Page 170 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Four thousand nine hundred, Lachance.”
“Seven hundred and fifty.”
“Four thousand and eight hundred.”
“Remove the ‘four thousand’ and we have an agreement,Monsieur.”
Things went on like that for quite a while. When, finally, reluctantly, after several hours of horrendously harrying haggling, the two of them came to a tenuous agreement, I was nearly ready to fall off my seat.
“All right.” Slapping his hand down on the table, Mr Ambrose concluded the discussion and abruptly woke me from my haggle-induced daze. “Two thousand seven hundred it is.”
“Oui.” Lachance nodded. “Two thousand seven hundred.”
“And now that we’ve concluded the negotiations…” Steepling his fingers, Mr Ambrose leaned back in his seat, as if relaxing. Which I knew was exactly the opposite of what was really in his mind. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about our opponents? Who are we going up against?”
So, the interrogation had begun, had it? And, apparently, his strategy was already planned out.
Talk casually. Pretend the both of you are fighting for a common cause. Hide what you are really after.
It was really hard to keep a predatory smile off my face.
Lachance frowned. “Didn’t Briggs tell you?”
Mr Ambrose gave a one-shouldered shrug. “He was not very talkative in the end. Probably because of how I was choking the bastard.”
“Ah…a forceful change of leadership, was it?” Lachance chuckled, as if the death of a man who had, in essence, been his direct subordinate didn’t affect him in the least. Which itprobably didn’t. “Very well. The man you are going after is one of the most greedy, power-hungry, despicable men you could ever meet.”
“Indeed?”
“Oui, Monsieur Capitaine.” Lachance gave a sombre look. It was quite clear to me that the man he was referring to was not to be trifled with. Hm…I wonder who it could be? “He is one of the richest men of the British Empire. A man whose arms reach far, and whose hands grasp all he can touch. His name is…Rikkard Ambrose.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that one? I’ve heard of him. Yes, he’s most definitely the most greedy, power-hungry, despicab—ow!”
“Apologies,” my dear husband spoke as he removed his foot from my toes. “My foot must have slipped.”
“Well, you are most certainly right.” Lachance gave me a grim nod that acknowledged just how big of a greedy, power-hungry son of a bachelor Mr Rikkard Ambrose was. Maybe the two of us would see eye-to-eye after all.
At least after I’ve clawed his eyes out.
“This Ambrose most definitely sounds like a dangerous individual,” said Mr Rikkard Ambrose while tapping his chin in a most serious manner. I somehow, incredibly, managed to keep my face straight.
“He is,” Lachance grimly agreed. “Very much so.”
“Ah.” My dear husband inclined his head. “Then perhaps I should have asked for a higher price.”
I had to fight hard not to facepalm.
Only you. Only you, Dicky Darling, could try and squeeze more money out of someone for attacking yourself.
“Maybe you should have.” Lachance’s eyes narrowed. “But youdid not.”
There was a moment of tense silence—before Mr Ambrose inclined his head again. “Correct. I did not.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“But,” he added, “since I’m not going to get any more money out of this, you could at least give me some more information.”
A moment later, it hit me what he was doing.
