Page 214 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Well?” He cocked his head. “I’m waiting.”
I considered his question for a moment—then turned towards him, my eyes widened in innocence.
“I would have thought you would appreciate a pretty bird in your office. You know, keep you company? To brighten your day?”
“I feel like I am going to regret asking this,” my dear husband stated, icicles dangling from his voice, “but why wouldIappreciate abird?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I gifted him with a blinding smile. “Because birds always go ‘cheap, cheap!’”
Arctic silence descended over the carriage. Arctic silence that somehow still could not compete with the iciness of the stare that was currently trying to turn me into a life-sized ice statue. The mood in the coach wasn’t exactly helped by the giggling little girl who was currently busy playing with the parrot in the cage that was still dangling in Mr Ambrose’s grip. Apparently, the bird brought back happy memories of pirates.
I cleared my throat. “So…this is just a wild guess, but…you don’t appreciate bird jokes?”
He sent me another look to apply an extra coating of frost over the ice statue I should by all rights be by now.
“Ehem. Very well then. How about some stingy Scotsmen jokes? I’ve still got that old book from when—”
A third look he sent my way promptly shut me up.
“Oh, um…all right. Closing my mouth now.”
“Woof!” Fence agreed like the epitome of canine wisdom that he was. “Woof, woof!”
Then he ducked behind my legs and hid from Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s frosty glower.
One thing, though…
No matter how much he glared, no matter how much he tried to freeze the air in the coach with his mere presence, Mr Rikkard Ambrose hadn’t once protested against me bringing home my new parrot, my dog, or the little runaway girl.
One corner of my mouth lifted into an almost imperceptible smile.
***
A quarter of an hour or so later, a certain unremarkable coach approached the magnificent edifice that was Empire House. The doorman didn’t pay any particular attention to it. Hundreds of carriages drove past Empire House every day. Hedid,however, start paying attention when one of said carriages halted before the front steps and Mr Rikkard Ambrose climbed out of it.
“M-Mr Ambrose, Sir!” Bowing hastily, the uniformed man pulled open the door and stepped aside. “And Mrs Ambrose! We’re honoured by your presence, Sir and Madam. We—”
Mr Ambrose strode past him without a word. I was about to follow when, halfway through the door, Mr Ambrose froze, then took a step back and speared the fellow in uniform with an icy gaze.
“A doorman?” His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “When exactly did I authorise money forhiring a doorman?”
The doorman swallowed. “W-well…the manager you left in charge during your absence decided it might be a good idea if we present a proper image for—”
“Ah.” Mr Ambrose nodded. “So there aretwopeople I have to fire.”
“F-fire?”
Before Mr Ambrose could hand the man his notice of dismissal (i.e., a kick in the butt, which does not require precious paper and ink), we heard a thump from behind us. Turning away from the poor ex-doorman, I saw Karim try to pull a large crate down from on top of the carriage. He (unsurprisingly) didn’t seem to have any trouble with the weight—but considering how large it was, the thing appeared rather hard to balance. A fact Mr Ambrose seemed to have noticed as well.
“Hm…” Eyeing the crate, my dear husband tapped his chin—then glanced over at the doorman. “Change of plans. Seems like you might keep your job after all. That is, if you would be amenable to helping us with this…cargo?”
“Anything!” the doorman blurted out. “I’ll do anything!”
Just then, the crate rocked, and from within issued a slightly muffled, yet distinctly human sound of protest.
With a broad grin, I reached out and patted the doorman on the shoulder. “You’re going to regret ever saying that. Welcome to the club.”
“Err…thank you, Madam?”
