Page 208 of New Storm Rising
“Grrrrnnnk! Blaaagh!”
Wise decision, as it turned out.
“You were saying?” I enquired.
“Blargh! Argh!”
“Indeed, that is what I thought, Mr Linton.”
Hands on her hips and face slightly green, she righted herself and glared up at me. “This proves nothing! It’s mere coincidence!”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll be right as rain as soon as we step on land!”
…in about nine months or so, maybe.
“Do you wish to bet on that, Mr Linton?” I enquired. “Preferably a large sum of money?”
The answer I received was an expletive that made my ears burn. I made a mental note to have a good talk with my lady wife before her due date. That kind of language wasnotsuitable for a child. Or anyone really, as attested by the pale faces of the surrounding sailors.
That was when she got up and strode back towards the pile of cargo crates, her intentions clear.
Did I say I would have to have a good talk with her before her due date? Scratch that. I was going to have a talk with herright now.
In the end, she still ended up readjusting some tarpaulins and tightening some knots. However, I was successful in keeping her from doing any heavy work. That was taken care of by the sailors who, under my careful instructions, did not allow Mr Victor Linton to lift anything heavier than a thimble. Watching as my secretary was forced to laze about, I nodded to myself in satisfaction—until I noticed the strange looks the sailors were sending in my direction.
“What are you looking at?” I demanded with a chilly glare.
“Um…nothing! Nothing whatsoever, Sir!”
“Then what are you standing around for? Go and take a brea—ehem, I mean work! Yes, definitely work!”
“Err…are you all right, Sir?”
“I. Said. Work.Now!”
“Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!”
Without daring to look my way again, they went back to work—which allowed me to return to my most important task right now. Namely, hovering over my wife and making sure she would not do anything that could be construed as “work” in any way. It was…strange. I should have minded. It should have gone against the grain. And yet, it felt strangely satisfying to just sit there and make sure my wife relaxed.
“Will youstop?!”
Though, apparently, she didn’t find my attention particularly relaxing.
Unperturbed, I faced her fierce, fiery eyes.
“No.”
“That was supposed to be a rhetorical question!”
“Indeed?”
She muttered something distinctly uncomplimentary in Portuguese and turned away to check some knots that held a crate in place. I thought it wise not to point out that one of the sailors had already checked them five minutes ago. Finally, she found a rope that had not been properly tied and practically jumped on it, immediately starting to tie it into a knot.
Hm…I should probably not say anything, but…
“Mr Linton?”
