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‘Any particular reason for your unnecessary exuberance, Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, oh yes! A man has disappeared! Maybe he’s sick, or he’s been pressed into the Navy, or -’ I did another pirouette, ‘- he might even be dead!’
‘And that is cause for joy why, exactly?’
‘Because he’s the bloody man who wanted to marry me, that’s why!’
He cocked his head. ‘I see. My congratulatory condolences, Mr Linton.’
‘Thanks!’
‘How did this fortunate event take place, if I may ask?’
I frowned. It wasn’t like Mr Ambrose to ask questions. And he had a funny lack of a look on his face. Somehow a bit different from the usual absence of expression that usually reigned on his stony visage.
‘No idea. But now that you mention it…’
‘Yes, Mr Linton?’
‘It’s strange…’
‘What is?’
‘He isn’t the first suitor who has disappeared without a trace. The last one disappeared just like that, suddenly, without the slightest explanation.’ I bit my lip, thinking - then shrugged, and skipped over to my desk with a grin. ‘But as long as they’re gone, why should I care about the how? Maybe I have a guardian angel.’
Abruptly, he turned around, and marched back to the door. ‘Doubtful. I cannot imagine a divine entity would waste its time guarding you.’
‘Thank you for the compliment, Sir!’
‘Get out the balance sheets, Mr Linton. We’re going to get through with them today, understood?’
‘Yes, Sir!’
We didn’t get through with them. There were lots and lots of the blasted things, and this was going to take longer than Mr Ambrose had anticipated. Either he hadn’t known how rich he was, which I doubted very much, or he hadn’t anticipated how big of a bite the government was planning to take out of his profits. In that case, I pitied the poor tax collector who would come around trying to collect. There truly were fates worth than death, and I didn’t wish them on anybody. Not even tax collectors.
I toiled from morning until (almost) night. Mr Ambrose continued to crack the figurative whip until thirty-seven seconds before eight pm, when he finally admitted that we might actually not manage to finish the work tonight.
‘Put away the balance sheets,’ he ordered. ‘In all probability, we will not be able to finish our work today, after all.’
I glanced at my pocket watch. Twenty-five seconds to closing time. Yes, I’d say that it was probable, too.
Grabbing stack after stack, I stored away several months’ worth of bookkeeping. The only thing I had on my mind was getting out of the office extra quickly to enjoy my newfound freedom - but when I removed the last stack of financial papers from Mr Ambrose’s desk, something beneath caught my eye: a slim black folder, lying conspicuously alone at the corner of the desk.
I hadn’t put it there. Usually, all the files on Mr Ambrose’s desk were put there by me. But this one? No. The thing just lay there, dark and mysterious, sending a shiver down my spine. It sparked a dim memory in my mind. Months ago, shortly after I had first started working for Mr Ambrose…
Haven’t I seen something similar?
But no. I was Mr Ambrose’s secretary. What possible reason would he have to keep any files secret from me? Still, even the inscription on the file seemed familiar: M.M.F.. from L.L. Waste Disposal.
What could that possibly mean?
‘Sir?’ Picking up the file, I held it out to him. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’
He looked at me for a moment - a strange look that sent another shiver down my spine. Bloody hell! I had to set up a shiver blockade somewhere back there.
‘Well, Sir?’ Mr Ambrose was still gazing at me, unspeaking. I glanced down at the file. What in God’s name was so familiar about it?
I looked back at my employer, and he cocked his head. ‘File it under “success”, Mr Linton.’
