Page 73 of Storm of Bells
Hope blooming inside me, I pushed open thedoor into the corridor, where Mr Stone sat at his desk, once morereading his book, the cover of which, I noticed, showed a man andwoman in a rather compromising embrace.
I cleared my throat.
‘Wha—!’ Losing hold of his book, Mr Stonesent it flying, tried to catch it, failed to do so and sent itsailing under the desk. Pretending not to notice the blushsuffusing his cheeks, I enquired: ‘The other day, you told me aboutyour mother…’
‘Yes?’ he asked, cautiously pushing the bookfully under the desk so the cover was invisible.
‘That remarkable lady didn’t perchance alsoteach you how to bake a chocolate cake, did she?’
His face brightened. ‘Why yes, she did. Infact, chocolate cake was my favourite treat when I was growingup.’
‘I knew there was a reason I liked you!’Rubbing my hands, I stepped fully out into the corridor. ‘Whatwould you say to another few hours of work exchange?’
From that point onward, Mr Stone and I cameto a life-saving arrangement. Mr Rikkard Ambrose wanted a cup oftea every ten minutes? No problem! Mr Rikkard Ambrose wanted hisentire collection of valuables dusted? Already taken care of! MrRikkard Ambrose desired someone to iron his tailcoat and wash histrousers? Mr Stone would take care of it. I, meanwhile, sat at thefront desk, defending my man’s fortune from creditors, frauds andcrazy cat ladies. And in my free time, I peeked into Mr Stone’sbook. It turned out to be quite interesting.
I didn’t know what I would have done if I’dbeen on my own. All those infernal tasks that had been heaped ontomy back recently—they were exactly the things I had been trying toavoid by getting a job of my own! These days, Mr Ambrose wasbehaving more like an asininely nice but needy husband than anemployer. If this continued, I might as well do as he wished, leavemy job and—
My hand froze, halfway on the way to turn thenext page.
No.
Oh no.
He couldn’t have, could he?
At that very moment, aplinksoundedfrom my office. Jumping to my feet, I strode into my office andpicked up the little capsule.
Darling,
I think my clothes could do with a bit ofwashing. Could you take care of it please?
Thanks!
Ricky
P.S. Please starch my collars, will you?
Could anyone really be this cool, calculating andmanipulating?
What do you think, Lilly? He’s RikkardAmbrose. Of course he can.
That sneaky, snivelling snake in thegrass…!
Crushing the note in my fist, I marchedtowards the door leading to his office and kicked it open withoutknocking. My dear betrothed was sitting in his armchair, sipping acup of tea and gazing out of the window, the perfect picture of theman of the house relaxing while his dear wifey worked.
‘You…you…!’ Marching towards him, I hurledthe crumpled note at him. By sheer good fortune, it landed in histea cup. ‘Take that! And take your starched shirt collars and stuffthem up your starched behind!’
Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose reached for thesugar tongs on his tea tray, carefully dipped them into the teacup, removed the rolled-up piece of paper, set it down on the teatray, and tasted his beverage. Only then did he turn to me, a shinysmile on his face. But his eyes…
They remained cold, and glittering with calmcalculation. Bloody hell! How had I not seen this before?
‘So…have you decided to quit your positionand become a lady in the house after all?’
I snorted. ‘Fat chance. Your game is up! Iknow what you’re up to!’
The smile bled from his face as if someonehad thrown a bucket of water over a wall painted with very, very,very cheap paint. Underneath, there was nothing but cold, stonehard man. And while I stood there and seethed with anger at him,inside, a small part of me jumped up and down, screaming ‘Huzzah!Huzzah! He’s back!’
‘Well, finally,’ Mr Rikkard Ambrose said,chucking the contents of his teacup into the bin and giving thesugar bowl an arctic look. ‘It took you long enough. I thought Iwould have to stuff my face with this muck forever.’
