In the Eye of the Storm

  Halfway up the stairs, a vice-like grip closed around my arm.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Mr Ambrose’s cool voice said right into my ear. I hadn’t even heard him approach!

  ‘To bed! I’m tired!’

  ‘How unfortunate for you. The night is not over yet. Not by a long shot!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Without a word, he began dragging me down the stairs again, and into a corridor leading out of the dining hall.

  ‘Hey! Let go!’

  ‘Act, Mr Linton, act. You’re my loving wife, remember? Wives do not speak like that to their husbands.’

  ‘And husbands don’t manhandle a wife like this!’

  ‘Actually, many of them do.’

  My temper flared. ‘Well, they shouldn’t! That’s outrageous!’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what, pray?’

  He gave me a look that froze my toes and set my heart on fire. ‘What their intentions are. I might be dragging you off to a secret place for a romantic tryst.’

  My eyes went wide. ‘Y-you aren’t, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’ I felt relief flood through me - mingled with a tiny bit of disappointment.

  What? What’s disappointment doing inside you, Lilly Linton? You have no business being disappointed!

  Clearing my throat, I hurried to get my thoughts back on the right path. ‘So, where the bloody hell are you dragging me off to?’

  Mr Ambrose halted abruptly. We were standing in the middle of an empty corridor. Throwing a quick look around to check for an audience, he whirled around to face me. Before I could move a muscle, he had picked me up right off the floor, pushing me against the wall. His hard chest dug into places on my body I couldn’t mention in polite society.

  To judge by the look in Mr Ambrose’s eyes, he was not going to be polite.

  ‘Damn you!’ His eyes flared with cold fire, ferocity and… fear? ‘Can’t you act like a loving wife for two minutes in a row?’

  An involuntary smile appeared on my face. I had no idea why! Shouldn’t I have been afraid? Pressed up against a cold wall in a strange country, in the clutches of a ruthless man whose morals were more than questionable - yes, I should have been afraid. But with his strong arms around me, and his gaze burrowing into me as if it wanted to dig itself into my soul, all I felt was powerful. The feeling rushed up inside me like a hot geyser, and wouldn’t be contained.

  ‘That depends,’ I breathed. ‘Can you act like a loving husband?’

  He surged forward. Pinning me to the wall like butterfly, he claimed my lips for one single, hard, ferocious kiss - and then pulled back.

  ‘Loving enough for you?’ he growled.

  ‘It’s a start.’ My voice sounded strange in my own ears - full of a thousand emotions I couldn’t comprehend, let alone name. Neither could he, to judge by the look in his eyes. For a moment, he just gazed at me, the silence between us stretching. Then, finally, he spoke.

  ‘We are going into very dangerous territory tonight. If anyone there finds out who I really am, it is doubtful we will come out alive. You will need to play your role to perfection. If you can’t,’ he told me, his voice sinking to a low and dangerous tone, ‘I will be forced to teach you a lesson. Do you understand?’

  My heart jumped. A lesson?

  No! I bloody well did not understand! What did he mean?

  But, looking into his dark eyes, I was too afraid to ask. Slowly, I nodded my head.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I mean yes, Di- Rick.’

  He held my gaze for a few moments more - then nodded and let go. In a daze, I followed him outside to where the same coach in which we had travelled before was waiting for us. He held the door open for me.

  ‘Come on, darling,’ he hollered in a cheerful tone I would never have believed him capable of, for all the world to hear - and especially for any curious ears in the vicinity. ‘It will be fun. We haven’t seen anything of Alexandria yet except the hotel. And you wanted to go sightseeing, didn’t you?’

  I looked around. Several members of the hotel staff stood around, watching. So I smiled at him, and shrugged. ‘I’d love to go! But I’m a bit tired. Don’t you think we had better wait until morning?’

  ‘No, darling, not at all.’ He met my eyes. ‘The city has a special atmosphere at night. We will enjoy ourselves immensely, trust me. There will be things to see we could never see in daylight, and maybe even more interesting things to hear.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  ‘Well, I agree with you so far,’ I told Mr Ambrose, watching a half-naked woman contort her body into agonizing shapes. ‘I’m seeing things I’ve never seen in daylight. Only I’m not too sure whether I actually ever wanted to see something like that.’

