Storm and Silence

Storm and Silence Page 78

‘I do, Lill, I do.’

Quickly, I went to her and knelt in front of her, grasping her delicate hands. ‘Do you think he’s gone for good? Do you think it’s possible I might be free of him?’

She shrugged, still laughing. ‘How should I know?’

‘Or maybe he’s just been detained somewhere this once,’ I fretted. ‘Maybe he’ll show up here tomorrow morning, just as obnoxious as ever!’

‘Maybe,’ Ella admitted.

‘You’re not helping! You’re supposed to soothe and encourage me! You’re my sister, after all!’

‘Or maybe not,’ she hurriedly added. ‘He’s in the army, after all. Maybe he’s been stationed in some colony. Gibraltar, maybe.’

‘Gibraltar? Why so near? Why not the Caribbean? Or better yet, India! Somewhere in the jungle where he can get eaten by tigers!’

We started to giggle like little girls. We couldn’t help it.

‘I don't know what has happened,’ Ella said finally, when we had control of ourselves again. ‘But although I definitely wish him no harm, I wish he’s out of your life forever.’ She encircled me in her slender arms and hugged me. ‘Then you can maybe find true love and happiness.’

‘Love? Me?’

‘Of course! With that young man of yours you told me of.’

‘Oh… yes! Of course, with him! I had nearly forgotten how much I am in love, sorry.’

That night, I went to bed exhausted with happiness, still wondering what could possibly have happened to Lieutenant Ellingham. To some extent, I was also afraid. Was it unreasonable to hope he was gone for good? Would he return and try to catch me in the eternal trap of matrimony? And finally, the most intriguing question: Why had he vanished at all? Was it an accident? A miracle? Or had someone done this? What, or who, could have that much power?

After a while I stopped my useless wondering and, as my mind drifted closer to sleep, the worries over Lieutenant Ellingham fell away, and unconscious thoughts drifted to the forefront of my mind. Thoughts of another man who had been there all along, hidden beneath the surface.

You are lovely.

He had said that, hadn’t he? It hadn’t just been my imagination?

My eyes fell closed, and I began to dream of showers. I had no idea bathroom appliances could be that interesting.

Neither the next morning nor the next few days after that did Lieutenant Ellingham put in an appearance. He did not write, he did not send a message through a friend, he did nothing. It was as though he had vanished from the face of the earth.

Lucky earth! In my opinion, her face was a lot prettier now.

I was still worrying about what exactly had happened to him, and especially if it was something from which he would return alive and in one piece. But with time, my worry eased. You can’t worry too much about problems that apparently have disappeared by themselves when you have ones to deal with that are still very much present. And I had one of those every single day of the week from eight o’clock onwards.

If I had thought Mr Ambrose had been demanding and short with me before, he was reaching new heights now. He was pressuring me so hard, I was almost surprised I wasn’t squashed and turned into Lilly-puree. From having me bring him single files, he went to have me bring him entire boxes, and let me tell you, those are heavy!

Did he have any helpful suggestions? Oh yes.

Mr Linton, start working on your musculature so you can carry several boxes at once. That would be far less time-consuming.

Mr Linton, walk faster.

Mr Linton, learn to open doors more quickly.

Mr Linton, I’m not paying you for tardiness! Get a move on!

I was absolutely sure now that me hearing him call me ‘lovely’ had been my imagination. Maybe he had said ‘puffy’. That seemed a far more likely explanation.

As time went by, I noticed that all the files I carried into his office dated from the same year as the one that had been hidden in his safe. Slowly I realized: He was reading up on something. Preparing. Had Simmons spilled the beans yet, or the potatoes or artichokes, whatever secret vegetables he was hiding from Mr Ambrose?

Finally, I resolved to ask him about it. In person. This was actually possible now. The file boxes being too thick to be shoved under a closed door, the connecting door between his and my office was open all the time now.

I knocked.

‘Yes. What do you want?’

The customary friendly greeting. Oh, what a joy it was to have a kind and warm-hearted employer.

I entered.

‘Mr Ambrose, I was just wondering…’

He listened to my question and took his watch out as he did so. When I was finished, he stated:

‘You have just wasted thirty-one seconds of my valuable time with unnecessary speech, Mr Linton. Simmons has divulged nothing yet. Now bring me the file box I asked for.’

‘But what’s the sense in keeping to question Simmons?’ I persisted. ‘It’s been days since the theft. Whoever has it must long have made use of the information it contained.’

Which you still haven’t deigned to share with me…

Mr Ambrose’s dark eyes flashed menacingly.

‘Do you think I am a half-wit, Mr Linton? I’m sure they would have made use of it, if they could. However, the information is heavily encrypted. We have some time left yet.’

‘Encrypted? You mean… you invented your own secret language?’

‘It is normally referred to as a “code” by specialists of cryptology, but yes, a secret language, if you wish to put it that way.’

I looked down on the files at the desk. ‘Do you do this for all your papers?’ I asked, knowing the answer.

‘No. The file was a… special case. Now get me the file box I want!’

‘Mr Ambrose?’

It shouldn’t be possible for a man to narrow his eyes while not moving one muscle in his face, but somehow Mr Ambrose managed it. ‘I notice you’re still here, Mr Linton.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘I told you to go.’

‘I know, Sir. I stayed anyway.’ Swallowing, I tried to gather my courage. ‘What is in the stolen file? What have they taken from you?’

His eyes flashed again. They looked more like the sea than ever. But if before they had been stormy, now there was a thunderstorm in progress. ‘I already told you that you will never know. I do not appreciate my time being wasted with unnecessary questions.’