No, I told myself, You cannot run away. You cannot run from him, or he will know that you know. And then you will be dead.

But… was this really true? I could hardly believe that this suave nobleman, member of the House of Lords and uncrowned king of Britain’s largest imperial enterprise, was supposed to be involved in dealings so far beyond the law that they had lapped it and kicked it in the derrière while it was concentrating on catching up. The man owned his own subcontinent, for heaven’s sake!

Yes, but the question is: how did he get it? If it’s by similar methods as Caesar or Napoleon… Well, they hadn’t been squeamish, either.

‘Lord Dalgliesh. How nice to see you again.’ I forced my legs to stay where they were and to bend into a curtsy.

Remember the alley in the East End! Remember the attackers! It was this man who sent them.

But it was hard to remember. Lord Dalgliesh, in his exquisite black tailcoat and blue satin waistcoat, looked as if he had never so much as heard of a place like the East End, let alone paid a visit to some of its occupants.

He wouldn’t have to. He could pay somebody else to pay somebody else to pay somebody else to pay somebody to do it.

‘Indeed it is, Miss Linton.’ Taking my hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of it. My reaction now was very different from when Sir Philip had done the same. A shiver went down my back, and my cheeks warmed. Thank the Lord my cheeks weren’t fashionably pale. With luck, it wouldn’t show.

Think of the alley! I told myself again. Think of the blood!

I tried. I honestly tried. But with images of the alley also came images of what had come after: the ride back, the office, Mr Ambrose, the kiss…

Had I thought my cheeks warm before? It was nothing to the explosion they suffered now. Yet if Lord Dalgliesh saw it, he probably couldn’t deduce the reason.

Hopefully. Some part of me, though, was feeling as though it was written all over my face.

‘Do you know, Miss Linton, why I have been desirous of renewing our acquaintance?’ he enquired.

I swallowed, hoping the reason didn’t have anything to do with knives, guns, or locked cells.

‘N-no.’

Blast! Why was it that I couldn’t keep my voice steady just when I needed to?

‘I have been making enquiries into any connection of yours with a certain Rikkard Ambrose, with whom you seemed extraordinarily well acquainted at the last ball, where I had the pleasure of seeing you.’

What?

‘And lo and behold, I have not found a single shred of evidence to connect the two of you.’

Oh. Good.

‘Not a family connection, not a bank loan your family is overdue to pay back, not a previous social acquaintance, not even a romantic involvement with heartbreakingly sweet little notes secretly exchanged…’

He said all this in a perfectly conversational voice, as if there were nothing strange about digging into my family’s financial affairs or my personal life. Not if he did it.

Once again, I felt in my legs the nearly uncontrollable urge to turn and run. I fought it, and stayed where I was.

‘Interesting,’ I said, meeting his gaze as steadily as I could. ‘You know, some people might think those sorts of enquiries discourteous. Invasive, even.’

‘Might they?’ He looked royally entertained. ‘It is an amusing fact, Miss Linton, but in my whole life not a single person has ever accused me of discourteous or ungentlemanly behaviour.’ He smiled again, spreading his hands. ‘Not a single one. On the contrary, everybody always assures me how considerate and polite I am. Sometimes, they assure me three or four times in a row.’

He took a step closer to me.

Without moving my head, my gaze darted from side to side. I discovered that we were pretty much alone in our own private little corner of the ballroom. Indeed, if I was not very much mistaken, there seemed to be a literal wall of people who had their backs to us, separating us from the rest of the crowd. None of them appeared to show the slightest bit of interest in our conversation, although they were perfectly within hearing distance. They stood at attention, and several of them were in uniform. The uniform of the Indian Army - the strong arm of the East India Company.

Suddenly, I found myself wishing Captain Carter had not left my side.

‘You could not see your way to tell me what connection exists between you and Mr Ambrose?’ Lord Dalgliesh’s voice was deceptively soft. ‘I would really like to know.’

‘I told you before,’ I said, finding it increasingly difficult to meet those blue eyes that bored into me like drills. ‘There is no connection.’

‘Such a pity, such a pity.’ He sighed, and smiled regretfully. ‘Do you remember, Miss Linton, that I told you I always get what I want?’

Without sign or command, the men who separated us from the rest of the ballroom and who, until now, had been standing with their backs to us, turned and stepped closer, surrounding us, surrounding me, cutting off any way of escape.

