In the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thier

  ‘I am!’ I informed him serenely. If I weren’t, my objects for glowering and stabbing would have been exchanged over ten minutes ago.

  ‘Your last chance!’ His voice… oh, why did that cold voice of his have to send such a delicious tingle down my spine? I ignored it - and him - and stabbed another carrot with my fork. ‘Your very last chance, I’m warning you.’

  I remained silent. Why? I had no idea. I could have smiled and laughed and danced like a good little secretary, I supposed. It shouldn’t have been that difficult. It really shouldn’t, but…

  But there was that word in the back of my mind.

  Fake. Fake. Fake.

  And then there was the French’s lady’s voice, sighing Bon Dieu, young amour is such a wonderful thing.

  For reasons I could not fathom, those words made me lash out. I knew that, for no reason at all, I was behaving like a complete shrew. No, worse - I was behaving like a wicked witch who hadn’t had enough children to gobble up for a week. But then, I’d always had a thing for wicked witches, so I didn’t feel a particular need to change my behaviour.

  ‘As you wish.’ Nobody could convey more quiet menace with these three little words than Rikkard Ambrose. They thrummed with a freezing force that even I, sunk deep in my strange and inexplicable mood, felt to my very core. Slowly, he rose to his feet. ‘Finish your dinner, Wife.’

  I looked up questioningly. His plate was still half full. ‘You’re already done?’

  ‘I feel like retiring early tonight.’ And with that, he turned and marched up the stairs.

  I remained, my mouth slowly chewing the rest of my dinner, while my brain was busy chewing on my conflicting feelings. Let’s just say that my mouth was vastly more successful in turning everything into an easily digestible mush.

  Suppressing a yawn, I finally got to my feet. It had been an exhausting day. The forays into the darkest parts of the city, the constant fear of another attack and, worst of all, the need to try and pretend to be blissful all day was really getting to me. Stretching, I crossed the dining hall and started to climb the stairs to our suite.

  The moment I approached the door I knew something was wrong! Noises were coming from inside. Not the noises of a fight, or the kind you’d expect a burglar to make, thank God! No, those were unquestionably moans. It sounded as someone was in mortal pain!

  My mouth dropped open in horror.

  Blast! Mr Ambrose went up early because he didn’t feel well! What if he… if he…

  I didn’t even want to think of what could have happened to him. Horror-stories of a thousand tropical diseases I had read about in books or papers flashed through my mind. Rushing towards the door, I made a grab for the doorknob. If he was sick…

  The door crashed open. I plunged inside - and froze.

  It only took me one heartbeat to see that I had been mistaken. Mr Ambrose was not sick. In fact, he appeared to be very healthy and vigorous. And so did the girl clenched in his arms.

  Favours and Fires

  It took the two of them a moment to notice me. Quite impressive, considering the noise I was making, stomping into the room. But then, they appeared to be busy. Very, very busy.

  I cleared my throat.

  Neither Mr Ambrose nor the female, who, if I wasn’t very mistaken, was the daughter of the French ambassador I had seen him dance with not too long ago, paid me the slightest attention. Just when their lips were about to touch, I decided it was time for more drastic measures. Grabbing a nearby side table I pushed, hard, and it toppled it over. The table and everything on it landed on the floor with an almighty, satisfying crash.

  Disengaging from each other, they both turned to look at me. The girl’s eyes were blinking rapidly in confusion. Mr Ambrose, the devil curse him into all eternity, was looking just as cool and collected as if he had just been sipping tea!

  ‘Hasn’t your mother ever taught you to knock before coming in?’ he enquired.

  The girl looked from me to him and back again. ‘Who is sat, ’enry?’ she demanded in a heavily accented voice.

  ‘No one of consequence, chérie,’ Mr Ambrose assured her.

  Chérie?

  If it hadn’t been before, that was the point at which my blood started boiling. Trying not to look at the two of them or at their rumpled clothes, I stepped forward and picked Mr Ambrose’s tailcoat up off the floor.

