Page 50 of Storm over the Caribbean
Licking my lips, I wiped some drops of coconut milk off my chin and glanced over at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who had already finished three coconuts, and was currently on the fourth, Somehow, he managed to make his greedy guzzling look aselegant as sipping wine from a crystal glass. When he was finally finished, he threw the empty coconut aside and, arms crossed, surveyed the surroundings.
Pushing myself up from the ground, I followed his example. The surroundings hadn’t changed much—but that only brought home the situation we were in all the more. There still wasn’t a single sign of civilization anywhere. There still wasn’t a single ship on the horizon.
Crap!
“We’re really stuck here, aren’t we?” Making my way over to him, I leaned against his shoulder. In front of us spread an endless blue sky and a deep, sparkling ocean. At any other place and time, this scene might have been beautiful. Romantic even. But right now?
Right now, it only told me how very, very alone we were.
“Don’t worry.” Sliding an arm around my shoulders, he gave a gentle squeeze. “The disappearance of the wealthiest man in the British Empire won’t go unnoticed for long. The moment my people notice my delayed arrival, they will send out search parties.” His eyes frosted over. “At least theyhad bettersend search parties.”
“And…” Swallowing, I placed a hand on my belly—for once, not because of my unborn child. After all, my stomach was still in there. And right now it was feeling rather empty. “What if they don’t arrive in time?”
“They will.” His voice was a command. An undeniable truth, chiselled in stone. Turning towards me, he stared into my eyes, his gaze projecting nothing but certainty and unshakable, icy determination. “They will, Lillian.”
That brought a tremulous smile to my lips. “I see. Well, far be it from me to doubt that the world has to obey the command of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.”
“Indeed.”
“So…what next?”
A moment later, the rumbling of my stomach answered that question for me. Cocking his head, my dear husband sent me a look.
“I think I might have an idea, Mrs Ambrose.”
I glanced around, once more surveying the surroundings. But this time, I was looking at everything with different eyes. The eyes of a hungry pregnant woman.
Hmm…I wonder, is sand edible?
Shaking myself, I pushed down my urges. I hadn’t yet forgotten how it had felt to wake up with the taste of pine tar in my mouth. Pregnancy cravings were an invention of the devil!
Once again, I let my eyes sweep over the beach and sea, this time with marginally more sanity and selectiveness.
“Is…is there stuff in the coconuts we could eat, maybe?” I finally suggested, hesitantly.
He nodded. “Coconut meat. But getting at it will be rather difficult. Getting off the husk of a coconut is one thing, as is punching through the eyes to get at the milk, but cracking open the hard shell beneath the husk?”7 He shook his head. “We’d be burning more calories trying to open one coconut than we’d get by eating five. No. We have to think of something else.”
His cool gaze swept over the sand.
“Hm…”
I perked up. For anybody else, that single syllable might not have meant much. But for Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one hum was equivalent to an elaborate speech. He never spoke unless there was something to say.
“What is it?” I demanded.
“Be silent, Mrs Ambrose. I am trying to think.” Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, he began to pace up and down on the beach, somehow managing to prevent a single grain of the same sand that had managed to find its way all the way into my underwearfrom sticking to his shoes. “Hm…if I remember correctly…yes!” Stopping abruptly, he snapped his fingers.
“Yes what?” I enquired when he didn’t seem to plan on elaborating.
“I own several restaurants on nearby islands. I remember them serving some local seafood, including one particular variety of crab. A variety of crab that, if I remember correctly, is caught somewhere around here. If I could only remember exactly…”
He trailed off, his eyes flicking from right to left, as if searching for something.
“Um, Mr Ambrose?” Reaching out, I tugged on his sleeve.
“Not now!”
“Mr Ambrose, Sir?” I repeated sweetly. “Dicky Darling?” Maybe that would get his attention. I tugged again.
