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Well, the second was that one of the banners, the largest, right behind sallow-face, read ‘Welcome Home, Mr. Ambrose’.
Welcome home?
Home?
‘Silence!’
My voice cut through the brass music like a guillotine through the neck of a luckless French aristocrat. The musicians lowered their instruments. The cheering people stopped cheering and clapping, their hands frozen in mid-air. They watched cautiously as I marched to the welcoming committee in front of the reception desk.
‘Why are you not working?’
Sallow-face seemed a bit taken aback by my curt demand. ‘S-sir?’
‘It’s a simple enough question.’ Reaching into my waistcoat pocket, I pulled out my silver watch and let it snap open, not even glancing at the coat of arms on the lid. The times when that had made me flinch were long past. ‘It is eleven thirty-one a.m., and not a single one of you is doing the job he is supposed to. Do you think I pay you for lazing about?’
‘N-no, Sir.’
‘And what is this litter cluttering my entrance hall?’ Raising my cane, I pointed at the banners, the garlands and the members of the marching band. ‘Sell everything you can find a buyer for, and throw the rest in the Thames!’
‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
‘Excuse me?’ The conductor of the marching band stepped forward, red in the face. He apparently wasn’t used to being treated like this.
Well, he’s in for a novel experience.
‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are?’
‘Rikkard Ambrose,’ I told him. ‘That’s much too easy a question. I can think of a better one. What are you doing here? You are not members of my staff!’
‘No, Sir, but-’
‘Out! This building is only for authorized personnel.’
‘But, Sir, our fee-’
‘Out, I said! I didn’t hire you. You won’t see a penny from me, unless it’s one you find at the bottom of the River Thames!’
To judge by the speed with which they ran from the hall, they believed me.
I was standing at the door, glaring after the marching band, when Sallow-face came sidling up to me.
‘I have prepared some refreshments for you after your long journey, Mr Ambrose. Is there anything you would like particularly?’
‘Yes. For you to stop licking my boots.’
‘W-what?’
‘They’re quite clean enough at the moment. But don’t worry.’ Whirling, I marched towards a door that looked as if it led upstairs. I had to find myself an office in this place. ‘If I ever need a shoeshine boy, I’ll remember your talents.’
‘Um… yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
‘Which of these goggling buffoons is my secretary?’
‘That would be Mr Simmons, Sir.’
‘Send this Simmons upstairs with a progress report and an annual balance. It’s time someone took this place in hand!’
*~*~**~*~*
