Chapter 14: 14. Ploys and Plans

Please let him be all right again. Please let him be all right again!

That was all that filled my mind when I went to work next morning. I had heard of cases where, after the marriage, a woman suddenly found that her husband had been putting up a front all the time, and only now was revealing his true, sinister self. There were some truly horrible tales. I tried imagining sitting at tea with those ladies in a few weeks, sharing my sad story:

'Oh, you poor darling! Your man finally showed his real face, did he?'

'Yes, he did, the blaggard!'

'What did he do? Threaten you? Hurt you?'

'No. He suddenly started smiling at me.'

'Shocking!'

'And he wanted to...oh, I can hardly bring myself to say it!'

'What, dear?'

'He wanted to drink a cup of tea!'

'Goodness gracious!'

'And on the wall, he hung pictures, and cheery quotes!'

'Heavens! Men are such bastards!'

And the worst thing was—we weren't even officially married yet! If this was how he was going to change before the wedding night, how bad would it be after?

Well, at least you won't have to worry about during. If the last night with him is anything to go by...

Quickly shoving that thought aside, I entered Empire House, crossed the entrance hall with a nod to Sallow-Face and jumped into the paternoster. But this time, I didn't pray because of the hellish construction. There was a completely different reason.

Please let him be back to normal! Please let him be cold, and hard, and icy and....and...

'Ah, there you are!' As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, a bright smile greeted me. Mr Stone sat at his desk in the corner, hiding behind his book and watching his boss over the top with horror-filled eyes. Mr Ambrose, standing right there in the corridor, smiled at me. 'A wonderful morning, isn't it?'

That depends on your definition.

'Yes, Sir. Most certainly, Sir.'

'So glad to hear you agree. Make me another cup of tea, if you will, yes? I shall be in my office.'

And with that, he vanished through the door.

I looked at Mr Stone. 'Do you think you can do your magic with the teakettle once again?'

The young man nodded, sombrely. He looked slightly traumatized.

'Yes, Mr Linton.'

'Wonderful! Thank you so much. Tell me when you have the tea and a stiff glass of whiskey.'

'Err...whiskey? Mr Ambrose said only tea, didn't he?'

'He did.' Squaring my shoulders, I stepped towards my office. 'The whiskey is for me.'

Once the kind Mr Stone had provided me with all the necessary beverages, I knocked at Mr Ambrose's door.

'Enter, please.'

Please? Please?

If things went on like this, I would have to pay for a doctor out of my own pocket.

Pushing the door open with my elbow, I slipped inside and closed it firmly behind me. No sense in letting anyone else see him like this. Later, when he recovered, this would be such a horrible embarrassment.

If he ever recovered.

Don't think like that, Lilly! Of course he will recover! You'll see, soon he'll be back to normal. Soon, he'll once more be his cold, acerbic, abrasive—

'Ah, Darling, there you are.' Mr Ambrose greeted me with a broad smile.

Could there be anything worse?

I took a closer look at him and realized: yes, there could.

'Where is your tailcoat?' I demanded, staring. Mr Ambrose, sitting behind his desk without his prized ten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat? I hadn't thought such a thing would be possible. The two were inseparable. If physically possible, I was sure he was going to keep the thing on during our wedding night. And now, here he was, sitting in nothing but trousers and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his biceps.

And what nice biceps they are...

Bad Lilly! Concentrate!

'It's right here.' Reaching out, Mr Ambrose picked up his folded tailcoat from where it had lain, unnoticed by me, between two piles of documents. 'Clothes just aren't the quality they used to be anymore. I've noticed that, in spite of the good care I've taken of it, and how recently it was purchased, there do appear to be some holes in the fabric.'

'You don't say.'

'Yes. So I'd like you to take care of it.'

'Take care of...'

'Yes. Mend it.'

I gaped at him. Was he serious?

'Err...Mr Ambrose...'

'Yes?'

'Err...how shall I put this...'

Have you lost your marbles, dear Sir? During our last few years of piles of files, bandit hunts and crazy stunts, firefights and damn hot nights, what could possibly have given you the slightest idea that I know how to use a needle? Except for stabbing it into the butts of annoying men, that is.

