Page 238 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Am-brose! Am-brose! Am-brose!” The incessant chorus of cheers became louder and louder. If only there was some way to shut them up!
Oh, but there is—hold a speech for feminism.
On second thought, maybe it was better to let them continue to shout after all.
My eyes moved to the side and found the one responsible for all of this. Mrs Lillian Ambrose, the scourge of mankind. Emphasis onman.
Parting my lips ever so slightly, I mouthed,“You will pay for this.”
In answer, she cocked an eyebrow, and mouthed back:“You mean with the salary that I get from you?”
That cheeky little…
…woman has a point?
Well, yes. But that was completely irrelevant!
“Am-brose! Am-brose! Am-brose!” Completely ignorant of the obvious fact that saying something once was perfectly sufficient, the gaggle of females continued its incessant cheering. Somewhere among their number, I spotted those so-called “friends” of my wife, who seemed to find far too much enjoyment in my predicament.
I made a mental note to check my list of debtors for their names. If they or their families were on it, well…
As the saying went,An attachment order45says more than a thousand words.
“Cheer a little louder, ladies!” roared the one who looked like she could mud wrestle a bison. “Seems like our benefactor is a little shy!”
Oh yes. That one is definitely going bankrupt as soon as humanly possible.
“Am-brose! Am-brose!”
Though not nearly soon enough.
At that very moment, my dear wife decided the perfect time had come to move away from the lectern and, with an inviting smile, gesture for me to step forward. What a pity that drivingher into bankruptcy would mean driving myself bankrupt as well.
Gritting my teeth, I slowly counted to ten…then stepped forward. The crowd’s cheers grew even louder.
Well, we couldn’t have that, could we?
Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, I took up my position behind the lectern and trained my gaze on them. The same gaze I usually used to welcome prospective employees. As expected, they fell silent instantly.
Beside me, my dear wife stiffened, apparently only now realising that letting me freely speak my mind in front of a crowd of impressionable young feminists might not have been the best idea.
Too bad. It’s too late for regret now.
“I am here today to speak to you.”
My words echoed over the heads of the crowd. Not a single sound came in answer. It wasn’t going to stay like that for long, though.
“To speak to you about a subject that, in recent years, I could not help but think about again and again.” At those words, my eyes found my wife’s, who had joined her friends among the crowd. With a stare as cold as the very core of an iceberg, I did something absolutely abominable I had rarely done before: convey myfeelings. Throughwords. “In fact, I couldn’t help butface this issue repeatedly. Again. And. Again.”
She smiled. She had the audacity tosmile.
Well, let us see how long that lasts, shall we?
“The issue I speak of, and which I came to espouse here today is…” I paused. It was time. Time to speak those forbidden words that had haunted my life ever since I had bumped into “Mr Victor Linton” in that random street all those years ago. There was no way around it, was there? “…women’s rights.”
Another cheer went up from the crowd. From my grinning wife especially.
Just you wait. Just you wait. Vengeance shall be mine.
