Page 14 of Storm over the Caribbean
That was the moment when Patsy finally got her mitts on me. Her hands tightening around my wrists like clamps of iron, she started to drag me off, away from the others. I threw a desperate, pleading glance towards my husband.
In answer, my husband took another sip of tea.
Traitor! I’m surrounded by traitors!
“You…you…” Pushing me into a corner, Patsy stabbed a finger at me. “You’ve let yourself becorrupted!”
I cleared my throat. “Now, now, that’s going a bit far, wouldn’t you say? It’s hardly my fault that this happened!”
She glared at me for a moment—then, surprisingly, nodded.
I blinked. “Huh?”
She was…agreeing with me?
“You’re right. It’s not your fault.” Her finger swivelled, stabbing at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “It’shis!”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose took another sip of tea. I noticed, however, that his other hand had slid under his tailcoat—to the place where he normally kept his revolver.
“Ehem, come now, Patsy. Perhaps you should calm down a little…”
And perhaps Father Christmas should get a shave. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen.
“And why, pray?” Patsy demanded. The way she looked at me, I was fairly certain she spelled pray with an e instead of a.
“Um, well…”
“Tell me!” she hissed, once more jabbing her feminist finger at the accursed chauvinist that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “Tell me why I shouldn’t tear him a new one!”
I considered this. “Two reasons.”
“Do tell.”
“First, he’d never pay for a new one while he still has the old one.”
Patsy’s meaty fist clenched, probably missing a rolling pin. “Andsecond?”
“Well…” A devious little smile spread over my face, and I lowered my voice. “I already have something in mind for him which even you should consider suitable punishment.”
“Oh?” One of her eyebrows rose, and an answering grin appeared on her face. “Share with your friend. Sharing is caring.”
“All right. Let me tell you what I’ve got in mind…”
When, a few hours later, Mr Ambrose and I left the house arm-in-arm, my friends and family waving behind us, I had a wide, satisfied smile on my face. Mr Ambrose seemed to have noticed. Not moving his head an inch, he studied me out of the corner of his eye.
“Mrs Ambrose?”
“Yes, Mr Ambrose?”
“You seem oddly…cheerful, considering how anxious you previously seemed about meeting with your friends in your current condition.” He threw me a suspicious glance. “Any particular reason?”
Hugging his arm to me tightly, I snuggled up against his side. “Just the fabulousness of being married to the most spiffing man in the world!”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir!”
“Hm.”