Besides, this was not what I had signed up for! Fetching beverages, getting clothes mended...this was not what a secretary was supposed to do! Everybody knew that being a secretary was an important position of trust, not that of some errand boy who could be ordered around to do whatever the boss wanted. Did the Secretary of State have to fetch beverages? Ha! I think not!

'Um...' I cleared my throat. 'I don't think I'm the right person for this.'

He cocked his head. 'Whyever not, Darling?'

Maybe because I'm such crap with a needle that I needed my little sister's help to stitch together 'glove fingers' for our first night of unwedded bliss?

Perhaps that wouldn't be the best answer.

'Because it falls outside my area of expertise, Sir.'

'You want to be my assistant, don't you, Darling?' Handing me the tailcoat before I could protest, he cupped my face and drew me forward. What the hell is he up to? What did he intend to—

And then his lips captured mine. He held me fast in his grip until he had robbed my lungs of breath and my brain of thought, filling up the vacuum with pure bliss.

'Assist me,' he whispered. 'Please.'

'Nng. Fff. Brg.'

Very articulate, Lilly. Bravo. That's the way to stand up for feminism.

Somehow I ended up outside his office, his tailcoat clutched in my hand and one question echoing in my head:

What the heck had just happened?

***

'Damn! Damn and blast and damn again!'

'Err... Mr Linton? Is everything all right?'

Glancing up, I saw Mr Stone looking in through the door of my office—an office which, somehow, had become Mr Rikkard Ambrose's personal tailor's shop. The room was littered with various items of clothing. Apparently, Mr Ambrose's treasured ten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat wasn't the only piece of clothing of his that needed a bit of attention with a needle. So did his trousers. And his only pair of socks. And the three boxes of hole-filled objects that I had assumed were fishing nets, but he assured me were actually clothes that would be just fine with a bit of needlework. Would I be kind enough to help out...?

And damn the man, I just didn't know how to say no to him! Not that I'd ever had problems refusing his orders. But this time, he hadn't ordered. Oh no.

He had asked.

For the first time, he had smiled, given me a gentle kiss, and asked. The sneaky bastard!

I didn't know exactly what was wrong with him. But when he looked at me with those dark, sea-coloured eyes and enquired, 'Will you help me?' how could I tell him no?

'Ow!'

To the detriment of my fingers, apparently I couldn't.

Sticking the poor appendage into my mouth, I tried to take deep breaths. Mr Stone watched from the door, apprehensively.

'Um...how are things going?'

Pulling my finger out of my mouth, I held up the poor, much perforated thing. 'How does it look to you?'

'Oh dear.'

'Indeed. You don't perchance know anybody who is handy with a needle, do you?' I asked, not bothering to conceal my desperate hope. 'Someone who wouldn't mind helping me out free of charge.'

'Well, actually...' He cleared his throat. 'I happen to have some talent with a needle myself.'

I stared at him, nearly forgetting all about my perforated appendage.

'You?'

'Yes.' His ears turned red in the cutest way possible. 'My, um, mother taught me. She said a man should always be able to mend his own socks.'

I grinned. 'Sounds like an interesting lady.'

'She is. I quite enjoy it, actually. It is rather soothing. Definitely more soothing than warding off creditors for Mr Ambrose. Not to speak of those little old ladies who come asking for charity...'

He shuddered, clearly recalling some traumatic memories.

Suddenly, a diabolical plan popped into my mind, fully formed, fiendish, and ready to go.

'Well, Mr Stone...'

'Yes?'

'What would you say to me taking over the front desk for a while?'

Slowly, a look of utter bliss spread over his face. 'Would you? Would you really? But...no. I can't ask this of you. Mrs Emeline Windham-Wendroth from the Society for the Protection of Homeless Tomcats has been by three times already today. I couldn't possibly subject anybody else to that.'

'Don't you worry.' Grinning, I rose to my feet. 'You leave Mrs Emeline Windham-Wendroth to me. I have a feeling the two of us are going to have fun together.'

A blissful smile on his face, Mr Stone picked something which had once been a sock from the pile of rags in the room. He gazed at the thing with anticipation. 'As will the two of us. Needle?'

'Here you go. Have fun.'