  ‘Immaterial,’ Mr Ambrose told me, pulling me past the contortionist to the entrance of a house in front of which another woman with even less clothes on her body was performing a dance that let everything about her jiggle. ‘We are here for work, not for pleasure.’

  My eyes swept over the parts of the woman that jiggled the most. The eyes of all the men in the vicinity seemed to see nothing else. Only Mr Ambrose’s eyes were fully focused on the street beyond.

  ‘Err… work, not pleasure? Are you sure we’re in the right part of the city for that, my dear?’

  ‘In this case, yes. Our work involves buying information. And in this part of the city you can buy anything.’

  We passed another house from which hoots, whistles, and ecstatic moans were issuing in a cacophony.

  I nodded, feeling a bit queasy. ‘Yes, I can see what you mean, dear. I really must congratulate you. You pick the most fantastic places for sightseeing.’

  Not deigning to respond to this, Mr Ambrose tightened his hold on my arm and pulled me farther on. We had been walking for some time now, having been forced to leave the carriage behind over an hour ago, when the streets had gotten too narrow for it to pass. At first I had objected.

  ‘Won’t we be conspicuous?’ I had protested. ‘This isn’t the best part of town, to put it mildly. Wouldn’t a gentleman and a lady in a fine dress stick out like peacocks in a henhouse?’

  In answer, Mr Ambrose had simply pointed out of the carriage window. Following his pointed finger, I saw a man in what looked suspiciously like a French admiral’s uniform staggering along the street, each arm thrown around the neck of a very pretty and very scantily dressed girl. Not far behind him came a party of three gentlemen and one lady, obviously all tight as owls.[17]

  ‘Rich people come here to waste their money,’ he told me, his tone indicating what he thought of people like that. ‘There are places like this in any big city in the world. We won’t even be noticed.’

  And we were not. Apart from the fact that every five minutes somebody tried to sell us something, we were pretty much ignored. And when Mr Ambrose pulled me off the main street into a dark alley, even the hawkers disappeared. It became ever quieter the farther we ventured into the darkness. The figures that passed us now weren’t wearing admirals’ uniforms. Most of them kept their faces hidden.

  Suddenly, I heard a noise behind us and swivelled my head around - nothing. The alley was just as dark as before. Shrugging, I let Mr Ambrose lead me further.

  Tap… tap…

  There it was again! Footsteps this time, definitely! Twisting out of Mr Ambrose’s grip, I whirled around just in time to see a dark shadow press itself against the wall, melting into the gloom.

  ‘Someone is following us!’

  Mr Ambrose didn’t even bother to turn around. Tugging on my arm, he dragged me along with him.

  ‘Of course they are.’

  ‘But all your talk about remaining inconspicuous and hidden… I thought we’d gotten away so far with being Mr and Mrs Thomson!’

  ‘We have. Those men who are following us work for me.’

  ‘For you?’

  ‘Certainly. As do the me
n following them.’

  ‘Wait a minute… you have men following us?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To protect us, of course.’

  ‘And you have men following the men who are following us?’

  ‘Also correct.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, why?’

  ‘To protect the men who are following us, of course.’

  ‘Do they know about it?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  Something in my brain made click. ‘Just in case they turn out to be traitors and try to attack us instead of protecting us.’

  ‘You, my dear,’ Mr Ambrose told me, throwing me a look out of his dark eyes that made me shiver from top to bottom, ‘are a wife after my own heart.’

  Amazingly, he actually sounded like he meant it. And, blasted fool that I was, I couldn’t help but grin with pride.

  A wife after my own heart, he said!

  Bloody hell, what was wrong with me? I was not married to him! I wasn’t married to anyone, and certainly intended to keep it that way!

  ‘And what if someone attacks us from the front?’ I asked, forcing my thoughts back on the matter at hand.