Escape? Why would I want to escape? We were at a ball, for heaven’s sake - a public festivity, hosted by one of London’s most prominent noblewomen! He couldn’t do anything to me here, surely, could he? And besides, he didn’t even look as if he wanted to do anything to me. His smile was so friendly, so charming, he looked as if he desired nothing but good for the entire world.

With every step the soldiers took towards me, I felt less sure of that.

‘Would you like to accompany me on a little stroll?’ he suggested, brightly. ‘I’ve heard Lady Metcalf’s garden is truly beautiful at night.’

What should I do? Scream for help? But help with what? He hadn’t done or said anything improper. There was nothing concrete to suggest danger of any kind. And still, something inside me screamed and clawed at my innards to get me to turn and run.

‘I…’ My voice was a mere whisper. What should I do? ‘I… don't think so, Your Lordship.’

‘Are you sure?’ He looked crestfallen, then he suddenly glanced around, saw the soldiers, and his face brightened. ‘Oh! There are a few friends of mine!’ He turned to me again. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come for a stroll? I think my friends would love to accompany us. These military fellows spend so much time breathing in gunpowder fumes, they need a lot of fresh air.’

He laughed - a light, carefree laugh that expected nothing but my joyful acceptance. If anybody watching the scene saw me decline again, they would think me abominably rude. What should I do? Oh, if only some help were here, Captain Carter, or Mr Ambrose, or…

‘Excuse me? Excuse me please, gentlemen, let me through please…’

And from between the beefy soldiers of the Indian Army stepped the figure of Edmund, the piano tuner’s son. He gave the startled Lord Dalgliesh a polite smile and said: ‘You will excuse us for a moment, I’m sure? I have to tell the lady something.’

And with that, he took me by the arm, leading me a few steps away without even waiting for an answer. Lord Dalgliesh stood where he had been standing, his face back to the perfect beneficent smile that seemed to be his favourite expression. Yet, in my time with Mr Ambrose, I had learned to read minuscule changes in facial expressions. Charming as his smile was, it didn’t soften the steel in his blue eyes.

‘Miss Linton,’ Edmund began, and gave a little bow, ‘I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for your initiative in inviting me to this ball tonight. It has brought me joy beyond what I can say. I cannot adequately express my thanks, but, as a gesture, I wondered whether you would do me the honour of dancing a reel with me?’

I could have kissed him.

Not literally, of course! I mean, my little sister was in love with him, for heaven’s sake! And even if he weren’t the apple of her eye and cherry of her heart, I would never kiss him. He looked just so… kind. Harmless. Conservative. Plus, I didn’t have plans to kiss any man, of whatever sort, ever.

But figuratively speaking, I planted a big buss on his forehead.

‘Why, thank you, Mr Conway,’ I said, curtsying and extending my arm in the most ladylike manner I had ever managed to fake. ‘A dance is just what I need right now.’ Yes, and please in the middle of the dance floor, far away from His Lordship and company! ‘I would be delighted.’

Over my shoulder I smiled at Lord Dalgliesh. ‘You will excuse us, Your Lordship.’

‘Certainly, Miss Linton.’ He bowed, just a few inches. Was it a coincidence that, at the gesture, the wall of soldiers opened up to let us pass? ‘Until we meet again.’

I shuddered as we passed between the uniformed men and they closed ranks behind us.

‘Are you cold, Miss Linton?’ Edmund enquired politely.

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Let’s dance.’

*~*~**~*~*

It was terrible.

He stepped on my feet a lot, but nevertheless, I tried not to step on his. I thought it was the least I could do, considering he may have just saved my life. I still wasn’t too sure about that, to be honest. Lord Dalgliesh hadn’t really said anything threatening. He had just invited me on a little walk, after all.

But now and then I caught his eye across the ballroom, and had the feeling that it would have been a pretty long walk to an unpleasant destination. I made sure that I stayed among plenty of people for the rest of the ball. Unfortunately, that meant having to dance almost every dance, with any partner who happened to be available. Sometimes, safety came at too high a price.

All that sustained me through the long hours of the ball was the sight of Ella and Edmund. Whether they were dancing or not, and no matter how far apart they were, their eyes never left each other. I had to admit I was beginning to warm to this Edmund chap. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible that my little sister was in love, and she wouldn’t end up miserable and oppressed like so many other women who gave themselves over to a man.

And if she would, Edmund would rue the day he was born!

As the evening dragged on, the music became slower, the crowd less excited, and finally, it was all over. Lady Metcalf stood at the door to say goodbye to all the guests. We were some of the last ones to leave. Yet there was one other behind us, surrounded by an entourage of figures in uniform.

