Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,29

no, just one!

Dong…

Clutching my aching chest I stumbled onto the top landing and grabbed wildly at the air to find anything to support me. My hand caught a brass doorknob and clasped it, involuntary pushing the door open.

I had made it!

Unable to stop, I practically fell into the room beyond. I only came to a stop several fumbling steps later, falling to my knees, gasping, in front of a dark wood desk, behind which sat a narrow-faced young man who seemed rather surprised to find a young woman on the carpet before him.

‘Err… Miss?’ he said, tentatively.

I tried to speak, but my vocal cords didn’t work quite right yet. My lungs were still too busy utilizing my throat for air supply after my sprint up seven flights of stairs. I stared at the carpet on which I was kneeling, trying to find the energy to raise my head. It was a dark carpet, with simple and rather austere geometric patterns. Somebody really should hire an interior decorator here.

Get a grip, I told myself, and clambered to my feet.

Looking around, I saw that I was standing in a longish room, almost a corridor, with doors leading off at regular intervals to the sides. At the very end of the room was a large double door of dark wood. Between me and the door stood only the desk, and behind the desk sat the anxious, narrow-faced young man.

This had to be Mr Stone.

‘I’m here to see Mr Ambrose,’ I panted with as much dignity as one can muster while gasping for air. Quickly I tried to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress, but they resisted stubbornly.

‘Are you…?’ he left the sentence hanging in the air as if afraid to finish it.

‘I’m Miss Lillian Linton.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mr Stone nodded. ‘I was told you would be coming.’ He threw a furtive look back at the double door. ‘And you really have to see Mr Ambrose, Miss?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have an appointment?’

‘Yes.’

‘Very well.’

Swallowing, Mr Stone picked up one of those horn-speak-through thingies from his desk and placed it at his mouth.

‘Um… Sir? I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Ambrose, Sir, but there is someone to see you. A Miss Lillian Linton.’

He put the horn to his ear for a few seconds, listening, then frowned and looked up at me apologetically. ‘Err… Miss? Mr Ambrose says he does not know a Miss Linton.’

I gave him my very sweetest smile - sweeter than solid chocolate. ‘Tell him we met last Friday in the street. I’m sure he will remember.’

‘Of course, Miss.’ Mr Stone cleared his throat and nodded, dutifully. He was really a very nice, accommodating young man. ‘Mr Ambrose? The young lady says…’

He repeated my message. For a second or two, everything was still and silent - then Mr Stone jerked the listening-horn away from his ear. I could faintly hear someone shouting on the other end and caught a string of expletives.

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’ Mr Stone had gone as white as a sheet and was speaking hurriedly into the horn. ‘Certainly, Mr Ambrose, Sir. What should I tell the young lady, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

The answer came over the line, and Mr Stone’s eyes widened, his face turning beet red.

‘But Sir! I… I cannot tell her to go and do… that! No, not a respectable young lady!’

The shouting on the other end resumed, probably on the subject of my alleged respectability. It seemed that Mr Ambrose had quite a lot to say about that, and none of it was complimentary.

‘Well, what then, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’ asked the young man timidly. He waited again, then nodded when the answer came. ‘Yes, Sir. Immediately, Sir.’

Mr Stone looked up at me, his ears still red.

‘Err… Mr Ambrose wishes to see you at once, Miss Linton.’

I bet he does, I thought, but said nothing and instead merely smiled at the young desk clerk again. He was really quite nice - for a man.

Mr Stone rose, and, leading me past his desk, guided me to the large double-door that was, as I now realized, the entrance to the private office of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Just before the door he stopped, leaned over and whispered. ‘Err… Miss? Be careful, yes? Mr Ambrose is very… um… well, just be careful.’

With that elucidating statement, he held the door open for me, and I entered, my heart hammering, knowing that the future course of my life might well depend on the man inside. Now why didn’t that make me feel very good?

His Indecent Demands

As the