Storm and Silence

Storm and Silence Page 242

Over the yowling of the wind I heard the splash as oars dipped into the water. The little boat was carried away, dancing like an empty nutshell on the surface of the water. I felt just as empty. There were arms around me, and the voice of an old woman was muttering soothing nothings into my ear, but I didn’t feel able to respond, or even to hear. Some part of me wanted to fight her off, but my arms felt so weak, so terribly weak. This could not be happening!

Glancing up through the wild veil of my hair, I saw the ship, far above and away, atop a giant wave, just as much at the mercy of the ocean as we were in our tiny vessel. For just a moment, I thought I saw a lone figure standing at the prow. Then my head slumped down, the rest of my energy used up. Tonight had simply been too much to be real. It had to be a dream.

But you know it isn’t, came a voice from the back of my mind. Just as his kiss was no dream, either.

I cringed, shuddering with pain. From above, I heard a crash, a giant roar, and thought That was the ship, splitting apart. I wanted to look, wanted to look so much, but could not. I didn’t have the strength.

All I could do was listen. My ears strained to hear some noise, some sign that would tell me that the ship was still afloat, that he was still alive - but no such sound ever came. There was nothing but the crashing of the storm waves against the bow of the boat. And then, even that was gone, and there was only silence.

THE END

Special Additional Material

A chapter from

Mr Ambrose’s Perspective

None of your Business

Can’t you read? This is none of your business! I am not going to tell you what you want - and most certainly not for free! Close this book and leave. Now!

…

Did you not hear me? That was an order!

…

Why are you still here? Did I not give explicit instructions for you to leave? Let me put it another way: you are dismissed. Scram! Scat! Get thee gone! I know what it is you want, but I am not going to do it! I am not going to tell you my story.

Why?

You dare ask why?

You have some nerve! Do you know who I am? No, you obviously don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t still be here, pestering me. Well, if you will not stop making a nuisance of yourself, you useless layabout, I’ll tell you why. Here are the reasons why I will not share my story, in order of significance:

10. It’s mine. I don’t share what’s mine.

9. I’m too busy.

8. Very busy indeed.

7. You are no more than a bug to me - easily squashed.

6. I don’t waste my time on bugs.

5. I don’t waste my time on anyone. Knowledge is power is time is money.

4. This story contains secrets of immeasurable value. Secrets must stay secret. That’s the point of a secret.

3. This story is mine. Do you hear? Mine! I don’t share. Not ever.

2. And it’s about her.

1. Remember what I said about never sharing?

…

You still haven’t left, have you?

You still want my story?

Well, I have to say I admire your persistence. If it is persistence, that is. More likely, you’re just too thick-headed to comprehend my warning.

Very well…

On your own head be it.

‘Ah! Just breathe in that breeze! Feel that air filling your lungs! A hundred of Neptune’s sea-horses couldn’t get me and my ship away from here again! Old Blighty, England, home - there she is! Isn’t it a wonderful sight, Sir?’

Silence.

‘And the weather - perfect for a coming home! Perfect for anything really! Smell that air, will you? I tell you, there’s no air anywhere in the world like good, clean English air! Don’t you think so, Sir?’

Silence.

‘Ah, I know what you’ll say! You’ll say I’m being sentimental!’

Silence.

‘But it ain’t that, Sir. I swear, it ain’t that. This old sailor’s been all around the world, from the Cape of Good Hope - which didn’t inspire me with much hope, let me tell you - to the rocky cliffs of Norway and back again, and let me tell you, there’s no place like Old Blighty!’

Silence.

‘The green hills, the fields, the decent ale - and the people! The people are always friendlier at home, don’t you think? I always say the French are stuck up, the Germans stiff, but Englishmen - you won’t find a single Englishman who isn’t kind, polite and warm.’

Stone-cold silence.

‘No wonder, considering. Who wouldn’t be cheerful on such a wonderful day! Ah, just breathe in the breeze, Sir, breathe in the breeze! Isn’t that wonderful weather, Sir?’

Icy eyes turned on the captain of the ship. My icy eyes.

‘Which part, Captain? The fog, the cold wind, or the drizzle?’

The captain, apparently immune to all forms of sarcasm, smiled brightly. ‘All of it! Isn’t it wonderful to be back in England? Admit it, you don’t get weather like this anywhere else.’

I shook my head to rid myself of the worst of the incessant wetness, and pulled my hat deeper into my face. ‘Indeed you do not.’

‘Aren’t you happy to be back home, Mr Ambrose?’

I threw the captain another look.

‘England is many things - but certainly not my home. I don’t have or need one.’

‘Ah, come on, Sir!’ A huge hand slammed into my back, and I had to suppress the instinctive reaction of grabbing it, twisting it and forcing its owner to his knees with a gun put to the side of his head. Old habits die hard. ‘Everybody has a home! After all the time you’ve been away in the colonies, I’m sure your family is going to give you a big, warm welcome back! Your mum and your old man will be tickled pink to see you!’

‘Captain?’

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

‘We’re very close to the shore now.’

‘Yes, I know, Sir.’

‘But do you also know what that means, Captain?’

‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’

I gave the man a very meaningful look. ‘It means that I don’t need you anymore to reach my destination. Shut up or I will throw you over the side.’

‘Um… Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

After that, the captain didn’t seem to feel quite so jovial anymore. He made himself scarce. I didn’t even glance at his retreating back. Instead, I continued to stare at the distant cliffs of Dover, rising in front of us out of the mist.