Lord Dalgliesh nodded to me and smiled.

I could almost hear a voice whispering into my ear: This is not over.

*~*~**~*~*

I had assumed that, now he had dropped my sister like a hot brick, Sir Philip would try to get rid of us as soon as possible. I was mistaken. He took us home in his coach as planned and, the entire drive, did nothing but chinwag about the fabulous Lady Katherine he had met at the ball. However, other than you might imagine, this was not awkward in the least. Quite the contrary.

Why, you might ask?

I might have been angry with him for casting aside my sister like a used glove - but seeing as Ella was quite delighted to be thrown aside like a used glove, and looking happier with every word he spoke, taking pains to agree most energetically with his praise of Lady Katherine, it was rather hard. Especially since my aunt was shooting gazes of fiery anger at the poor Sir Philip, not one of which he actually noticed.

‘…and her hair, as golden as the sunlight, don't you think?’ he sighed, his eyes dreamy.

‘Most definitely,’ Ella concurred, nodding energetically. ‘Golden sunlight on a summer morning. Don’t you think so, Mr Conway?’

‘W-what? Oh yes,’ stammered Edmund, who had been too busy staring at Ella to hear one word in ten.

‘I shall send her a bouquet of flowers directly in the morning. Or maybe two, or three! What do you think, Miss Ella?’

‘Make it four.’

‘What an excellent idea! My thanks.’ He bent to her and gently kissed her hands. ‘Only a good friend can give such good advice.’

At the word 'friend', my aunt nearly burst into flames from indignation.

It wasn’t long till we reached home. Sir Philip’s departure then happened a lot more speedily than usual. He needed to leave to buy flowers for Lady Katherine, and my aunt needed to retreat to her room to simmer with rage at the inconstancy of young aristocrats.

‘Farewell, you all,’ he called to us, sticking his head out of the coach window and lifting his hat in parting a last time, an excited smile on his face. ‘I shall hope to see you all at my next ball. You are all invited.’ And, turning to the coachman: ‘Onward! Find me the nearest florist, man!’

‘Yes, Sir!’

The whip cracked, and the coach rolled off down the street.

My aunt was already in the house, as could be deduced from the sound of crashing china from somewhere on the first floor. Lisbeth and Gertrude were on their way to follow; Edmund had excused himself. Only Ella, Maria, Anne and I were still standing outside, looking after the coach.

‘Well,’ Maria sneered, giving Ella a superior look. ‘It seems you are one suitor short, little sister.’

‘Yes!’ Ella sighed, a happy smile suffusing her features. ‘Will you excuse me? I have, um… things to do.’

Pirouetting around like an overexcited ballerina, she hurried off around the house, into the back garden. I thought I had an inkling what ‘things’ she had to do, and with whom.

‘Is it only me,’ Maria asked, confused, looking at Anne and me in turn, ‘or did she seem not the least bit disappointed about losing one of the most eligible bachelors in London as a potential husband?’

‘Of course she was disappointed,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t you tell by the way her left little finger twitched? That always gives people away. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have the sudden urge to take a late night stroll in the garden…’

*~*~**~*~*

‘Oh, Ella, my love!’

‘Oh, Edmund, my love!’

As sweet nothings fluttered through the holes in the fence, I settled myself comfortably down behind the bushes. Seeing as this might be a longer episode of the romantic Drama of the Back Garden, I had brought a copy of The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe with me. For now, though, it remained closed, and I peeked through the foliage towards the place where Ella was clinging to the fence and, through the fence, to Edmund. It had to be quite uncomfortable embracing somebody around several metal bars, but neither of them seemed to mind.

My eyes strayed to the ladder leaning against the garden shed. Still, neither of them seemed to have noticed it, or thought of using it.

‘Oh, Ella, my love,’ Edmund whispered. ‘How can this be? How can I be so fortunate to be holding you in my arms tonight, when I thought that by now I would have lost you forever?’

‘We must have a guardian angel watching over us from heaven,’ she whispered, pressing her face into his chest as best she could.

From heaven? From behind the bushes, rather.

But otherwise, she had hit the nail pretty much on the head.

‘Tell me this is true,’ Edmund sighed. ‘Tell me I am truly holding you right now, and it is not some phantasm I have dreamed up in my desperation of losing you to another.’

‘It is true, Edmund, my darling. I am here. I will always be here. I love you!’

‘I love you, too!’

