Slowly opening my eyes, I spotted the metal container lying on the desk in front of me. Picking it up with two throbbing fingers, I fumbled for the message.
Mr Linton,
Look in your top drawer. There, you shall find a number of handwritten notes that I require to be typed and ready for dispatch within half an hour.
Rikkard Ambrose
With a heavy heart and even heavier fingers, I opened the drawer which, just yesterday, had only held a few pencils and other office equipment. Now, however...
Reaching inside, I groaned, and, with my last bit of strength, managed to lift the giant pile of paper out of the drawer. It landed on the desktop with a thump. Panting, I snatched up a piece of paper and started to scribble.
Dear, deranged Mr Ambrose,
Nobody can write that fast! Especially not with that devil's machine! You're insane! Go jump into the Thames and die!
Yours sincerely,
Lillian Linton
Oh, and P.S. Remember what I said about loving you? Forget it! I hate you! Hate! Hate!!!
A few moments later, a plink announced the arrival of a reply from Ambrose the Mighty.
Mr Linton,
Research has shown that machine-aided writing far surpasses the world record of thirty words per minute that was achieved by a renowned stenographer. Now that you have access to such machinery, make use of it. I shall expect you to work twice as fast as before, and I shall speed up my own work accordingly.
Mr Ambrose
P.S. I love you, too.
I swallowed, my eyes caught on the last few words.
I love you, too.
Too!
Bastard son of a bachelor! How did he know? How could he know that I was lying through my teeth?
Damn him, the sweet, chauvinistic arse!
But I wasn't beaten. Not by any means. Shoving the pile of notes towards the machine, I started to dig in. By the time Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped into my office again, I was hanging in my chair, panting, exhaustedâbut victorious!
'Ah.' He surveyed the pile of typed paper with cool disinterest. 'Adequate. Quite adequate.'
'It was no problem,' I rasped, giving him a triumphant smile. 'This new machine is fabulous. The best invention ever.'
'How fortunate. Then you won't mind my dictating a few more letters, will you?'
Why? Why couldn't I keep my big mouth shut?
'Let us begin, shall we?' He cleared his throat.
'TothepresidentofHenningtonMachinery&Co,Imustexpressmydispleasurewiththedirectionyourbusinesshasrecentlytakenâ'
I put up with it for ten more minutes. Then, finally, I'd had enough. Work was one thing, this was another altogether.
'Slower!' I growled between clenched teeth.
Mr Ambrose's incessant stream of correspondence ceased. A pair of ice-cold eyes fixed on me.
'What did you say, Mr Linton?'
Meeting his gaze head-on, I raised my chin. 'I said slower!'
'Are you trying to give me orders, Mr Linton?'
One corner of my mouth curled up. 'It's good practise for when we are married.'
Abruptly, the atmosphere in the room changed. A moment before, we had been employer and employee. Now, however...
In a blink, he was in front of me, his eyes burning into me, his fingers capturing my face. 'No one gives me orders, Mr Linton. Do you understand? No one.'
I didn't back down. 'You will go slower! You will, or I'll...or I'll...'
Power and arrogance flashed in his deep, dark eyes. 'Or you'll do what, Mr Linton?'
'Or I'll name our first child Qwerty Uiop Ambrose!'
Mr Ambrose stiffened. His fingers tightened deliciously.
'You wouldn't dare!'
No, I wouldn't. But he didn't need to know that.
I grinned up at him. 'Try me!'
For a moment or two, we stood like that, staring at each otherâthen he abruptly released me.
'I suppose I could go a little slower. I would not want to put too much strain on that expensive machine.'
'No, of course not. We wouldn't want that.'
'And, Mr Linton...?'
'Yes?'
Grabbing hold of me again, he pulled me across the desk. Our lips met for one hard, fierce second.
'When we have a son,' he growled against my lips, 'I will choose the name.'
My heart pounded as a strange, warm feeling rose inside me. When. He had said when! When, not if.
'I don't know,' I whispered, batting my eyelashes up at him innocently. 'I kind of like the name Qwert-mmmph!'