  ‘Then they will run into a group of energetic, knife-wielding individuals whom you have not noticed yet. Something similar would happen to anyone trying to attack our flanks. I know how to take precautions, Wife.’

  ‘I can see that, Dick.’

  His hold on my arm tightened.

  ‘Do - not - call - me - that!’

  I thought it perhaps wiser not to reply to this with a prim ‘Yes, Dick.’ Not in a dark alley where I could be strangled without anybody raising an alarm, anyway.

  ‘And Karim?’ I asked instead.

  ‘He’s not far. He never is.’

  I believed that. Mr Ambrose’s Mohammedan bodyguard was huge as a mountain and strong as a Titan, but he could move with the stealth of a little black kitten in the dark.

  In front of us, for the first time in a long while, I heard noises. Laughter, to be exact. Not far away down the alley, light spilled from a doorway. At my side, I felt Mr Ambrose change his course slightly.

  Ah. So that’s the place we’re heading for.

  Not the most inviting of establishments, I had to say. But maybe the exterior didn’t reflect the inside. Reaching the doorway, Mr Ambrose pulled aside the curtain that was half drawn across it, and led me inside. My mouth dropped open.

  I had been right. The exterior did not reflect the inside properly. I didn’t think there could be an exterior to a building that fit this atrocious interior and still was legal!

  The whole place was half in darkness. The red and green paper lamps dangling from the ceiling cast only a murky light on the proceedings around me, and for that, I was profoundly grateful! In the gloom, I could see scantily clad bodies swaying from side to side. Men were sitting around on cushions, inhaling smoke out of strange, bubbling, water-filled contraptions, their eyes fixed on the spectacle in front of them. Somewhere in the background, a woman was singing in a throaty voice. Somewhere in the foreground, other women were doing… other things.

  Unbelievable!

  I was about to open my mouth to let loose a tirade, when I felt Mr Ambrose’s hand tighten around my arm.

  ‘We are here to do business,’ his cold voice reached my ear. ‘Not to hold a lecture against the objectification and oppression of womanhood. Are we understood, my dear?’

  I took a deep breath. If I thought that would help me calm down, I was mistaken. I got a mouthful of the poisonous fumes emanating from the pipes, and felt the need to vomit. Clenching my jaws shut tightly, I nodded.

  Hold it together, Lilly! You can do this!

  ‘Adequate. Do you see that man over there?’

  Following a discreet gesture of his with my eyes, I saw a fat man reclining on a pile of cushions in one of the more secluded corners. He was dark-skinned, but not nearly as much as some of the Egyptians I had seen. Also, the form of his face looked slightly different…

  ‘That is the man we’ve come to do business with - Signore Bertolino.’

  Ah, Bertolino… That explained his different looks all right.

  ‘A Spaniard, or Italian?’

  Mr Ambrose’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘A worm. But a useful one. He knows everything that goes on in this part of Egypt, at least in the disreputable quarters. If any of the bandits or Lord Dalgliesh’s agents came into his domain to sell their stolen goods or buy supplies, he will be able to find out.’

  Mr Ambrose started forward, and I walked beside him, towards the fat man. We stopped not two feet away.

  ‘Signore Bertolino?’

  At Mr Ambrose’s words, the potbelly looked up. ‘Si?’

  ‘My name is Thomson. I sent a man to you not long ago, hinting that I might visit you and that I was interested in buying something.’

  ‘Mr Thomson…’ The fat man’s eyes narrowed. ‘My congratulations, Signore. You are a most singular man. Many, many fellow Europeans have visited me here…’ He gestured to the den of iniquity around us. ‘As a friendly gesture, you understand. But none of them knew of my more delicate business dealings. You must have extensive contacts.’

  ‘Sufficient,’ Mr Ambrose allowed. ‘May I sit?’

  ‘Ma certo! Find yourself a free cushion. And the Signora, too.’ He gave me a smile so oily it could have been used to free hinges of rust. ‘Pick a cushion close to me, eh?’

  Mr Ambrose folded his long legs with surprising agility. I gave Signore Bertolino a death-stare and sat down beside Mr Ambrose, as far away from the smarmy man as I could get.

