Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,248

course. See you later, Mr Linton.’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Stone.’

Hurrying over to the door I grabbed the pile of letters and began to leaf through it. Business, business, business, charity (waste), charity (waste), more charity (definitely waste!), pink envelope-

My hands froze as I stared at the crest on the pink paper. Not another one of these!

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I stared at the name of the sender. Samantha Genevieve Ambrose. Already once before had I entertained the idea that this might be Mr Ambrose’s wife. The idea had irked me back then. It drove ice through my veins now.

Flashes of last night again appeared in front of my inner eye. His arms around me, his lips on mine - no, no, no! It had all been a hallucination. What did it matter if he was married? He and I hadn’t engaged in amorous c-

Well, we had certainly done nothing that non-married people weren’t supposed to do. All this existed only in my head, it had been a dream.

Quickly, I ran over to my desk and stuffed the pink envelope into the drawer, to keep the others of its kind company. The old saying said ‘out of sight, out of mind’. I slammed the drawer shut and took a deep breath.

And soon I discovered that the old saying was complete poppycock.

*~*~**~*~*

I would like to be able to say I worked like a slave that day, but it wouldn’t be true. Slaves are shouted at, and probably whipped, too. I, for my part, was simply badgered to death with little bits of paper. The latter method turned out to be quite as effective as the former, though. He kept me at it for about three or four hours without one pause or break. And if that wasn’t enough, thoughts of the letter tormented me ceaselessly. And the hallucinatory kiss! And… and… finally it started to feel like it all built up as a physical pressure, growing inside me. It built and built, waiting to be released-

Until I finally realized that it didn’t just feel like a physical pressure. It was physical pressure.

Oops.

‘Mr Ambrose?’ Marching up to the connecting door, I hammered against the wood. ‘Mr Ambrose, I have to use the powder room. Now.’

Silence.

‘If you don't let me use it, I’m going to pee in the waste paper basket,’ I threatened.

That worked. Footsteps approached, and keys jingled in the look. A moment later, the door opened and he stood before me: Mr Rikkard Ambrose in all his cold, stony glory. His eyes were like dark pools of unfathomable deep water. His mouth could have been carved from granite. And his lips…

Luckily, my bladder took my thoughts off that subject fast.

‘Finally!’ I hissed. ‘What the dickens do you mean by locking me up like this? Are you-’

He interrupted me with a curt motion of the hand towards the powder room.

‘Get in.’

I would have liked to stay and argue, but my pressing need was becoming ever more pressing. Oh well, I could always argue afterwards.

Two minutes later I sat on cool ceramic, sighing in contentment - probably the first time ever I had felt contentment within the walls of Empire House, 322 Leadenhall Street.

As my feeling of contentment slowly faded, my thoughts drifted to Mr Ambrose’s behaviour. I couldn’t make head or tail of it. Why would he lock me in like this? To prevent me from drinking and thus being distracted from my work? But that was preposterous! If I were in danger of becoming a drunkard, if I were to run away and succumb to alcohol during my work hours, then he would have the perfect excuse to dismiss me - exactly what he had been waiting for all along. So why should he try to prevent that? To want to keep me from drinking to excess, that wasn’t the act of an employer for whom one employee was like another, easily exchangeable. It sounded more like the act of somebody who cared about my safety…

Who cared about me.

I slammed the door on that thought immediately. I slammed it so hard I almost thought I heard the sound of a door shut with my actual ears.

Then, when I heard Karim’s voice from outside the powder room, I realized I had heard a door shut: the door of Mr Ambrose’s office!

‘Sahib?’

Mr Ambrose’s reply was unintelligible. His cool voice was much quieter than the rumble of the mountainous Mohammedan.

Quickly, I jumped up and pulled up my trousers. This male outfit was pretty