Silence Breaking

04. South and North

'So...where does this family of yours live, exactly?'

'In the North.'

I gave him a look. 'I had surmised as much from the fact that we're travelling on the Great Northern Road.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes, indeed, Sir.'

I waited for more. Nothing came. Nothing but the pictures my own imagination could conjure up. In the beginning, from the moment Mr Ambrose had first hinted he came from the North, I had always pictured some ice-cold, windy Scottish castle on top of a cliff, with no glass in the windows, and an underground vault filled with a life's worth of hoarded treasure. However, when I had voiced these theories, Mr Ambrose had looked at me as if I were a particularly repellent cockroach and informed me coolly that he had not and did never intend to live in Scotland, that he was a one hundred per cent English gentlemen and did not appreciate my suggesting anything to the contrary.

Of course I didn't believe a word. The man had to be Scottish! He had to be! He hadn't bought new underwear in over ten years. If that didn't scream 'Highlander', I didn't know what did.

Still, it was a sensitive subject, so it might be best to proceed with caution.

'Okay, let's start crossing off possibilities,' I murmured. 'Do your parents live in a castle?'

'No.'

'A palace?'

'No.'

'A townhouse?'

'No.'

'A henhouse?'

No answer.

'Ah. So a henhouse it is, then.'

Mr Ambrose raised his gaze from the papers he had been studying. 'They do not live in a henhouse, Mr Linton. They live in...' A muscle in his cheek twitched. It was over and done with in a fraction of a second, but I saw it all right. Oh yes, I did. '...in a manor in the country.'

I casually leaned closer, and enquired, 'In which part of Scotland?'

A moment of silence.

A long one.

'Mr Linton?'

'Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

'You know perfectly well that they do not live in Scotland! For the last time, I am not Scottish, and neither are they, and the same applies to my grandparents and their parents before them.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'That's what you say. I still doubt it's physically possible for anyone to be as stingy as you are if they don't have at least a drop of Scottish blood running through their veins.'

'I resent that implication, Mr Linton.'

'Indeed, Sir?'

'It is perfectly possible for an Englishman to be as frugal, prudent and economical as any Scotsman.'

'If you say so, Sir.'

With a cool look, he returned to studying his papers. I, for my part pulled out a book I had acquired as a little light reading for the journey: The Stingy Scotsman – One-thousand Hilarious Jokes. It really was hilarious reading, particularly if, like me, you had a pencil with you, and busied yourself replacing the words 'a Scotsman' with 'Rikkard Ambrose'.

This led to some quite interesting results...

What is Rikkard Ambrose's recipe for tomato soup? Heat a quarter gallon of water, and then fill it into red bowls.