  ‘Here.’ I hurled the thing at him. I was hoping it would hit him in the head, but he caught it, effortlessly. ‘Put that on. And you…’ Turning to the girl, I pointed a finger at the door. ‘Out!’

  She stared at me, then turned her gaze to Mr Ambrose. ‘Who is sat?’

  ‘I’m his wife,’ I informed her coldly. Well, why not? It was true, damn it! Well, sort of.

  That made her look at me again, longer this time. It also made her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. She looked back at Mr Ambrose once more.

  ‘Sis one? Your wife?

  ‘She is,’ he allowed. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Oh. Alors, if sat is se case…’ She untangled herself from Mr Ambrose, and curtsied to me. ‘I ‘ope I ‘ave not inconvenienced you, Madame.’

  My mouth dropped open, stunned. She didn’t seem to suffer from any such problems in dealing with the situation. She just laced up her half-open gown and left the room, not without blowing a kiss to Mr Ambrose in parting.

  When the door had closed behind her, I marched up to my so-called husband, who, I saw to my great relief, was completely dressed again by now.

  ‘What was that?’ I snapped.

  ‘That? That was Mademoiselle Bertrand, the ambassador’s daughter.’

  I had been tempted to murder him before, but that was nothing compared to the temptation I had to withstand in that moment.

  ‘I know who she is,’ I whispered. ‘I want to know what you were doing with her!’

  ‘We were engaged in preparations for a process known, I believe, as “osculating”.’

  ‘Osculating? Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. Though sometimes, in a less formal context, one might also use the term “kissing” or “smooching”. In any case, the words all denote a common human mating ritual and precursor to congress.’

  ‘You mean you were whoring?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ He almost looked indignant. Indignant! He! ‘You have to pay a woman to be whoring. She didn’t get one penny from me, I can promise you that. What do you take me for?’

  I was shaking. I didn’t even know why I was so angry - bloody hell, I had no right to be! I wasn’t married to him; it was all just a disguise; one, moreover, that I had done my best to fight, subvert and shatter! But…

  That was just the problem. But.

  ‘What did I take you for?’ My eyes were burning. ‘I took you for an honourable man! Apparently, I was mistaken!’

  He had turned to the nearest window, to straighten his bow tie in its mirror-like surface. His reflection looked at me, all cool arrogance with a hint of displeased surprise.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you do not seem too pleased at my plans to osculate with Mademoiselle Bertrand.’

  ‘Pleased?’ My eyes almost bugged out of my sockets. ‘You expected me to be pleased?’

  ‘Certainly.’ He gave another tug to his bow tie, and nodded, satisfied. ‘After all, I undertook the whole matter for your sake.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I told him in a voice that could have frozen lava, ‘I’m not the most experienced person in male-female interactions, but I fail to see how you can please one woman by kissing another.’

  ‘I should have thought it is quite obvious.’ Finished with his bow tie, he now went on to straightening his shirt. He didn’t seem to notice that, from behind, I was trying to murder him with my eyes. ‘It was clear that you were not pleased at having to play my loving bride. I had to find a solution. Ergo, I set out to find another female to osculate. The girl I selected is an utter gossip monger, and the story of my extra-marital adventure will be all over the hotel i
n at most half an hour, thus providing you the opportunity to switch from the role of loving wife to boiling angry, jealous and cantankerous wife - a role to which I think you are eminently better suited. Our disguise will once more be perfect, and Dalgliesh’s spies will have no reason to suspect we are anything else than what we proclaim to be.’ Content with his appearance, he clapped his hands and turned towards me. ‘Problem solved, to our mutual satisfaction. There, what do you say?’

  I didn’t say anything. My mouth was opening and closing, no words coming out.

  ‘Hello?’ Mr Ambrose took a step forward. ‘Are you all right?’

  In a small part of my mind, far from the boiling flood that filled the rest of me, I dispassionately noted that, actually, seen from a logical and unemotional point of view, his explanation had made perfect sense. The only problem was I wasn’t very disposed to be logical and unemotional right now.

  He took another step forward. ‘Are you all right, my love?’

