Page 88 of Storm over the Caribbean
I gave him my most endearing, innocent puppy-dog eyes. Oh, and what eyes they were! After all, by now, I’d had plenty of opportunity to study the art of the puppy dog with my great teacher, Professor Fence.
“For me? Please?”
He held my lethal puppy-dog gaze for about three whole seconds—then slowly, inexorably, lowered his hand, picked up another scrap of fish, and plopped it into his mouth.
Yay! Victory!
Being a cave-wife was so much better than being a housewife.
Over the next hour or so, I sat contentedly in a corner and watched Mr Rikkard Ambrose slowly and deliberately consume my marvel of culinary art. He really had to be savouring and enjoying every bite. After all, could there be another reason why he was eating so slowly?
When he was finally done and had successfully suppressed the urge to regurgitate, he took a deep breath and looked over at me.
“Where did you get it from, Mrs Ambrose? And I amnottalking about your amazing new recipe.”
I told him about the pond and the fish. Then, at his insistence, I gave him a rough summary of what happened during the last few days, including how I confronted the wild beast known as Fence with amazing bravery, and tamed her to be my loyal, face-licking minion.
“I could have done without the last part,” Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated coolly.
“I know,” I happily agreed. “But I couldn’t. By the way, you look a little dry. Would you like your face moisturized?”
“I would like some water.Water, not saliva.”
Dang!And I was so close.
“Come, Fence.” Scratching my furry friend behind the ears, I turned and marched away, striding out of the cave. “Let’s go. No need to stay where we’re not wanted.”
“Woof!”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Over the next few days, our lives continued in a manner that was rather idyllic, if somewhat monotonous. In the morning, I would go to the pond and gather water, at first by hand, laterwith an improvised cup made from large leaves and some twigs and grass. Next, I would catch some fish and prepare it to the very best of my ability, and have breakfast with my darling husband. After five days or so of this, he almost looked ready to eat poisoned fruit again.
Later in the day, I would take some walks around the island with Fence trotting behind me. It really was quite amazing how nice a little holiday on a Caribbean island could be when youweren’tstarving or dying of thirst. As the days passed, I grew increasingly fond of the scruffy mutt. Privately, I decided that, when we left the island, I wouldn’t be leaving him behind. Ambrose Junior, the camel, was going to get a new neighbour. With a spit-happy camel and a lick-addicted dog, life in London should be a lot more interesting, right? It was going to be such a nice surprise when I told Mr Ambrose.
In the evenings, I would help Mr Ambrose to the exit of the cave and watch the romantic sunsets with him. It truly was an awe-inspiring sight. Almost as beautiful as the look on the face of my dear invalid of a husband as his pregnant wife helped him to stand and walk. The twitch in his cheek as he fiercely tried to banish any facial expression was simply amazing to watch.
Finally, the symptoms of whatever whacky venom my dear husband had decided to ingest began to subside. His tremors vanished, his strength returned, and heveryfirmly took over the preparation of meals.
Oh, what a travesty! He is encroaching upon my wifely duties! I am outraged!
…not really.
“Hm…” Licking my lips, I took another big bite of the scrumptious roasted fish. “Dish ish delicious!”
“Compared to the last few days’ menu?” he cast a glance into the corner of the cave where he had disposed of my last attempt at cooking. “Indeed, Mrs Ambrose.”
“Oy!” Still chewing, I waved my fish at him. “I did my besht!”
“That, Mrs Ambrose, is what concerns me.”
Somehow, without even glancing up from his dinner, he managed to duck the fish bone I chucked at his head. Damn him! I couldn’t even curse him for his agility. You couldn’t really curse something you had to come to appreciate so very much during your wedding night.
“For that,” I told him, stabbing a threatening finger at him, “you owe me another roasted fish!”
“A fish in exchange for a fishbone?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m your wife. You didn’t think I’d pick up a thing or two?”
