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‘I… Very well. As you wish, Sahib.’
To the dickens with the Sahib’s wishes! Mr Ambrose was not going alone! I was going to stick with him, if it was the last thing I did!
If there had been other men in the room, they might have exchanged a few pleasantries before breaking up the meeting. But I had learned enough about Mr Ambrose by now to know that he wasn’t given to chatter. Karim left the room, and I hastily got up off the powder room floor, dusted off my knees and cracked the door open, peeking out.
Mr Ambrose was sitting behind his desk. When I entered, he looked up from the papers he was studying, meeting my gaze coolly. I had to catch my breath when I looked into his eyes. How come I had never noticed quite how beautiful their deep, dark depths were until this moment?
‘You heard.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Then forget what you heard.’
‘I cannot do that, Sir.’
‘Oh? I gave you an order.’
‘You can take your order and stick it up your- um, I mean you can take your order and feed it to the ducks in Green Park! I’m coming with you!’
There was no need to say when and where. We both knew what I was referring to.
‘No.’
‘Yes, I am!’
‘No, you are not.’ His eyes glittered with frost. ‘Mr Linton - believe me when I say that if we could recapture the file by excessive consumption of alcohol, you would be in the front lines. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and I therefore decline your request.’
‘It was no request! I can’t let you go in there alone!’
‘You can, and you will.’
Dear God! Had he always been like this? Was this why his wife had left him and was bombarding him with pink letters? Were they living apart? But why would she be sending him letters if they were parted?
Although I had to admit to my shame that, in her place, I might be sending him letters, too, just to have him snap back at me.
In defiance, I shook my head. ‘I won’t let you go alone! I won’t!’
‘Yes, you will.’
‘But…’ For some reason my voice was unsteady. ‘But Karim said… he said armed guards. You could be hurt out there or… or killed.’
Silence.
‘At least tell me what it is,’ I pleaded. ‘Tell me what that damned file is! Tell me what is worth risking your life for!’
The silence stretched between us as we gazed at each other.
He swallowed.
‘You want to know what’s in the file?’ he asked, his voice like a raw winter blizzard. ‘You really want to know?’
‘Yes.’ My voice - small, tense, expectant - was nothing like his.
‘In the file,’ he said, ‘is the centre of the world.’
Different Sorts of Silence
I stared at him, uncomprehending. His words had registered, but I had no idea of their actual meaning.