‘I love you more!’

‘No, I do!’

I tuned out their conversation and immersed myself in The Further Adventures. I only resurfaced from my adventures in Madagascar when, out the blue, I heard my name.

‘…Lilly!’

‘Yes, my darling Ella. Your sister…’ Edmund murmured.

I was up on my feet and listening intensely in an instant! They were talking about me? What the heck did they have to talk about me?

Edmund was smiling. ‘So I finally met her.’

‘What did you think of her?’ Ella asked anxiously.

I leaned forward, pricking up my ears.

Yes? Yes? What did you think of me? And be careful what you say, you little piano-tuning bastard! I have a sharp parasol!

‘What do I think of her?’ Edmund laughed. ‘Ella, if not for her, I wouldn’t even have been at that ball. I would never have held you in my arms. Right now, after you, she ranks as the person I respect most in the world, more than the Queen, or, yes, even Ignaz Bösendorfer.’

Bösendorfer? Who the dickens is Ignaz Bösendorfer?

The name sounded like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, but from the reverent way he pronounced it, and the way Ella beamed up at him, the chap must have been royalty or maybe an ancient demigod. For some reason, I found myself grinning.

Blast! What did it matter if Edmund thought well of me? But I couldn’t wipe the silly grin off my face.

‘If only we could reveal all to her,’ he sighed.

‘I know, I know, Edmund.’ Ella mirrored his sigh. ‘I wish, too, that she knew how dear I hold you in my heart. I wish she could hear and see us right now! But it cannot be.’

Well, actually, my dear sister…

‘Nobody must ever know! If our affections ever became known…!’

She trailed off. He picked up the meaning of her words without great difficulty.

‘Your aunt didn’t seem very fond of me,’ he ventured.

‘She can be… difficult, sometimes.’

‘Do you think she might ever be prevailed upon to accept me as the man who loves you?’

‘I… don't know. Maybe.’

One thing about my little sister… she is an eternal optimist. From inside the house, there came another crash of china, followed by a screech that sounded like Sir Phillip Wilkins’ name, mixed with powerful invectives.

Ella jumped and guiltily looked back at the house.

‘Your aunt?’ Edmund asked.

She nodded. ‘She had set her heart on this match. I would be sorry for her sake that it did not come about, but…’ she smiled weakly at Edmund, ‘somehow, I cannot seem to manage to be very sorry.’

He smiled back. But then, his face became solemn again.

‘But you’re not sorry that we didn’t have to run away, either, are you?’ he asked.

Ella sucked in air, sharply. She hesitated. Then: ‘No, I’m not.’

Her voice was small. ‘I… love you with all my heart, Edmund. But in my heart I also love Aunt, Lilly, my other sisters, even Uncle Bufford, though we practically never see him. My heart would have been broken, had I been forced to leave them. And with a broken heart, I could not have loved you half as well as you deserve.’

There were a few minutes of silence. Then, Edmund spoke again, and his voice was a little unsteady.

‘Ella, I… I have to ask your forgiveness.’

‘Forgiveness, Edmund? For what?’

He swallowed.

‘For this… for my devious plans. For how I tried to lure you away from your home, your family, and trap you in a disgraceful union. Now that the weight of Wilkins is lifted off my mind, I can hardly comprehend what I was thinking, what I was doing. And I’m not just talking about my plans to run away with you. The way I’ve been acting, presuming to touch you where I shouldn’t touch you, presuming to hold you like no gentleman should… I must have been mad! I… I only ever want to behave to you as a gentleman should behave, Ella. You are the sweetest, most gentle lady that ever walked the earth. You deserve nothing less, in fact, you deserve a lot more.’ Again, he took a breath. ‘So, I wanted to apologize for all I did. I wish you to know that, had there been any other way, had I been master of myself and my heart, I would never have suggested an elopement. If you can, forgive me, and forget all about it. We will go back to the way things were. I will behave with propriety towards you, and never again step out of line.’

‘Of course I forgive you, Edmund.’ Was something wrong with my ears or did she sound a tiny bit disappointed. ‘And of course you are right. We should behave properly. We have been acting… foolishly, lately.’

He nodded.

She nodded.

Yet he didn’t loosen his grip on her, still holding her in a manner that I, at least, would not have termed proper for a gentleman.

‘Before we return to propriety and forget foolishness, though…’ he muttered, his voice rough.

‘Yes?’ Her voice was tinged with hope.

‘Could I hold you for just one minute longer?’

