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I hesitated for a moment.
‘And how do you know that that wasn’t the way which leads to the coast?’ I asked, my voice unusually timid.
‘I don't.’ His voice wasn’t timid at all. It was as cool and composed as a cucumber on ice. ‘But since this car does not have brakes and is going too fast for us to change direction, it is of little consequence. Cheese?’
‘Excuse me, Sir?’
‘I asked you whether you want some cheese.’ He held out a piece of something yellowish towards me. ‘Or bread. There are some emergency rations in the container in which I found the lamp.’
Again, I hesitated. We were supposed to be in a desperate rush to escape our enemies. That hardly seemed the right time to be eating cheese. But then, I had worked harder today than ever before in my life, and a chocolate croissant wasn’t much to go on.
‘Some bread, please, Sir.’
‘Here.’
He handed me a neatly cut-off piece, and took another for himself. We sat in the semi-darkness and ate in silence. The bread was dark and coarse, but I didn’t really mind. It was hearty and gave me new energy.
Only after a while did I notice that Mr Ambrose was watching me. In the shadowy half-light, the planes of his perfect, stony face stood out more sharply than ever. The look in his dark eyes as he watched me nibbling on a piece of cheese made my skin tingle.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘What is what, Mr Linton?’
‘Why are you looking at me like that? And don’t you dare deny it, because you are looking at me, and not like you normally look at me.’
‘Indeed?’ He cocked his head. ‘How do I normally look at you?’
‘Like you want to strangle me and ship my body to Antarctica. And don’t try to distract me! I want to know why you were staring at me!’
Silence.
‘Why were you staring at me? Please, Sir?’
‘Well…’ His cool voice was hesitant, his eyes calculating. ‘You don't seem to mind the bread much. Most ladie- most people like you would have turned their nose up at brown bread.’
My lips twitched. ‘Most ladies? Was that what you were going to say?’
Silence.
I shrugged. ‘Most ladies would have turned up their nose at being shot at, too.’
‘I imagine so, Mr Linton.’
Was the scant light playing tricks on me? Yes, that had to be it! How else could it be that I thought one corner of Mr Ambrose’s mouth turned up into a quarter-smile, for just a second?
‘I’m used to tough food, Sir. I live with my uncle, and the only thing he ever puts on the table are potatoes, bread and cheese.’
‘Sounds like a sensible man, your uncle.’
‘He’s one of the greatest misers in the world. You’d like him.’
Again I saw that trick of the light, that play of the safety lamp’s illumination on Mr Ambrose’s face that made it almost seem as if he were smiling. Quickly, I looked away.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘this is not at all how I imagined a mine cart chase.’
‘How did you imagine it, Mr Linton?’
‘I don't know. More exciting. Less… cheesy.’ Ponderously, I took another bite. The cheese really tasted quite good, once you got used to it. Those French really had a culinary talent.
