by Robert Thier
‘Are… are you quite well?’ I asked carefully. Maybe this was real after all, and he just had a touch of brain fever.
‘Yes, I’m very well, Mr Linton. Thank you very much for your concern.’
The fourth ‘thank you’ in one morning! Something was clearly wrong with him!
‘Are there no more files to go through?’ Looking around, I saw that there was nothing on his desk. The door to my office, which yesterday had been open practically all day, was firmly closed.
‘No, Mr Linton, no files today.’
He still hadn’t let go of my hand. It felt as if it were smouldering. With his thumb, he started rubbing circles on my palm, heating the delicious burn to even higher temperatures.
‘And…’ My voice sounded a little off for some reason. ‘And letters to write? Is there correspondence?’
‘No, Mr Linton. No letters, either.’
Now his other fingers had joined the fun, caressing the back of my hand in a complex pattern that played havoc with the rhythm of my heart. This sort of thing surely wasn’t part of my contract! What the hell was going on? I should wrench my hand out of his grasp and demand an apology! Yes! I definitely should!
Only… I didn’t.
‘I…’
That was all I managed. One syllable. That’s how dry my mouth was.
I cleared my throat. ‘I… I don’t…’
Yay! Two syllables!
Again I cleared my throat. ‘I don’t understand.’
An entire sentence! Yes! I did it! Thank you, God!
Still smiling, he trailed his thumb up and down between my fingers, leaving flames in its wake. How could a man as cold as he set me on fire like this? It was unfair! And certainly unfeminist! I had to get my act together!
‘Not understand, Mr Linton?’
‘No, Sir.’
That was putting it mildly. My world was doing a handstand, everything was upside down. And Mr Ambrose was still smiling at me. His teeth were brilliantly white and even, flawless like the rest of his face that seemed to be hewn out of white stone by a master artist.
‘What don't you understand?’
Letting go of my hand, he settled down comfortably in the chair beside me. Gasping with relief, I snatched my hand back and sat on it. Then, realizing that this might be construed as showing that he affected me in some way - which of course he did not! - I quickly pulled it out again and folded both hands in my lap.
‘What don’t you understand?’
A very good question. I could start with the furniture. The chairs we were sitting in hadn’t been in this office the last time, and neither had the small table around which they were arranged adjacent to one another. Whenever I had spoken to Mr Ambrose before, whether sitting or standing, I had been facing him head-on. Now I was sitting beside him.
And more importantly: we weren’t having an argument. It felt weird. Extremely weird.
‘What don’t you understand?’
‘Well…’ I hesitated. ‘Why haven’t we started to work yet? Why are we sitting here?’
And why the heck are you being so darn nice?
He shrugged. ‘Well, I thought we should talk instead of work today.’
‘Talk?’ I echoed.
‘Yes, talk.’ He sounded as if it were his favourite hobby and there was nothing strange about us sitting down for a nice chat. ‘In any working relationship, it is important to establish a friendly, comfortable atmosphere. To work efficiently together, it is indispensable to get to know and trust one another.’
I wanted to say ‘So when did you reach that epiphany? Was it before or after you hounded me like a slave runner yesterday?'
But before I could get the words out, he leant forward and stroked one long, smooth finger down my cheek. Just one finger. ‘I want to get to know you, Miss Linton. I want to get to know you much better.’
My heart stopped. I’m not joking. It literally stopped right then and there. What was I going to say again? Something snarky and not very nice. The words were suddenly gone from my mind.
He called you Miss! He called you Miss! He practically admitted you’re female! And that finger on your cheek…
I cleared my throat. Somehow it had gotten dry again already. ‘Well… I suppose you’re right.’
Cocking his head like a predator on the prowl, Mr Ambrose leant closer, almost blinding me with the shine of his smile. I could feel his breath on my cheek, right next to my finger. I had never felt anything like this before in my life - mostly because I had always stabbed a man in the gut with my parasol before he could get so close to me. But somehow I didn’t feel like doing this to Mr Ambrose.
‘So glad to hear you agree with me,’ he murmured into my ear. ‘Here, have one of these.’
Something white drifted into my line of sight. A plate of biscuits. Mr Ambrose was offering me a tray of biscuits! And by the looks of them, not cheap ones either!
This has to be a dream!
But the biscuits looked tasty, and I never said no to a tasty morsel, especially if it was sweet. Never mind that I was only dreaming it. I took one of the biscuits and carefully bit into it. It was sweet and delicious, almost as good as solid chocolate. I leant back with relish and didn’t close my eyes only because I was too busy watching Mr Ambrose. He took one biscuit for himself and, leaning back away from me, bit into it with delicious slowness. Even while leaning back, though, his posture still seemed like that of a tiger ready to spring.
‘We never really got around to having a nice chat,’ he said. ‘The start of our relationship was a little… stormy, if you recall.’
‘You mean you shouting at me a lot? Yes, I recall that.’
For a moment his smile seemed to flicker. But it was over so quickly that I wasn’t sure. I had probably just imagined it.
Lifting the rest of the biscuit to his mouth, he swallowed it whole, his eyes trained on me.