  That did it. Those two little words at the end. My eyes, open in shock right up to that moment, narrowed, blazing with fire. I took a step towards him.

  ‘I see,’ I said, my voice mild. ‘You did all that for my benefit. How thoughtful. So did you just want to let her spread rumours behind my back, or did you plan on me coming in and discovering you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Either would have sufficed. But I was hoping to draw the thing out until you came. I thought it would be much more effective, and help you more in acting your new role as a jealous wife. Are you pleased with the alteration to the plan?’

  He was serious! He was actually serious! God! That man might be the most brilliant financier and businessman to walk the earth since King Croesus, but he had bricks for brains where women were concerned!

  ‘What do you think?’ I purred. ‘Do I look pleased?’

  He regarded me for a few moments. ‘Oddly enough… no, you don’t.’

  ‘How very observant of you.’

  ‘What is the matter? Do you think my idea won’t work? That the Bertrand female won’t spread rumours about our tryst through the hotel?’

  My eyes sparked. ‘Oh, I’m sure she’s already at it.’

  ‘Then don’t you think that will be enough to distract any watchers who were suspicious of us before?’

  ‘Of course it will.’ The fire in my eyes felt like two stars now, burning bright hot. ‘Your plan was very well thought out. I’m sure it will work beautifully.’ Blast him, but it was! Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t want to take his head off for it!

  ‘Then what’s the matter?’

  I was trembling. ‘You… you…! Don’t you realize? Don’t you realize what you’ve done?’

  ‘Certainly I do. I’ve made your life a whole lot easier. Next time when we are at dinner, you can snap and shout at me till your heart’s content.’

  ‘You bastard!’

  His sea-coloured eyes flashed darkly. ‘I don’t particularly see why you are so aggravated. You are not the one who had to fondle that female.’ Wiping his fingers on his sleeve, he shuddered. ‘Can you imagine? She actually perfumes her neck with lavender! Bah!’

  A muscle in my cheek twitched. It wasn’t the one I used for smiling. ‘You have my profoundest sympathy.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He thought I meant it! He honestly thought I meant it!

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘And will you go to bed with her as part of your little charade, too?’

  He cocked his head thoughtfully, as if this idea hadn’t yet occurred to him. ‘Do you think I should? If you believe it necessary, I suppose I could-’

  What?

  ‘Argh!’ I gripped my head with both hands, trying to keep from pulling my hair out. ‘You’re impossible!’

  ‘I take objection to that.’

  ‘Oh, you do, do you?’

  ‘Indeed. The matter under discussion has nothing to do with the plausibility of my existence. I am quite certain that I exist. As the philosopher Descartes said, “I think, therefore I am”.’

  ‘Well, think about that!’ Grabbing an orange from a nearby table, I hurled it at him. He ducked, and the fruit bounced harmlessly off the wall.

  He gave an approving nod. ‘Quite acceptable acting! That’s exactly the kind of attitude you need to project now, for your new role as jealous wife.’

  ‘If you ever come near that hussy gain, I’ll kill you, do you hear me? I’ll cut off your head, fill it with ice cream and eat it for breakfast!’

  He stood there, slowly stroking his finger along his chiselled chin, regarding me consideringly.

  ‘You know, for someone who is only playacting, you are a quite extraordinarily convincing jealous wife.’

  ‘Of course.’ I flashed him my tigress smile again. ‘After all, you pay me for it.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So… what now?’ Slowly prowling towards him, I eyed his hard, cold figure. ‘What do you expect a woman to do? Run off screaming into the night? Crawl away to weep in a corner?’

  ‘Probably.’

  My eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Ah, but you see, a wife wouldn’t do that. At least not one worthy of the title. No, I won’t pretend to run off. Instead, since I’m pretending to be your wife, I ought to pretend to be very, very angry at you.’

  He considered this for a moment. Finally, he nodded his agreement. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  The first vase missed his head only by inches, shattering against the wall.

  ‘I’m so glad to have your agreement, my dear!’