  ‘A pipe?’ he offered, holding out one of the contraptions, from one of which he himself was smoking.

  Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘No. I’m here for business only.’

  The fat man gave a sigh. ‘How sad. Well, what is it that you have come to buy, then?’

  ‘Information.’

  ‘Ah…’ The potbelly took a deep puff of his water pipe. ‘Information… A most expensive thing to buy. And most delicate. Too delicate for company. Leave us, my dear.’ He slapped one of the cushions that was sort of draped around him from behind. ‘Go on, Vattene!’

  The cushion grumbled something. And then, what I had hitherto taken to be a skin-coloured cushion rose to her feet. The half-naked woman curtsied, and hurried away. I stared after her in horror until I could feel Mr Ambrose’s grip around my hand tighten once more.

  The fat man’s little pig eyes landed on me. ‘Perhaps it would be better if the Signora leaves, too. We wouldn’t want any secrets to come popping out of that pretty little mouth of hers, now, would we?’

  I opened said pretty little mouth to tell him what exactly I thought of him, and where he could stuff his water pipe, but the pressure of Mr Ambrose’s hand stopped me.

  ‘She stays.’

  Ha! I had to work very hard to suppress a triumphant grin - and it still didn’t work. So what? I liked triumphant grins on my face.

  ‘Very well.’ Bertolino shrugged. ‘It is your funeral. Now - what is it that you wish to know, Signore?’

  ‘I am looking for a certain group of men.’

  The potbelly’s mouth twitched. ‘That should be no problem. Just give me their descriptions. I know every alley of this city.’

  ‘Ah, but they are not in the city.’

  ‘I see. That complicates matters slightly, Signore.’

  ‘And what complicates them further is that I do not know their descriptions.’

  ‘Their names?’

  ‘I do not know those either,’ Mr Ambrose admitted.

  ‘Maledetto!’ Again, that twitch of the fat lips. ‘No names, no faces… How do you know they exist at all, these men you seek?’

  ‘Because,’ Mr Ambrose told him, his voice ice-cold, ‘they have been killing people.’

  The lips stopped twitching. ‘Ah. An effective way of proving your existence to the world.’

  ‘Indeed.
And also a good way to interrupt business. The men I seek, they have been killing people who are transporting goods. Specifically camel drivers, and other members of caravans that take goods across the Sinai Peninsula, both from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea and vice versa.’

  ‘Oh, those enterprising gentlemen?’ One of Bertolino’s eyebrows rose. ‘Their deeds are well known to me. There have always been bandit attacks on caravans, but they… they are a different sort. They have made quite a reputation for themselves. You should tread carefully, Signore Thomson.’

  Mr Ambrose met the small, mean eyes of the man head-on. ‘So should they.’

  Bertolino sat there and puffed on his pipe for a moment, sizing up the lean, hard figure opposite him.

  ‘Yes, maybe they should.’

  A man in fez and kaftan approached Bertolino, and bowed. The fat man’s attention was distracted from Mr Ambrose, and he waved the newcomer closer.

  ‘You there! What do you want?’

  ‘A message for you, Signore.’ Bending forward, the newcomer whispered something into Bertolino’s ear. The potbelly nodded, and rose with a groan.

  ‘Excuse me, for a moment, Signore Thomson, will you? There is a slight matter I must attend to. I won’t be a moment.’

  ‘Certainly, Signore. I shall wait here.’

  I waited impatiently for the fat man to wobble away. The moment he was out of hearing range, a flood of words, kept at bay far too long, burst from my mouth.

  ‘That… that man! And this place! Bloody hell, I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s abominable! It stinks of chauvinism even more than it stinks of those blasted pipes! Have you seen the men staring at those women?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the woman beside that fat excuse for a man… she was hardly wearing a thing!’

  Mr Ambrose gazed at me, his dark eyes unreadable. Was there a spark of amusement in there? There had better not be! ‘I did not know you were such a staunch moralist, my darling.’

  I glared at him. ‘I’m not! It’s not about what the women do - they have the freedom to do whatever they want! It’s about the men staring!’