‘Ah…’ he sighed. ‘A tasty morsel.’
I felt an involuntary shiver run down my back. His voice alone was more seductively sweet than all the biscuits in the world. And from the way he looked at me, he knew that. What was going on here?
‘I’m actually not referring to the day when you first came into my office and we had our first altercation, Miss Linton. I’m talking about our very first meeting in the street. Do you remember?’ He sighed nostalgically. ‘You did me a singular service that day, Mr Linton - saving me from my own folly. And then you went into that building and later were forced out of it by two policemen. Do you remember that, too?’
I took another bite of biscuit and nodded absent-mindedly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you’re likely to forget.’
Before I could try to flee, before I could even tense or start to think, he had leant forward and taken my hand again. His fingers were trailing over mine, reigniting the fire.
‘What kind of building was it again those cads dragged you away from? A polling station?’
‘Y-yes, it was.’
‘I see. Another biscuit, Miss Linton?’
‘No, I…’
Before I could finish my sentence, he had picked up one of the biscuits from the plate and was lifting it to my mouth. The sweet little thing tickled my lips, enticing them to open. They did.
‘And?’ Mr Ambrose asked, his eyes boring into mine, his fingers still setting my hand on fire. ‘Everything to your taste?’
‘Y-yes. Very much so, Sir. Thank you.’
He lifted his hands in a deprecating gesture, and I quickly tucked my tingling hand away again. To hell with looking unfeminist, it was simple self-preservation!
‘No need to thank me.’ There was that smile again. ‘By the way… why were you at the polling station? Are you interested in politics, Mr Linton?’
I couldn’t suppress a smirk. ‘You could say that.’
Suddenly he clapped his hands together. ‘Of course! You were wearing the same attire then as you are wearing today, weren’t you? Your masculine attire. And I remembe
r the policemen saying something about what you had attempted. I didn’t pay much attention at the time because, honestly, I was rather startled, but now I understand! You were trying to vote, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I was.’ My smirk grew into a full-blown grin - but then it abruptly turned into a grimace. ‘Didn’t turn out that well, though.’
‘Do not be disconsolate,’ he said, leaning forward, actually having a kind expression on his face. Kind? Mr Ambrose? This dream got weirder and weirder by the second. ‘In any fight, there’s always another day. And from what I know of you, you have hardly given up.’
‘Well, you’re right about that.’
‘Is that issue something you feel passionately about? That women should be allowed to vote?’
I was touched. He really sounded interested, and his smile was so friendly… Maybe he had finally gotten over his irrational aversion to having a lady working for him. Maybe he regretted his outburst of yesterday and wanted to make it up to me. Maybe this was real after all.
‘I feel passionately about living my life as I wish to,’ I told him earnestly. ‘And I don't care for people telling me I cannot simply because I am a girl, and not a man.’
He regarded me with shrewd eyes. ‘So your quest for free will and independence - it’s not just political?’
‘Would I be sitting here if it were?’
‘I suppose not.’
His shining smile faded a little, and his eyes became more questioning. ‘Why do you do it? Why did you come here and seek work?’
Strangely, although his friendly smile was waning, he sounded even more interested than before. And so I answered: ‘I don't want to be dependent on anybody. I don't want to wear chains.’
‘You could marry,’ he suggested, touching my hand again and sending sparks all the way up my arm. ‘I’m sure that there would be many interested gentlemen.’
Not bothering to point out the unlikeness of that, I shook my head.
‘Chains of gold are still chains, Mr Ambrose. I want to decide what to do with my life.’ I hesitated, and then enquired: ‘Why are you so interested?’
Abruptly, the beaming smile was back in full force.
‘I am simply trying to get to know you a little better,’ he said, spreading his arms in a gesture of innocence. ‘I find that it is always much easier to achieve one’s aims if one knows about people.’
I had to admit, some part of me was flattered. Suddenly, I couldn’t really meet his eyes, but had to look down at the floor, abashed. He was being so… nice. I knew how to shout at nasty Mr Ambrose. I didn’t really know to say to nice Mr Ambrose who touched my hand and gave me biscuits. My eyes fell on the biscuit in my hand. It was the fifth I had consumed so far. They really were excellent.
‘And what about you, Sir?’ I asked, feeling the need to be polite and show interest in him just as he had shown in me. ‘Why do you do the things you do?’
His smile seemed to flicker once again.
‘Never mind about me,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘Here, have another biscuit. And tell me more about the efforts of the suffragists. It all sounds very interesting.’
*~*~**~*~*
I spent the easiest day at work ever. Mostly, we talked a lot, and he smiled a lot. A very, very great lot. Sometimes I ate another biscuit. He only had me write down a single appointment: a new one for tomorrow, which he said he hadn’t known about previously. I was kind of surprised he would squeeze an appointment into his timetable at such short notice, but with the brightest smile ever he told me it was very important, and I didn’t like to pry.
‘And by the way,’ he said, ‘I would like you to accompany me to this particular appointment.
I nearly dropped the appointment book.
‘But… it’s after working hours,’ I stammered.
