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By the end of the day, I was definitely starting t
o have misgivings about my battle plan. Certainly, Mr Ambrose seemed inordinately interested in my increasing lack of clothing. So, however, were the jungle insects. When I woke up next morning, the nasty little beasts had decorated me with a number of angry red stings in places even I didn’t think were polite to mention. Perverts!
Karim, at least, hadn’t escaped unharmed, either. During breakfast he kept scratching his butt in a manner that, combined with the fact that he had his hand clamped over his eyes the whole time, made it very hard not to snigger. But as for Mr Ambrose - well, whenever I wanted to snigger, I just had to look at him, and the urge would disappear instantly. He didn’t scratch himself once. Not a single solitary bleeding time! Was his stone skin impervious to mosquito bites? Or did the stench of too much money keep the hungry little bastards away?
Damn him! How dare he just…sit there, perfectly impervious, while I was itching like the devil? For that offense, he deserved to be eternally tortured!
Well…
Then I would have to see that he got what he deserved.
‘Dear oh dear.’ Sighing, I rose from the tree root on which I’d been sitting eating my breakfast, and stretched, taking care that my chemise rose up as high as the laws of physics allowed. ‘It’s really hot this morning, don’t you think?’
‘No!’ Karim barked, almost desperately. ‘No, I don’t think so at all! In fact, I detect a definite chill in the air this morning! Isn’t that right? Sahib, you know best! It’s chilly, is it not?’
‘I concur,’ Mr Ambrose said in a voice that could have made the Amazon frost over. ‘Positively freezing.’
‘Strange. I somehow feel that I’m too hot. You know what? I think I’m wearing too much clothing. I should…’
Karim was out of there before I could say another word. With a curse, he jumped up and, hand still over his eyes, stumbled off to scout ahead.
‘That’s south!’ I shouted after him. ‘We’re going northeast!’
‘I had better be going, too,’ Mr Ambrose stated coolly, rising to his feet.
‘What?’ I glanced around at him and, from under lowered lashes, gave him a challenging look. ‘Don’t you want to guard my rear today?’
His gaze lowered until it fixed on my barely covered derrière. ‘I think your rear will be much safer without me as a guard.’
‘Well, that’s too bad,’ I told him, and whirled around, grabbing my backpack and flitting after Karim. ‘I guess I’ll just have to live in danger,’ I called over my shoulder.
In answer I only received silence.
Well, apart from the monkeys cackling in the distance.
We continued our course northeast, just as yesterday: Karim in front, me in the middle, and Mr Ambrose at the back. I would instantly bet money on the fact that it was not a position he was used to. You just had to glance once at Rikkard Ambrose to know that he was always at the front, always first and best at everything. It made me wonder why, in this case, he was content to march behind me. I had great fun wondering, because, really, there was only one possible answer.
‘Are you enjoying the view, Sir?’ I asked about half an hour after we had set out. A little small talk couldn’t hurt anybody, right?
‘I’ve seen jungles before,’ came the brusque reply.
‘I wasn’t talking about the jungle.’
There were a few moments of pregnant silence, strongly in need of an abortion.
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Be silent!’
‘Yes, Sir!’
‘And, Mr Linton…’
‘Yes?’
‘When we return to London, you are buying more underclothes!’