***

Over the next few days, Mr Ambrose got worse and worse. He took breaks. He hummed. He started to smile even in the presence of other employees. When Karim first got a full dose of it, it nearly scared the beard off the poor fellow. As for me...well, his ideas of what sort of tasks a secretary should perform got stranger and stranger day by day.

'He wants what?' Karim demanded, jerking so badly it nearly toppled his turban off his head.

I glanced down at the note in my hand again, just to be sure.

'A chocolate cake.'

'Kuthay da puthar!' Karim cursed.

'My thoughts exactly. I never thought I'd see the day when Rikkard Ambrose would want to eat something tasty. Something that I like.' I shuddered. 'Do you have any idea what is wrong with him, Karim?'

'If I did, I would have already taken action,' the bodyguard responded glumly. 'I shall ask the Most Merciful for his guidance.'

I nodded, dazed. To heck with the Church of England! At this point, I wasn't above taking all the help I could get.

Which reminds me...

Hope blooming inside me, I pushed open the door into the corridor, where Mr Stone sat at his desk, once more reading his book, the cover of which, I noticed, showed a man and woman in a rather compromising embrace.

I cleared my throat.

'Wha—!' Losing hold of his book, Mr Stone sent it flying, tried to catch it, failed to do so and sent it sailing under the desk. Pretending not to notice the blush suffusing his cheeks, I enquired: 'The other day, you told me about your mother...'

'Yes?' he asked, cautiously pushing the book fully under the desk so the cover was invisible.

'That remarkable lady didn't perchance also teach you how to bake a chocolate cake, did she?'

His face brightened. 'Why yes, she did. In fact, chocolate cake was my favourite treat when I was growing up.'

'I knew there was a reason I liked you!' Rubbing my hands, I stepped fully out into the corridor. 'What would you say to another few hours of work exchange?'

From that point onward, Mr Stone and I came to a life-saving arrangement. Mr Rikkard Ambrose wanted a cup of tea every ten minutes? No problem! Mr Rikkard Ambrose wanted his entire collection of valuables dusted? Already taken care of! Mr Rikkard Ambrose desired someone to iron his tailcoat and wash his trousers? Mr Stone would take care of it. I, meanwhile, sat at the front desk, defending my man's fortune from creditors, frauds and crazy cat ladies. And in my free time, I peeked into Mr Stone's book. It turned out to be quite interesting.

I didn't know what I would have done if I'd been on my own. All those infernal tasks that had been heaped onto my back recently—they were exactly the things I had been trying to avoid by getting a job of my own! These days, Mr Ambrose was behaving more like an asininely nice but needy husband than an employer. If this continued, I might as well do as he wished, leave my job and—

My hand froze, halfway on the way to turn the next page.

No.

Oh no.

He couldn't have, could he?

At that very moment, a plink sounded from my office. Jumping to my feet, I strode into my office and picked up the little capsule.

Darling,

I think my clothes could do with a bit of washing. Could you take care of it please?

Thanks!

Ricky

P.S. Please starch my collars, will you?

Could anyone really be this cool, calculating and manipulating?

What do you think, Lilly? He's Rikkard Ambrose. Of course he can.

That sneaky, snivelling snake in the grass...!

Crushing the note in my fist, I marched towards the door leading to his office and kicked it open without knocking. My dear betrothed was sitting in his armchair, sipping a cup of tea and gazing out of the window, the perfect picture of the man of the house relaxing while his dear wifey worked.

'You...you...!' Marching towards him, I hurled the crumpled note at him. By sheer good fortune, it landed in his tea cup. 'Take that! And take your starched shirt collars and stuff them up your starched behind!'

Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose reached for the sugar tongs on his tea tray, carefully dipped them into the tea cup, removed the rolled-up piece of paper, set it down on the tea tray, and tasted his beverage. Only then did he turn to me, a shiny smile on his face. But his eyes...

They remained cold, and glittering with calm calculation. Bloody hell! How had I not seen this before?

'So...have you decided to quit your position and become a lady in the house after all?'

I snorted. 'Fat chance. Your game is up! I know what you're up to!'