‘Yes it is, but it’s really very important. Please? I need someone there I can rely on.’
He thought he could rely on me! And his smile was so convincing…
‘Yes, of course, Sir,’ I said, growing about two inches, a proud grin on my face. ‘I will be there.’
‘Thank you very much, Miss Linton.’ His smile almost blinded me with its brilliance. ‘I promise, it will be an unforgettable experience.’
After that, he didn’t require much more from me. It wasn’t long before he told me I could go home.
‘But it’s not time yet, Sir,’ I protested.
He waved my protest away. ‘Oh, tush! You’ve had a tiring day, and you’re going to need all your strength for tomorrow. Turn in early and catch a good night’s sleep.’
‘Well… if you say so, Sir. Thanks for your concern.’
A bit flustered, I packed up my things and left the office. Was he going to keep up this behaviour? If so, things would really change around here. I could certainly use one change for the better in my life, the way the rest of it was going.
I almost ran home. My friends and I had agreed to meet in the park for some last-minute discussion and preparation before the big event tomorrow - our plan to sabotage the efforts of those evil, diabolical chauvinists who were going to meet in Hyde Park. I had told them I might be a bit late to our meeting, but now, since Mr Ambrose had let me go early, I might be able to make it in time.
Through the back door I slipped into the garden and quickly changed from male into female outfit in the garden shed. Back on the street, I wasn’t quite as quick as before; apparently trousers were better suited to running than hoop skirts. But still I made pretty good time. I had almost reached Green Park when the realization hit me.
The big event was tomorrow - our demonstration for women’s rights. Our protest action against chauvinism. Tomorrow, after working hours. Which was exactly when I had agreed to go on a special appointment with Mr Ambrose.
Blast!
I stopped in my tracks. Blast! Blast! And blast a few more times, preferably with loud explosions! What was I going to do?
For a moment, I considered going back to the office and telling Mr Ambrose that I couldn’t go with him. But I discarded that idea quickly. He had been so friendly today, so accepting - I couldn’t just throw that in his face. I needed the work and had to do what was necessary. My friends would understand.
Will they? Oh, sure, they’d understand if they knew your reasons. Unfortunately, though, they don’t. And you can’t tell them.
I really couldn’t. Or could I?
For a moment, I considered the possibility. But immediately an image came into my mind of Eve jumping up and down excitedly, shouting ‘What, Lilly? You run around all day dressed up in trousers?’ loud enough for the entire park to hear.
I shuddered.
That image was followed by one of Flora regarding me with wide, fear-filled eyes. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if she knew what I was up to during the day! I could tell Patsy, maybe, at some later point, but there was no way of tipping her off while the others were there.
I made my decision.
Squaring my shoulders, I started off again and, soon after, had reached our little bench by the pond where we always met. The others were already there, passing around several large cardboards and chattering excitedly. Eve spotted me first and started waving like mad. The others turned and beamed at me.
‘Ah! Our general has arrived!’ Patsy proclaimed. ‘Ready to inspect your troops before our attack on the chauvinists of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland?’
‘Well, yes… but…’
‘Look here,’ Patsy continued, interrupting me. ‘We made signs! This is mine.’
She held up a large cardboard sign on which she had painted in large, bold, red letters:
VOTES FOR WOMEN NOW!!
‘And this is Flora's,’ she said, holding up another sign. It read, in elegant cursive script:
Please consider granting votes to women at the earliest opportunity. Thank you.
My lips twitched.
‘I think I would have been able to tell which of
you made which. Patsy…’
I swallowed. Now was the time. There was no way around it. ‘Patsy, there’s something I have to tell you all.’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘I… I have to…’ I stopped, not knowing what to say.
The smile slowly disappeared from her face.
‘What’s wrong? Has something happened to Ella? Has that fellow Wilkins…’
‘No, no,’ I hastened to assure her. ‘It’s nothing like that. Ella is fine.’
‘What’s the matter, then? You look strange.’
I swallowed again. Why did my throat have to be so darn dry? It wasn’t like I was planning to commit a murder.
Only, it was nearly as bad. They had all looked so happy a moment ago. Now they looked at me with anxious faces. My friends - the best friends in the world. The people I was going to have to disappoint.
‘Well… not to beat around the bush… to come straight to the point… I can’t come tomorrow.’
‘I don't understand,’ Eve said, a puzzled frown on her face.
‘To the demonstration. I can’t come to the demonstration in Hyde Park tomorrow.’
‘What?’
Patsy had a sergeant major’s voice, and when she used it to full effect the result was deafening. Wincing, I took an involuntary step back.
‘Look, it wasn’t my choice. I didn’t mean to…’
‘You can’t mean that, Lilly! You can’t possibly mean that!’
She advanced on me, hands on hips, a thunderous expression on her normally so cheerful face. With relief I noted that her parasol was leaning against the bench a few yards away.
‘After all the preparation we did, all the planning we put into this? Now you want to draw in your tail and run?’
‘It’s not like that, Patsy, really. I never…’
‘And it was you who came up with the idea in the first place! I thought you were a rebel! I thought you despised oppression just as much as we do!’
