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‘Be silent!’
‘Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir.’
Mr Ambrose stalked off towards the sacrificial lamb that was to be slaughtered on the altar of Mammon. I followed, whistling to myself and trying to conceal my grin.
Mr Cox looked up when, only a few feet from his face, two lean, hard, black-clad legs came to a halt. His gaze met that of Mr Ambrose.
‘Mr Cox.’ That, and a curt nod, was all the greeting Mr Ambrose was willing to give.
‘Ah! Mr Ambrose. Sit down, sit down.’ He smiled at the plump woman and another female who had settled down on his other side. ‘This, ladies, is the redoubtable Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who is going to make me a rich man tonight. Mr Ambrose, meet the Glamourous Gladys and… and Whatshername.’
Mr Ambrose gave the Glamorous Gladys a look. ‘Leave. Now.’
I had never in my life seen a prostitute running so fast. It really was amazing how she managed it in that long dress, and while dragging her companion after her.
‘Now what did you do that for?’ Mr Cox protested.
‘The business we have to discuss is confidential. This place is public enough without two eager ears listening in. People who sell other parts of their body will not hesitate to sell their ears and lips.’
Reaching into his tailcoat, Mr Ambrose half lifted something heavy out of a pocket and let it sink back again. I heard the tinkle of coins and rustle of banknotes. And so, to judge by the sudden light in his eyes, did Mr Cox.
‘Now - to business. The ground plan to your shop, Mr Cox? The plans for the prototypes? You said you would bring them with you.’
‘Oh yes.’ The little man grinned. ‘But be prepared. What I’ve got will change the world of mechanics as we know it. Are you sure you’re ready?’
‘I am afraid of nothing, Mr Cox.’
I cleared my throat. For some reason, my cough ended up sounding quite a bit like the word ‘Mother!’
Without looking, Mr Ambrose stomped down on my foot.
He wasn’t the only one who had noticed my little contribution to the conversation. Mr Cox looked up, eyeing me suspiciously.
‘Who’s that? I thought you said our dealings would be confidential.’
‘This is Mr Victor Linton, my private secretary.’
Mr Cox studied my youthful, rounded features. As a 19-year-old girl, you might be able to pull off disguising yourself as a man - but you could never pull off making yourself manly. Slowly, his mistrustful expression changed into a grin of derision.
‘A green lad, eh? You probably have trouble breaking him in.’
‘You,’ M
r Ambrose said in a very calm and neutral voice, ‘have no idea.’
My mouth fell open in outrage. Mr Cox chuckled.
‘Well, Mr Ambrose, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t particularly want our business discussed in front of a stripling like that, who’s only just let go of his mother’s apron strings.’
Mr Ambrose regarded me with a look that, if I hadn’t known he was devoid of all emotion, I might have called self-satisfied.
‘I don’t either, Mr Cox. He’s very new. Very unprofessional, at times, and takes too many liberties. But I can’t send him back. The coach has already left.’
‘Oh, that’s no problem.’ Mr Cox chuckled. ‘Why don’t we simply send him upstairs? I’m sure one of the girls would be all too happy to keep him entertained and make a real man of him in the process.’
My mouth was already open. But somehow I managed to unhinge my jaw and drop it another few inches.
Make a real man out of…