  Grabbing the second vase of flowers from the dresser, I hurled it at him with all the force I could muster, careful to take better aim. He ducked just in time. The vase crashed against a portrait and splintered into a thousand pieces. Marching over to the table, I picked up another and flung it after the first two - but that one flew wide of the target, sailing over his head and out the window. It shattered with a distant, lonesome crash somewhere on the cobblestones outside.

  I didn’t give him time to recover. Dashing forward like a mad fury, I hurled myself at him and started pounding on his chest.

  ‘I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!’

  ‘Quite satisfactory,’ his cool voice reached my ear, like silk sliding over steel. ‘Your acting has significantly improved.’

  ‘Thanks!’ My next punch hit him in the stomach. Bloody hell! It was as hard as a slab of granite! I hit again, and satisfaction rushed through me as he uttered a small groan.

  ‘Really, quite significantly improved!’ he grunted.

  ‘Here! Take that, you bastard! And that! And that!’ His hands shot up, grabbing me around the wrists. ‘Let go! Let go, you bloody son of a bachelor!’

  ‘So you can continue to utilize me as your own personal punching bag?’ His tone was as dry as it was cold. ‘I think not.’

  ‘You… you…!’

  ‘I must say, I am quite impressed, Mr Linton. You play the shrew exceedingly well. One might almost think the performance were genuine.’

  ‘I am just doing my job!’

  ‘Very thoroughly, I must say.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Sir.’

  ‘By the way, you’ll pay for that vase out of your wages.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn who pays for it! I’m staying here in Egypt as your wife! I’m finishing my job, do you understand?’

  There was a moment of silence. He was still holding me in his iron grip, and we stared at each other over the small, insurmountable distance between us, hardly able to make out each other’s faces. I was breathing hard.

  Maybe a bit too hard for someone who’s only pretending to be angry…

  That inner voice of mine should really learn to shut up!

  ‘Do you,’ I asked taking deep breaths to calm myself, ‘understand?’

  Another moment of silence. Finally:

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m staying as your wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My ey
es narrowed. ‘And you realize that, in that role, I’m going to pretend to hate you passionately?’

  Slowly, very slowly, he began to remove his hands from around my wrists. I made no move to attack him again. ‘Something tells me that will not be very difficult for you.’

  My lips twitched. Upward? Downward? I had no idea. I didn’t have a hope of understanding the emotions roiling inside me right now. ‘That’s what I thought, too. I mean… you are an arrogant son of a bachelor. Nothing should be easier than to hate you, and as your fake wife, that’s all I’d have to do to play my role, right?’

  His hands let go of my wrists fully, and he took a step back. ‘Right.’

  His voice was unusually hesitant. He seemed to know that there was something still to come.

  ‘But then I thought…’ I took a step forward, towards him. When he stepped back again, I stepped forward once more, following him across the room. ‘I thought, since I’m pretending I’m married to you…’

  ‘Yes?’

  Another step back for him, another step forward for me. We were at the window now, his waist pressed into the windowsill. He couldn’t step back any more, unless he wanted to start a new career as a gory stain on the cobblestones of Alexandria.

  ‘Since I’m supposedly married to you, now matter how much I hate you, I would also have to pretend that I’m still in love with you!’ My hands shot forward. Grabbing his collar, I pulled him down until he was on my level and I could glare right into his dark eyes. ‘I’d have to pretend to tell you that you’re mine, and I’ll be damned if I let some French hussy steal you away from me!’

  A low rumble erupted from his chest. ‘Then I’d have to pretend to say: I don’t need a French hussy! I don’t want her! I don’t want anyone but you!’

  I pulled him a few inches closer. ‘And I’d have to pretend to say: prove it!’

  Maybe I should not have said that. Oh, all right, I definitely should not have said that.

  Why?

  Because he took me at my word!

  In a fraction of a second, his hands were at my face, caressing lightly, holding tightly. His lips crashed down on mine, soft as a feather and hard as a mountain of stone. He invaded me, possessed me, took hold of me. Not just of my mouth, but of all of me. I could feel his hands letting go of my face, picking me up from the floor and carrying me away to…where?