Tears sparkled in her eyes as she pulled him even closer. Unlike so often in the last few weeks, I knew that this time, they were tears of happiness.

‘Yes!’

*~*~**~*~*

It was only next morning I realized that, during the latter half of the romantic interlude in the garden, I hadn’t once got bored and reached for The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Did this mean I was actually developing an interest in romance?

If that were the case, I thought I’d better find a lake to drown in!

But no!

It had to be that I was simply happy to see Ella happy. Yes, that was a perfectly legitimate reason to stare at her from behind a bush. My reasons had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I was beginning to wonder what it might be like to have somebody care for me the way Edmund cared for her. Nothing at all like that.

And Ella was happy, incandescently happy. It was as though she was a flower that had been squashed by a heavy stone. Now that the stone had been lifted and the sun could reach her again, she stretched towards the sky, unfurling her petals and blooming like never before. She even had her own bee fluttering around in the form of Edmund, though I would biff him if he should try to pollinate her. Even metaphors should have their limits.

Apart from the happy time I spent in the garden each evening, listening to Ella’s profusions of happiness, I tried to avoid home as much as possible over the next few days. My aunt was still in a china-chucking mood, and even though Uncle Bufford, by a message sent via the trusty Leadfield, had strictly forbidden her to indulge in such wanton waste of perfectly good crockery, she might still succumb, and my head was too precious to me to serve as a target.

Moreover, Patsy and the others frequently appeared at home to try and capture me for the purpose of questioning. I had no wish to be subjected to their inquisition on the why and how of my spectacular speech at the anti-suffragist rally, at least not until I had thought of satisfactory lies to give as answers.

So, you can see, I had all the reasons in the world to avoid home for now and seek refuge in another place that afforded me more peace and quiet. And the only other place available to me was number 322 Leadenhall Street.

Did I mention something about finding peace and quiet?

Well, it didn’t quite work out that way.

*~*~**~*~*

Mr Linton

Bring me file 38XI201.

Rikkard Ambrose

Springing up from my chair, I ran towards the shelves containing the file boxes. I needed about two seconds to reach my goal, three seconds to grab the books, and another three seconds to return. By the time I reached my desk with the correct file in hand, another message had already landed beside the first one.

I didn’t need to open it to know it said Hurry! or Faster! Mr Rikkard Ambrose was a tiny bit impatient and acrimonious these days.

I could guess why. A deadline was looming over us like the shadow of an evil giant - a giant with a hawk-beak nose, a golden mane of lion’s hair, and piercing steel-blue eyes. Soon it would be time. Soon, Mr Ambrose would try to get back what was his, by force. And I would not join him in the venture.

That fact gnawed at me like a pesky rat, not willing to let go of its dinner. After all, I had found out where this precious file, the contents of which he still hadn’t deigned to share with me, was being kept. And I wouldn’t be part of the retrieval! If only he had, at least, kept his mouth shut about the file’s contents. His vague, sinister statement was driving me to distraction.

The centre of the world.

Whose world? Surely, he didn’t mean it geographically, as in the earth’s core? Something like that couldn’t be contained in a piece of paper. But then, what?

Not knowing was making me imagine all sorts of terrible things. What did Mr Ambrose consider the centre of the world? Money? Was the file, in fact, a deed signing his entire fortune over to another?

All of a sudden, I thought of Edmund and Ella. He was the centre of her world, and she of his. Could it be…? Could the file contain illicit notes revealing a romantic relationship with somebody who was the centre of Mr Ambrose’s world?

Maybe… said a nasty little voice in my mind, Maybe the writer of the pink letters?

No. Mr Ambrose wouldn’t go berserk over a woman. The possibility of losing all his money, yes, that would make him bite off heads. But I couldn’t see him fretting over a lady’s reputation. Not even that mysterious femme fatal who continued her pink missives with infuriating regularity. The pile of letters in my bottom drawer was growing larger. And Mr Ambrose was growing more persistent in keeping up my working morale every day.

I tried to talk to him, to get his permission to accompany him on the secret mission that loomed on the horizon, or at least get some information out of him about what the centre of the world might mean, might be - what centre of the world was worth risking his life for.

To no avail. He remained silent.

Now there’s a surprise!

Well, it didn’t mean I was giving up.

‘Mr Ambrose?’ I knocked against his door. ‘I have file 38XI201 here, Sir. Don’t you want me to bring it in instead of sliding it under the door? It must be tedious for you to always have to stand up and get it from the door. Won’t you open up?’