His lips cut me off once more.
'I will choose,' he commanded again.
I shook my head. 'I will.'
'No.'
'Yes!'
'I will not bend, Mr Linton!'
'Says the man who went down on one knee in front of me.'
Retreating a few inches, he gazed at me. His eyes were no longer coated with frost, but they were filled with a fierce intensity that was worse, and at the same time so much better.
'You would not really do that. You wouldn't unload our arguments on our child.'
He wasn't asking. The certainty in his voice, the trust, sent another wave of warmth through me. 'No,' I whispered. 'No, I wouldn't.'
'So...what now?'
'How about veto rights? I pick the names, you can object to any you don't like.'
He considered for a moment. 'Reasonable.'
I blinked. Had Mr Ambrose just agreed with me? Well, well. Pigs could fly, after all. Especially the yellow ones.
However, I wasn't quite finished with Mr Rikkard Ambrose yet. I still had ten throbbing fingers that demanded vengeance. And while they would have been perfectly fine with wrapping around his neck and squeezing, such a policy seemed unwise if I wanted to meet him at the altar soon. So, instead, I waited until he was finished dictating and generally bossing me around for the day. When the sun began to set and we stepped out into the corridor, where Karim waited for Mr Ambrose to escort him wherever he was planning to go, I cleared my throat.
'Mr Ambrose, Sir?'
Without moving his head, he slid his eyes towards me. 'Yes, Mr Linton? Would you like to stay a little longer for some free overtime?'
Once again, I fought the urge to throttle him. Instead, I gave him a big smile. 'No Sir,' I told him. 'In fact, I wanted to inform you that you have some free overtime ahead of you.'
'I?' His eyes narrowed about half a millimetre. 'You work for me, remember?'
'Not in this case, I don't.' My smile widened. 'My dear sister and one of my friends have been planning our wedding. Since you shall be footing the billâ'
'I what?'
'Of course. You didn't think my uncle was going to pay for it, did you?'
'I had thoughtâ'
'Then think again. You'll be footing the bill, for sure. And regardless of who pays, some matters will have to be discussed. So, tomorrow, we'll be calling it a day at 2 pm, and going home for a wedding planning conference.'
'Wedding planning?'
He pronounced the words as if they were a synonym for 'poisonous snail slime'. Or, worse, for 'tax collector'.
I shrugged. 'Well, yes. You know... the different options for flowers, bridal gowns, decorations, hiring caterers, preparing the guest list, and so on.' I grinned, malevolent glee dancing in my eyes. 'From what I've heard, Ella and Eve are especially eager to hear your opinion on how long the lace train should be. Eve is for six yards, Ella for eight.'
Mr Ambrose's left little finger twitched.
'Don't be ridiculous, Mr Linton. Trains are made of steel, not lace! Lace would never be able to withstand the heat of the steam engine. And what on earth do you need a train for? We can go there by foot!'
I coughed. 'Oh dear. I, um, can already see this is going to be an interesting meeting. I look forward to tomorrow.'
'Wait a minute! You can't just...!' Cool, composed, unapproachable Mr Ambrose looked around desperately, as if searching for someone to save him. His eyes landed on Karim.
Hurriedly, the bodyguard took a step backwards, holding up both hands.
'No, Sahib. No, no, no.'
'You swore to obey me!'
'I shall brave storms, poisoned daggers and cannonfire for you, but wedding preparations...' The big Mohammedan shuddered.
Mr Ambrose pierced him with an icy glare. 'This is mutiny, Karim!'
'Yes, Sahib. Inflict any punishment you deem necessary.'
'Hm.' Whirling back to face me, Mr Ambrose pierced me with an arctic glare. Adequately played, his eyes said. 'You may expect me at two fifteen tomorrow.'
I couldn't resist the smile spreading over my face. 'I shall look forward to it, Sir.'
Understatement of the year.
***
I arrived home a quarter of an hour later, whistling and skipping along the pavement. When I opened the door, I immediately noticed a difference. It took me a moment to figure out what that difference was, though.
Silence.
