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Swiftly, I sat down the glass I’d been holding. Another moment and I would have shattered it, so tight had my grip become.
Control yourself, Lilly! This isn’t helping. You’re next to him. Use the time. Find out what’s going on in that stony head of his.
‘Well, Mr Ambrose…’ Putting on my best and most polished social smile, I turned towards him. ‘I’m so looking forward to the Christmas ball. It’s going to be so much fun.’
Silence.
Cold, hard, unforgiving silence.
All right. Another approach. What about a direct question? He’d be forced to answer then.
‘Your mother has done a wonderful job decorating the house and making everything perfect for Christmas so far, don’t you agree?’
A moment of silence, then…
‘Indeed.’
Hooray! An answer.
Only not one that was particularly helpful.
‘Do you think the ball tonight will be equally splendid?’
He made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a ‘yes’, a ‘no’ and a ‘go boil your head in vinegar’.
‘By the way, since we’re on the subject…’
I paused with bated breath, waiting to see if he’d pick up the bait.
He didn’t. Damn!
‘Since we’re on the subject, have you made any plans yet?’
‘Yes.’
My heart made a leap. ‘Really?’ Too eager, bloody hell! You sound too eager, Lilly! ‘What are they?’
‘Building a boot factory in Sunderland.’
I blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘Boots, Mr Linton. Attire for feet generally made from leather.’
‘I know what boots are!’
‘Indeed? You never cease to amaze me.’
‘I wasn’t talking about your business plans for the next quarter! I meant what are your plans for tonight?’
Please say they involve me. Please, please, please.
‘Well…’ Spearing a piece of roast lamb on his fork, Mr Ambrose raised it to his lips and took a deliberate bite. I was seized by a sudden, slightly disturbing envy for roasted lambs. ‘I suppose I will have to attend that ball of my mother’s.’
Yes, yes yes! But with whom? With whom, damn you?
/> ‘Are you looking forward to it?’ I asked, more as a way of keeping the conversation going than as an actual question. I knew his answer would be something like ‘as much as I enjoy being stabbed repeatedly in the eye with a rusty pitchfork.’
‘Very much indeed, Miss Linton.’