I heard another plink from the desk. Without letting go of the file, I reached over and open the message container.

No. The file. Now.

You couldn’t get much clearer than that, could you?

Sighing, I bent to push it under the door. I was just about to rise again when suddenly, an idea struck me.

For a moment, I froze where I was. Then, a grin spreading across my face, I rose and knocked against the door.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir? I need to talk to you. It’s important. You should open the door.’

Silence.

‘Really! I’m not just making this up. Something important happened, and you should know. Open up, please.’

More silence. A bucket full of silence.

I gave an especially dramatic sigh. ‘Oh well, if you don’t want to hear what Lord Dalgliesh said…’

There was a crash from the other side of the door. It sounded as if somebody had jumped up from his chair so violently that it had been hurled over and smashed onto the floor.

About half a second later, keys rattled in the lock, and the office door was ripped open. Mr Ambrose stood in the doorway, looking like a Beethoven bust on a bad day. Except for the weird hairstyle.

‘Ah, Mr Ambrose,’ I said, smiling at him with innocent delight. ‘How nice of you to honour me with your presence. I thought you were too busy for poor little me this fine morning.’

My comment didn’t improve his mood. With a sharp jerk of his hand, he directed me to enter his office.

‘Inside. Now.’

‘And so loquacious! My, I would hardly have known you if not for your customary cheerful smile.’

He didn’t dignify that with a reply. As I entered his stark office, he shut the door behind me with a click. It wasn’t loud, but somehow managed to sound like the gates of doom slamming shut behind a poor soul trapped in hell.

I sat on the visitor’s chair, figuring that if I waited for the invitation to sit in Mr Ambrose’s talkative mood, I could stand until kingdom come. Actually, I could probably stand until kingdom came, drank a cup of tea and left again.

I was right. Without a word, he walked around the desk, took a seat in his armchair and fixed me with his dark, sea-coloured eyes. Looking into those eyes, I felt a shiver go down my back. Not the same kind of shiver I experienced when looking into Dalgliesh’s eyes - one of fear - or another man’s eyes - one of revulsion.

No, this was a shiver of excitement.

Well, life as his secretary had been pretty exciting. So why shouldn’t I be excited? It had nothing to do with him, personally, after all, so it was perfectly all right.

His eyes were so dark… they seemed to draw me in, somehow making it seem as though he and I were moving closer together, though our chairs hadn’t moved an inch.

‘Dalgliesh!’ he ordered, his voice cold and hard. ‘Tell me everything,’

And I did. Well, not everything. I told him how I had gone to Lady Metcalf’s ball, and how Dalgliesh had surprised and questioned me there.

I didn’t tell him about picking out a young blonde lady to distract my sister’s suitor from the object of his adoration. I also didn’t tell him about my meeting and dancing with Captain Carter, for some reason. It just didn’t seem important enough to mention.

Anyway, it was Dalgliesh he was interested in, surely, not some army captain with a strange tiger-waistcoat and an even stranger sense of humour.

So I told all I remembered of my encounter with the suave aristocrat. By the time I had finished, Mr Ambrose wasn’t looking at me anymore, but concentrating on a stack of papers in front of him. Strangely, however, although he normally was a fast reader, he had already stared down at one page long enough to read the complete works of William Shakespeare.

When the last words had left my mouth, he said, without emotion in his voice:

‘You are fortunate that this young man, Edmund, appeared. Had Lord Dalgliesh succeeded in luring you into the garden, you would have gone on very long walk with him. One from which you would not have returned before you had answered all his questions, if at all.’

His words gripped my heart like a fist of frost. So I had been right in wanting to run. But…

‘But he seemed so friendly,’ I burst out. ‘Not threatening at all.’

A muscle in Mr Ambrose’s jaw twitched.

‘Of course he did. He never threatens. He never strikes. He never says a word against the laws of England. And yet, wherever he goes, things happen. A wink from him means ruin, a twitch of his fingers means death. When he nods, wise men turn and run.’

‘He nodded when he met you.’

‘I’ve never claimed to be wise.’

There was a spell of silence, that complete silence that I only ever felt in the presence of Mr Ambrose. Shivering, I remembered Lord Dalgliesh’s friendly, harmless expression, back in the ballroom. Could anyone really be that good an actor?

‘I still can’t really believe-’ I began.

I didn’t get any further. In a flash, Mr Ambrose was up and around his desk. Before I could move he had grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me out of my chair. Forcefully, I was thrust against the wall of the office, cold stone pressing against my back.

