After the Storm

17. Travelling... again

I had not expected Lord Dalgliesh to be so direct as to confront Mr Ambrose and I. He always reminded me of a snake, slithering quietly as he tailed his prey. Finally, he was striking, and I wasn't the very least prepared.

"Mr Linton. Get 37XI300. Hurry!"

I scuttled absent-mindedly to my office.

All Lord Dalgliesh had done the night before was smile warmly at Mr Ambrose and ask a few questions. In spite of his amicable expression, his eyes were as hard as burnished steel.

He had asked: "How is your sister? I hope that she is well."

The result was instantaneous. If it were humanely possible, Mr Ambrose's already freezing aura dropped by another ten degrees. Yet the Lord's smile did not waver.

"Mr Linton. Stop dallying!"

"Yes sir!" I snapped to attention and grabbed the box.

He sent me his most biting stare. "Be quicker next time."

"Yes sir! I will do my best to fetch your files while making sure my arms do not fracture! Anything for you, sir!"

"Cease your incessant babbling. Fetch file 188G."

It took me a few more running back and forth to garner up the courage to ask Mr Ambrose a question. Finally when I reached my thirty-eighth file of the day, not including the boxes I had to lug, burning curiosity got the better of me.

"Sir? May I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He didn't look up.

"May I then ask you a question not involving me asking you a question about whether I can ask you a question?"

"No."

That bastard!

"I'm still going to ask! And you jolly well give me an answer!"

He lifted his head from his files ever so slowly, and stared. I took that as a yes.

"Why did Lord Dalgliesh ask about your sister?" Did Mr Ambrose even have a sister? It seemed rather implausible for him to have any human relatives, considering how he looked hewn from granite. The only family members I considered him having were basalt and pebbles.

An icy tempest brewed in his eyes. From the corner of my vision, I could see his hand tighten around his pen.

"That is none of your concern."

"I know, but I don't care." To turn that into a respectable sentence, I added: "Mr Ambrose, sir."

"Careful, Mr Linton. One might mistake you for an uncouth busy-body."

I snorted. "But I am an uncouth busy-body."

"Precisely. Best not to show others your true colours."

"They can kiss my ass! But what was Lord Dalgliesh talking about yesterday?"

Silence. Cold, freezing silence. I maybe should not have included my ass into the argument.

"Let me guess, he probably did something despicable somehow, somewhere, sometime."

"Excellent deduction Mr Linton. One would never have guessed. Now get me 36XI286."

I wasn't done. I knew that I was intruding into his matters, but I was his personal secretary. I felt pretty darned justified to do so. "Did he do something to your sister? Did he hurt her in some way? He brought her up so I was thinkinㄧ"

Snap! The fountain pen broke under the pressure of his long fingers. Black ink oozed from the crack like dark blood.

"That's not the first pen you've broken, sir. You really should be more careful. Wouldn't want to spend more money, would you?" I smiled sweetly.