sometime later - insofar as time still had a meaning for me - I stumbled out of the powder room in a shirt and trousers, my feet still bare and my hair damp from the shower. Mr Ambrose awaited me outside, attired in his usual black tailcoat, bow tie and icy expression. How odd. I could have sworn that he’d just been wearing red, and then… well… significantly less.
‘What exactly did you do in there, Mr Linton?’ he demanded icily. He held his silver watch open in his hand. ‘You spent thirty-one minutes, four and a half seconds under the shower. The average time people require to take a shower is eight to fifteen minutes.’
I blinked at him owlishly. ‘How do you know the average time people need to make a shower? Do you spy through people’s windows with a telescope?’
He chose not to