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The saboteur shut his mouth.
‘Adequate. Now, if you have done everything you said, you might—emphasis on might—get out of this with your head attached to your body. If not…’ Mr Ambrose tapped his pocket. ‘I have your signed confession right here, and the other two copies are in the hands of capable people who know what to do with them. If the police get their hands on them, you’ll be spending a decade or two behind bars. Understood?’
‘Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’
‘Adequate.’
Just then, Mr Ambrose looked up. His eyes swept over the stairs for a moment—then he saw me.
One of his eyebrows lifted about half a millimetre.
‘Ah. Miss Linton.’
‘Err…is this what his version of “blown away” looks like?’ Claudette whispered from behind me.
I grinned. ‘This is what his version of everything looks like.’
‘My poor dear. You ‘ave my condolences.’
I didn’t really hear her. I was already rushing down the stairs. Mr Ambrose had hardly enough time to fully turn towards me before I crashed into him, flinging my arms around him.
‘Miss Linton! What, pray, are you doing?’
‘Hugging you,’ I whispered into his chest. ‘It’s the first time in ages I’ve been able to without having to wonder if anyone is watching. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you.’
For a moment, there was nothing but startled silence. Then his stiff form relaxed just a tiny little bit, and his arms slid around me. That was all the response I needed. I leaned into him, not giving a damn if anyone was staring. Finally, I relaxed my grip and looked up at him, a fierce grin spreading across my face.
‘Shall we go kick Dalgliesh’s arse?’
His eyes met mine and held them for a moment that felt like forever.
‘Let’s go, Miss Linton.’
Memorable Moments
‘I have to admit, his opera looks better than yours. Did you skimp on decorations?’
Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look, then turned back to the massive building in front of us. I had spoken the truth. It did look better than Mr Ambrose’s opera house—if you measured beauty in pomp and luxury. But at a second glance, you could see where Dalgliesh’s architect had used just a little bit too much decoration, just a little bit too much gilding and glitter. There might be less pomp at Mr Ambrose’s building, but there also was a lot more style.
And fewer murderous plots, probably, as well.
‘Well?’ I asked, slipping my arm into Mr Ambrose’s and smiling up at him. ‘Shall we go give His Lordship a nice surprise?’
‘We shall. Let’s go.’
‘Yes, let’s!’ came an excited voice from behind us. ‘Oh, sis is going to fun!’
Followed by Claudette, Mr Ambrose and I climbed the front steps to the arched entryway. The doorman at this place looked a whole lot bigger and more intimidating than the one Mr Ambrose had had the misfortune to employ.
‘Des billets, s’il vous plait?’
‘Do you speak English?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Read this.’
Mr Ambrose held out the king’s note.