‘Believe!’ he hissed. ‘Believe anything and everything where Dalgliesh is concerned. He’s the man who invented the word ruthless. If you get in his way, he will step on you and crush you like an insect.’ His dark, sea-coloured eyes were burning into me with deadly intensity. Slowly, the grip of his right hand loosened and left my shoulder. He raised it, almost unconsciously it seemed, until it touched my cheek. ‘Stay away from him!’

His hand fell.

Yes! a voice inside me screamed. Yes, I will! I’ll do anything! Just touch my cheek again! And maybe lean a little closer…!

My inner feminist slammed shut the door on that voice.

‘You can’t make me do anything,’ I whispered.

Why the heck did I whisper? My voice should be strong and independent!

It’s those darn eyes of his! They’re sapping the strength out of you, making you feel all gooey and weak-kneed. No man should be allowed to have eyes like that!

‘I can,’ he bit out. ‘Stay away from him. That is an order, Mr Linton!’

I opened my mouth to argue - not because I really wanted to go near Dalgliesh; I mean, I’m not completely nuts - but because I refuse on principle to be ordered around by a man after working hours. But when Mr Ambrose’s head moved forward, the words caught in my throat. What was he doing? Why was he moving so close to me? He was just inches away!

He couldn’t possibly…

Could he?

For just one moment, it looked as though he was going to kiss me.

Then the moment passed, and he halted, his perfect granite face only a fraction of an inch away from mine. His hard body pressed into mine, a living threat, ready to deliver. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, challenging me to dare and speak the words that were on my tongue. I swallowed.

Memories flooded my mind. Memories of him pressed against me, just like that - only back then, he had taken the plunge, and closed the last bit of distance that separated us. Today, he was in control - of himself and me. The hand that still gripped my shoulder, pressing me into the wall, was steady as rock.

But how long would he hold out? How long would he be able to refrain from reliving our memories?

They’re not memories! I told myself, fiercely. You imagined it! You imagined it all! You did not let yourself be kissed by Mr Ambrose! And you most certainly did not enjoy it more than you ever enjoyed anything else in your life, understood?

‘Will you stay away from him?’ Mr Ambrose demanded. His breath tickled my skin as he spoke, momentarily robbing me of the strength to answer.

‘Y-yes,’ I managed.

He gave a curt nod. ‘Adequate.’

‘But,’ I hurriedly tacked on, ‘not because you said so. I’ll stay away because I, as an independent, strong woman independently decided, on my own, to stay away from him!’

He cocked his head as if to say, ‘As long as you do what I say, why do you think I care about the why?’

I glowered at him. He ignored me.

‘Let me go!’ I demanded.

He still ignored me. Taking a deep breath, he leant forward just a little more.

The sensation that hit me was shocking! Not his lips, no - they were much softer than this. It was his forehead, resting against mine. I could feel a few wild strands of my hair tickling his forehead, and… my God! He really was hard-headed! In the literal sense of the word. And bloody heavy! It was downright uncomfortable.

Really? If it’s so uncomfortable, why don’t you want him to pull away?

His eyes bored into mine.

‘Swear!’ He demanded. ‘Swear to me you’ll stay away from him!’

Swear. Not promise, not pledge, swear. And I had a feeling that an oath sworn to Mr Rikkard Ambrose had better not be broken.

So I quickly crossed my fingers behind my back, just in case.

‘I swear.’

And suddenly he was gone. I swayed for a moment, used to the press of his body into mine. He was standing three feet away, standing tall and forbidding, as if we hadn’t just been pressed more tightly together than two flounders in a printing press.

‘Quite sensible of you, Mr Linton.’

Sensible? Sensible? I didn’t feel very sensible right now! Or reasonable, or cautious, or prudent, for that matter.

I sucked in a deep breath, my eyes still fixed on Mr Ambrose, fumbling for something to say. Something that wasn’t Come back here! I wasn’t finished with you!

‘But it doesn’t make any sense!’ Finally, some words had managed to find their way out of my mouth. And they sounded angry, not breathless. Good.

‘Indeed?’ Mr Ambrose regarded me coolly. ‘What are you referring to, exactly, Mr Linton?’

‘Lord Dalgliesh! Why would I have to try and stay away from him? What does he want from me? For some reason, at the ball he was determined to find out your reason for dancing with me. But it was just one dance! Why would he be interested in that? I mean… what’s one dance?’