No shouting. No arguing. No crashing crockery.
Had the battle of the bride claimed its first two casualties already? Carefully, I tiptoed towards the drawing room, where Ella and Eve usually had their little discussionsâbut so far without killing each other. Maybe they had decided it was time to take the room's name a little too literally, and had started drawing swords?
Pushing open the door, I peeked around the corner. Nothing. Not even one little bloodstain on the floor. The room appeared to be empty.
Then, suddenly, I heard a groan from behind the door. Heck! And I thought I had been joking! Were they actually injured?
Dashing around the door, I found Eve stretched out on a sofa, and Ella collapsed in an armchair, both with wet cloths on their foreheads.
'Heavens! What happened to the two of you?'
'I have no idea!' Ella groaned. 'I feel awful! Do you know anything that could make you feel as if your head will explode and as if you have a beaver's tail for a tongue?'
'Err...yes. Plonk.'
Half-opening one eye, Ella squinted up at me. 'Pardon?'
'Plonk. Booze. Whiskey.'
'You...' Her eyes went wide. 'You don't mean alcoholic beverages?'
'Well, yes.'
'Lilly! I'm a lady! How could you think I would ever touch a drop of such illicit substances?'
'Well...'
There was really no way to diplomatically reply to that.
'It must have been something else. Maybe something we ate?'
Eve noddedâthen winced. 'Yes. Food poisoning. But what could the two of us possibly have eaten that could have this kind of effect?'
Clearing my throat, I started retreating towards the door, my ears turning red. 'Um. Err...no idea. I'll leave you to consider it and recuperate, shall I?'
'Yes, pleaseâno!' Suddenly, Ella held up her hand. 'I totally forgot, we have to tell you something.'
'You do?'
Cautiously, my hand slid into my pocket to check if the damning evidence was still thereâand my fingers came into contact with a certain paper bag. Crap!
'Yes.' Ella beamed through the pain. 'We finally agreed what would be the ideal wedding for you.'
If I had been any other prospective bride in the world, I'd probably have found something to object to in that sentence. But, as it was, the only thing that happened was my shoulders sagging in relief. Hurriedly, I tugged my hand from my pocket and magicked a beaming smile onto my face.
'You have?'
'Oh yes!' Forcing open her bleary eyes, Eve managed to give me a grin. 'It'll be huge! The royal wedding times ten! We'll rent out Westminster Abbey, of courseâ'
My eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. 'Westminster Abbey?'
'Yes.'
'Um...the same Westminster Abbey where the monarchs of England traditionally get hitched? That giant, hugely expensive place?'
'Yes, why do you ask?'
'No particular reason. Do go on.'
'Well, as I said, the whole thing will happen in Westminster Abbey. For flowers we've agreed on red rosesâ'
'âand your dress will be white!' Ella cut in, beaming. 'We'll celebrate for three days, with an extended wedding party after the main event, and invite at least five hundred people! All of England should know how happy you are. I'll make sure of it, I promise! There will be a marching band and an orchestra and a three-course menu and, oh, your dress! You should see the design Eve and I have picked out for you! All the other ladies will be green with envy. This will be the biggest society event of the year!'
She beamed at me.
I cleared my throat. 'That sounds, um, wonderful. But, just as a suggestion...'
'Yes?'
'Before starting to place the orders, you might want to have a word with the man who will be footing the bill for the whole thing.'
Ella blinked, as if this were the first time she had considered this insignificant detail. Knowing Ella, it probably was.
'And who might that be?'
I smiled evilly, closing my eyes for a moment in bliss. Time for payback. 'My fiancé.'
Ella beamed. 'Oh, that won't be a problem then, will it? After all, if he loves you, he'll want you to have the most beautiful wedding possible, never mind a few measly thousand pounds.'
My smile widened. This was going to be good.
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My dear Lords and Ladies,
Well, well...unbeknownst to the participants, the big battle is approaching. Rikkard Ambrose VS Ella Linton. Who do you think will survive? ;)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
P.S: to any soon-to-be parents reading this - please don't name your child Qwerty! ;)