Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,221

far I was having lots of fun. I eyed Mr Ambrose’s neatly trimmed black hair with suspicion. ‘You had long hair?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I did not have enough money for a knife or scissors to cut it with.’

He was out of the room before I could think of a reply. And really, thinking of replies was so exhausting…

*~*~**~*~*

‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, you have to remove that damp towel.’

‘W-what?’

Blinking, I sat up straight. The world seemed very fuzzy again. There was a man standing in front of me… White shirt, black waistcoat and bow tie… stone-faced… Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose with a fresh towel!

‘Here. Take this.’ He handed the towel to me.

‘But you said to wait,’ I protested.

‘You have been waiting. Sleeping, to be exact. But five minutes is long enough. My office is no home for passing drunkards.’

He unwound the damp towel from my head, and I, luckily able to find my head again, began to rub vigorously.

‘I said pat your hair dry,’ he reminded me. ‘Pat. Gently. Not rub like you want to rip it out of your head.’

‘Why don't you go write a brochure on hair care?’ I grumbled. ‘I can dry my hair however I want, thank you very much.’

After a few minutes, I let the towel sink with a sigh.

‘I can’t get it really dry with this,’ I complained. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a hairbrush, would you?’

He was standing at the dark window by now, looking out over the lights of the city. He didn’t turn around at my question.

‘Why on earth would I possess such a useless item? Use your fingers. That’s perfectly good enough.’

Why was he suddenly being so antagonistic? He had been so nice just a minute ago, saving me from strangling myself, and even nicer before that, in the shower… and now? Now he was cold as stone again, and staring away from me. I didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand him.

‘I liked you better in your hunting costume,’ I grumbled.

‘What did you say?’

‘Forget it.’

I did my best to dry my hair with fingers and towel. Beside me, the piggy had switched to the inner jacket pockets, still searching for truffles.

‘Try the upper left one,’ I whispered to it. ‘Take his wallet and you can buy all the truffles you’ve ever dreamed of.’

The piggy squeaked excitedly and proceeded to take my advice. I leaned back in the chair with a contented sigh, imagining how it would find Mr Ambrose’s wallet and sneak off with all his money to buy truffles in Brussels. Suddenly, my hair felt much drier, and I myself better in a general way, though my feet were still a bit cold.

I sneaked a peek at Mr Ambrose, to see if he had taken notice of the piggy’s activities. But he was still standing at the dark window, his back to the room, looking out over the city. In the distance, beyond the glass, one could just see the lights glowing at the docks. Work went on there, even through the night.

‘Mr Linton?’

Exasperated, I tapped on the armrest of the chair. ‘You still persist in calling me that? Even after what you’ve seen?’

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I could have sworn his ears turned a tiny bit red. So, this creature of stone actually had some blood in him.

‘Especially after all I’ve seen, Mr Linton.’ His voice was as frosty as the heart of an iceberg. ‘Not,’ he added immediately, ‘that I actually saw anything. I turned away and closed my eyes very quickly. I saw nothing at all.’

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t lie.’

‘Mr Linton!’

He started to turn - then thought better of it and folded his arms in front of his chest. So I folded my arms in front of my chest, too, in defiance. And for the sake of gender equality, of course. Peeking at him out of the corner of my eye, I saw he was still glaring out of the window, trying to freeze the city of London with his gaze alone. I didn’t have a window to stare through belligerently, so I had to make do with the wall, but my stare was nevertheless a match for his.

For a while we just remained like this, glaring in angry silence. Finally, he spoke again:

‘I wanted to ask you something, Mr Linton.’

‘Well, why didn’t you?’

‘You distracted me.’

‘I’m quite skilled at that,’ I admitted.

‘Yes, you are.’

‘So ask now.’

There was another moment of silence. Then, abruptly:

‘Why do you do it, Mr Linton? Why work for me? Why insist on