‘He has been trying to find a weak spot in my armour for years now, Mr Linton. If he had reason to believe that I had formed a romantic attachment to someone, this would give him the hold over me he has always desired.’

‘But… why would he think that, after just one dance?’

There was a pause. Then he said, in voice so low I hardly caught it: ‘I don’t dance, Mr Linton.’

My heart made a jump. ‘Not ever?’

‘No. It’s a waste of time.’

‘But you danced with me.’

‘Yes.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘Apparently, that one dance was enough to convince Dalgliesh that I might have formed a romantic attachment to you.’ Abruptly, he turned and strode back to his desk. ‘Ridiculous, of course, but there you are.’

Unconsciously, my hands closed into fists.

Ridiculous, is it?

‘Oh,’ I said pointedly, ‘So he thought I was the centre of your world?’

He froze halfway to his desk. Slowly turning back towards me, he met my eyes with his own. Their dark force took my breath away.

‘Probably.’

‘What is it?’ Why was my voice so low and breathy all of a sudden? ‘What is the centre of the world for you?’

‘I’ll tell you what it is not, Mr Linton. It most certainly not a girl.’

Why this odd tugging sensation in my chest? Had I ever expected the centre of Mr Ambrose’s world to be anything emotional?

‘I asked what it is,’ I told him, forcing my voice to be firm. ‘Not what it is not.’

‘I know.’

‘So are you going to tell me?’

‘No.’

‘But-’

He cut me off with a jerk of his hand.

‘You,’ he said, ‘are not in here to question me. You were in here to answer my questions. You have done so. You can leave. Now.’

‘But-’

‘That is an order, Mr Linton!’

Slowly, I got to my feet and walked away. At the door, I turned to look over my shoulder a last time. He was sitting there at the desk, with that unfathomable lack of expression on his face that belonged solely to him.

‘The world is a heavy thing to bear,’ I told him, ‘whether at the centre or elsewhere. Why won’t you let someone help you?’

Without waiting for a reply, I turned, leaving him behind.

*~*~**~*~*

The longer the day stretched, the more fantastic my imaginings became. In my mind, the centre of the world became the name of a priceless diamond, an heirloom of the noble house Mr Ambrose was a member of, though he refused to acknowledge it. A moment later, it turned into the title of an ancient script that revealed the lost location of Atlantis. In the next moment, it turned into Buckingham Palace, centre of the British Empire and home of its Queen, and maybe a plan to prevent her assassination.

Though, in the latter case, I couldn’t see Mr Ambrose risking his own life willingly. Not unless there was a healthy reward involved, or… or unless he had a secret affair with the Queen, and she was the writer of the pink letters…

It was probably better that, at this point, another plink from a tube message distracted me from my own thoughts. I wasn’t far away from imagining the missing file to contain a magical portal to Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Or, more likely, to the seventh circle of hell.

The hours flew by as I worked ceaselessly, and thought ceaselessly, always asking: What will happen? What will he do? What is the centre of the world?

I didn’t find any answers. The hours grew longer and turned into days. The closer the deadline came, the more insane became Mr Ambrose’s idea of an appropriate workload. Working seemed to be his way of dealing with anxiety - if he truly was anxious. He seemed just as cool and collected as ever. Maybe it was simply his way of earning more money.

Maybe…

On the last day before the great day, I sat at my desk and gazed out through the window over the city of London. The sun was just sinking beyond the horizon, flooding the city with blood-red light, half-obscured by the black smoke that rose from thousands of chimneys. It seemed like an omen to me. Darkness and blood.

Quickly, I rose from my chair and went to Mr Ambrose’s door. He hadn’t called for a new file yet, in fact, he’d been suspiciously undemanding the last few minutes, but I knew he was still in there. If he had left, I would have heard the keys in the lock.

After a second of hesitation, I raised my hand and knocked.

‘Mr Ambrose?’

No answer.

‘Mr Ambrose, I know you’re still in there!’

Silence.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, please, open up. I want to talk to you again. Maybe I can convince you! If you’d let me help you…’

I heard a plink from my desk.

Turning, I saw another message had arrived. Carefully, I opened the container and read:

No. Go! Tomorrow, you can remain at home. I will not require your services.

Tomorrow - when he would put his plan into action and move against Dalgliesh. I knocked again.

‘Mr Ambrose? Mr Ambrose, please!’

Silence. A tomb full of silence.

Well, if he wanted to ignore me, fine. He wasn’t the only one who had secret plans for tomorrow!