Page 70 of Storm of Bells
Well, at least you won’t have to worry aboutduring. If the last night with him is anything to go by…
Quickly shoving that thought aside, I enteredEmpire House, crossed the entrance hall with a nod to Sallow-Faceand jumped into the paternoster. But this time, I didn’t praybecause of the hellish construction. There was a completelydifferent reason.
Please let him be back to normal! Please lethim be cold, and hard, and icy and….and…
‘Ah, there you are!’ As soon as I stepped outof the elevator, a bright smile greeted me. Mr Stone sat at hisdesk in the corner, hiding behind his book and watching his bossover the top with horror-filled eyes. Mr Ambrose, standing rightthere in the corridor, smiled at me. ‘A wonderful morning, isn’tit?’
That depends on your definition.
‘Yes, Sir. Most certainly, Sir.’
‘So glad to hear you agree. Make me anothercup of tea, if you will, yes? I shall be in my office.’
And with that, he vanished through thedoor.
I looked at Mr Stone. ‘Do you think you cando your magic with the teakettle once again?’
The young man nodded, sombrely. He lookedslightly traumatized.
‘Yes, Mr Linton.’
‘Wonderful! Thank you so much. Tell me whenyou have the tea and a stiff glass of whiskey.’
‘Err…whiskey? Mr Ambrose said only tea,didn’t he?’
‘He did.’ Squaring my shoulders, I steppedtowards my office. ‘The whiskey is for me.’
Once the kind Mr Stone had provided me withall the necessary beverages, I knocked at Mr Ambrose’s door.
‘Enter, please.’
Please?Please?
If things went on like this, I would have topay for a doctor out of my own pocket.
Pushing the door open with my elbow, Islipped inside and closed it firmly behind me. No sense in lettinganyone else see him like this. Later, when he recovered, this wouldbe such a horrible embarrassment.
If he ever recovered.
Don’t think like that, Lilly! Of course hewill recover! You’ll see, soon he’ll be back to normal. Soon, he’llonce more be his cold, acerbic, abrasive—
‘Ah, Darling, there you are.’ Mr Ambrosegreeted me with a broad smile.
Could there be anything worse?
I took a closer look at him and realized:yes, there could.
‘Where is your tailcoat?’ I demanded,staring. Mr Ambrose, sitting behind his desk without his prizedten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat? I hadn’t thought such a thingwould be possible. The two were inseparable. If physicallypossible, I was sure he was going to keep the thing on during ourwedding night. And now, here he was, sitting in nothing buttrousers and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up over hisbiceps.
And what nice biceps they are…
Bad Lilly! Concentrate!
‘It’s right here.’ Reaching out, Mr Ambrosepicked up his folded tailcoat from where it had lain, unnoticed byme, between two piles of documents. ‘Clothes just aren’t thequality they used to be anymore. I’ve noticed that, in spite of thegood care I’ve taken of it, and how recently it was purchased,there do appear to be some holes in the fabric.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘Yes. So I’d like you to take care ofit.’