The smile bled from his face as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over a wall painted with very, very, very cheap paint. Underneath, there was nothing but cold, stone hard man. And while I stood there and seethed with anger at him, inside, a small part of me jumped up and down, screaming 'Huzzah! Huzzah! He's back!'

'Well, finally,' Mr Rikkard Ambrose said, chucking the contents of his teacup into the bin and giving the sugar bowl an arctic look. 'It took you long enough. I thought I would have to stuff my face with this muck forever.'

He rang a bell on his desk. Moments later, Karim poked his beard into the room, along with the head that was attached to it.

'Yes, Sahib?'

Mr Ambrose handed him the sugar bowl. 'Take this back to the person it was purchased from and obtain a full refund.'

'But...there is only half left, Sahib.'

'Exactly. I rely on your creativity, Karim.'

Something shiny and white appeared between the bristly carpet on Karim's face. It looked almost like...no. It couldn't be. Was he smiling? 'So good to have you back, Sahib!' Bowing deeply, he rushed out, slamming the door behind him. God have mercy on the poor grocer who sold that sugar.

'Well?'

That voice. That cold, distant, deliciously dangerous voice. I had been aching to hear it for days. And now that I finally was, I wanted to take the pretty vase of flowers blooming on my employer's desk and crack it on his granite head. I probably wouldn't even cause damage.

'Well what?' I snapped.

He gave a little imperious wave of his fingers. 'My shirt collars won't starch themselves, Mr Linton. Get to it.'

I shook my head, not comprehending. 'But...I just told you that I've seen through your plot! I know what you're up to!'

'Your knowing what I'm up to does not change the fact that your services are by far cheaper than those of Abney & Co, Laundry for Gentlemen of Modest Means. Besides...' He focused his arctic gaze on me for the first time in a long time, and I felt a familiar shiver go down my spine. Oh, how I had missed that! 'Whether you know or not, the choice before you is still the same. Quit your employment here, or continue as my secretary with...expanded duties.'

My eyes widened, and a moment later, sparked with fire. 'You mean you're going to use me as your personal cook, cleaning lady and dogsbody forever?'

'An admirably succinct way of putting things, Mr Linton.'

'You...you...!'

'...loving future husband?'

'Cabrão! Pollas en vinagre!'

'Sometimes I really think you have spent too much time abroad, Mr Linton.'

'It's not as though I'm going to go on any more trips in the near future, is it?'

'No.'

'So, to make me concede defeat and go home with you, you'll just turn your workplace into a home, with me as the housewife.'

'Indeed.'

'You...!'

Right then, even I couldn't think of a good enough insult. The sneaky, dastardly, fiendishly clever son of a bachelor! No wonder I had fallen in love with the bastard!

Lacking suitable insults, I tried to nail him to his armchair with my gaze alone. Completely unperturbed, he began removing flowers, pictures and other stage props from his desk, returning it to the pristine wasteland it had been before.

'So this is it. Your ultimate plan.'

'Indeed. All you will see until you have conceded defeat and are married to me are the walls of this office, and plenty of work.'

I took a step forward. 'And what makes you think I'll give up? What if I manage to work through all the drudgery you throw at me during the next couple of days?'

One of his elegant eyebrows rose for about the tenth of a millimetre. 'That, Mr Linton, is highly unlikely. I know you. I know what you're capable of, and what you aren't. Sewing? Cooking? Making tea? Honestly, I'm surprised you've lasted this long. I advise you to give up now, before you sever any appendages.'

'Oh really?' Eyes glinting, I slammed my hands onto his desk and leaned forward until only a few inches separated me from his face. From his lips. His infuriating, beautiful, immovable, kissable lips! 'Just you wait! I'm a strong, independent woman! You have no idea what I'm capable of!'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Regarding what Lilly mentions in this chapter about it not being the job of a secretary to fetch beverages - this is actually historically correct. Back in the day, secretaries had much more authority, being considered the boss's right hand man and most trusted helper. This is where expressions such as "secretary of state" and "secretary of defense" come from, which, in our modern understanding of the word, describe jobs that are hugely different from the work of an average secretary. Although it might be highly amusing to peek on a cabinet meeting where the secretary of defense had to act as coffee boy... ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

The Most Merciful - this is one of the ninety-nine names of Allah in the Islamic faith.