Storm of Bells

04. Happy, Happy Customers

'Mmm ltnnn.'

I glanced up from the letter I was proofreading. What was that noise? Where had it come from?

'Mmm ltnn!'

I glanced down at the speaking horn. Could it be...

Picking up the thing, I held it to my ear. 'Yes?'

'Ah. Hello, Mr Linton.' The unholy glee in Mr Pearson's voice put me on my guard instantly. 'How nice of you to finally answer.'

'I'm always nice.' Unless people aren't nice to me. 'Are you calling for any particular reason?'

'As a matter of fact, I am. Mr Ambrose wishes to see you immediately.'

'Why didn't he just call me himself?'

'I wouldn't know. Although he did mention something about not coming into your vicinity so as not to be convicted for manslaughter.'

'Oh. He did, did he?'

'Yes. He also mentioned extenuating circumstances.'

'You don't say.'

'Well...I wish you the best of luck.'

'You do?'

'Oh yes. You're going to need it.'

I lowered the horn. Just before I put it down onto its holder, I heard a faint cackle.

Oh dear.

Could it be that my brilliant advertising campaign hadn't gone quite as expected?

Nonsense! I was a strong, confident woman! I had to believe in my work and myself. Stepping forward with determination, I approached Mr Ambrose's office door and raised my hand to knock—then hesitated.

Cautiously, I drew my hand back.

Then moved it forward again.

Then back.

Hm...could you knock at a door without actually touching the wood? Could you be a strong, confident woman while hiding under a desk? Maybe it was time to do an experiment on the subject.

I took a step back.

'Come in, Mr Linton,' came a cool, commanding voice from the other side of the door.

Crap, crap, crap!

Grasping the doorknob and praying it got stuck, I pushed.

The door swung open.

Thanks so much, God!

'Mr Ambrose?' Cautiously, I stuck my head in the door and immediately noticed the freezing temperature. Oh dear. This was not good. 'You, um...wanted to see me, Sir?'

'Indeed. Close the door.'

'Certainly, Sir.'

'After coming inside.'

'Oh.' Damn! 'As you wish, Sir.'

I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a click.

Mr Ambrose was sitting in his desk, his fingers steepled, a newspaper lying in front of him on his desktop. To my surprise, I noticed it was this morning's newspaper—not yesterday's edition retrieved from a public waste paper basket, as usual. However, that small irregularity soon ceased to matter when I noticed how he was looking at me.

Oh dear...

I could feel ice crystals forming on my eyelashes. Not long, and an icicle would start growing on the tip of my nose. I rather liked my nose the way it was. So I squared my shoulders and stepped forward.