Page 75 of Storm of Bells
SteamyScenes
‘I really can’t thankyou enough, Mr Linton,’ Mr Stone sighed in contentment, moving theiron from left to right, steam wallowing all around him. ‘This issuch a nice holiday from all the exhausting office work.’
‘Um, yes…holiday.’ Doubtfully I eyed thegiant piles of laundry rising behind Mr Stone, almost to theceiling of my office. I had a sneaking suspicion that Mr RikkardAmbrose had dumped the laundry of his entire office staff into mylap. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Are you joking?’ Mr Stone gazedlovingly at the ironing board, his gaze drifting off into thedistance. ‘This reminds me of the good old days with Ma. I’ll haveto visit her again soon.’
‘You’ll do that. I’ll be at the front desk.By the way…is it all right if I organize your notes a littlebit?’
‘Would you?’ He threw me a worshipful look.‘Thank you, Mr Linton! Thank you so much! I can never make head ortail of Mr Ambrose’s filing system.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I stepped towards the door and was just aboutleave when, with athump, a small metal container landed onmy desk. The reason why it was athumpand not aplink, was because my desk was padded by a dozen layers ofgentlemen’s waistcoats. Picking up the capsule, I popped it open,unfolded the paper and read,
Mr Linton,
Another load of laundry shall arrive soon.Be ready.
Rikkard Ambrose
Picking up a pen, I scribbled:
Dearest most beloved Mr Ambrose,
Bring it on!
Sincerely yours
Lillian Linton
Then I left the room, whistling, and stepped outinto the hallway.
I had been sitting outside at the desk forsome time, reading a fascinating scene in Mr Stone’s little bookthat was giving me some interesting ideas for my wedding night,when I heard the paternoster rattling. My interest piqued, Iglanced up. From within the shaft, I heard muffled banging,accompanied by, ‘Bloody hell, bloody, bloody hell! What infernalmachine is this? Brother dear, when I get my hands on you…!’
Grinning, I lowered the book, already knowingwho it would be. Moments later, a fabulous, raven-haired furystumbled from the paternoster and, before the mechanism had thechance to move on, gave it a resounding kick. ‘Damn invention ofSatan!’
‘Well, hello to you, too, Adaira.’ I waved toher, and she turned towards me.
She gave me a smile—which quickly turned intoa frown. Hands on hips, she advanced on me. ‘Hey, what’s this? Hasmy prospective sister-in-law been demoted from secretary toreceptionist?’
From next door issued the hiss of steamescaping from a boiling hot iron.
‘I prefer to think of it as a strategicpromotion,’ I told her with a grin. ‘Besides…this job is a piece ofcake, really.’
‘It is?’
‘Oh yes.’ Reaching into a certain drawer ofthe desk, I pulled out a platter of homemade chocolate cake afterMr Stone’s ma’s recipe. That woman knew how to bake! ‘There’s stillquite a bit left. Want some?’
‘My, my! You do know how to live here atEmpire House. If I’d known my brother was this generous with hisemployees, I’d have considered joining, myself.’
I gave a little shudder.
‘A piece of friendly advice: don’t. At leastnot here.’ If Mr Ambrose was a chauvinistic office tyrant in regardto me, I couldn’t imagine how bad it would get when it came to hislittle sister.
We settled around Mr Stone’s desk, and, overtea, whiskey and chocolate cake, exchanged gossip on currentevents, Mr Ambrose, the newest wedding fashions, Mr Ambrose, myadventures in Paris, Mr Ambrose, how things stood back atBattlewood, and Mr Ambrose.
It was amazing how, every time he came up, weseemed to be in agreement.
