In the Eye of the Storm

  I smiled, and curtsied as best I could while dressed in a burnous and holding my hands over my head.

  ‘Hello, Captain Carter. So nice to see you again.’

  His mouth fell open. Taking that as a sign that he wasn’t going to shoot me on the spot, I lowered my hands, surveying the ranks of troops flooding into the cave behind Captain Carter. Then my gaze dropped, sweeping around the empty cave, strewn with wreckage, broken blades, and hundreds of dead, blood-soaked bodies.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I think I might have lost my way a bit again. Tell me, do you by any chance know how to get to my hotel from here?’

  Communication Problems

  Captain Carter was a real gentleman. Yes, a real, true-born English gentleman. And I don’t just mean that he helped me into the saddle of his own camel when we left the cave, or that he gave me a drink from his water bottle. No, those were just trivialities. A girl can only tell that a man is a real gentleman if he does something very special for her - such as not ask her how she happened to get ‘lost’ several hundred miles away from her hotel in the middle of a desert cave full of bloody, mutilated corpses.

  Now, that’s what I call a real gentleman.

  I could tell from the way they screamed at Captain Carter, that the captains of the French and Egyptian detachments would have been only too happy to question me on the subject, and maybe encourage me a little if I didn’t answer right away. But Captain Carter barked a few clipped words at them in French and Arabic, and they went away, grumbling.

  I was burning to know what had happened to Mr Ambrose and the others. But I kept my mouth shut. Captain Carter might, for some unfathomable reason, want to protect me, but I very much doubted he would extend the same courtesy to Mr Ambrose and a few hundred mercenaries. So I mounted Captain Carter’s camel and let myself be led back towards Alexandria like a good little girl, all the while nearly bursting with the need to run and find him.

  Finally, weeks after we had set out from the mountain cave on the Sinai Peninsula, we saw the houses of Alexandria rising out of the mist.

  ‘What are you going to do now, Miss Linton?’ Captain Carter asked from beside me. He had been marching beside my mount nearly all the way, repeatedly gazing up at me with a mixture of puzzlement and fascination. ‘Continue your, um… holiday?’ One of his eyebrows went up, silently adding: And maybe finding a few more blood-spattered caves to get lost in?

  ‘No.’ I shook my head and gave him a demure smile. ‘I think I’ve been lazing about long enough. Time to end the holiday and get back home. I will be leaving on the next ship.’

  If he is still here. If he waited for me.

  In all probability, he and his ship had left long ago. Knowledge is power is time is money, after all. The marriage sham was over, and he no longer needed to pretend. He wouldn’t waste any time for me.

  ‘And your grandmother?’

  It took me a moment to understand what the captain was talking about. Then, I remembered the little deaf old lady and the web of lies I had come up with.

  ‘Um… well, she will be coming home with me, of course.’

  He frowned. ‘Nobody else?’

  ‘No.’

  His gaze grew more intense, and he took an abrupt step forward. ‘What? The two of you don’t seriously intend to travel all the way back home to London alone, do you?’

  No, I was actually thinking of travelling in the company of a ruthless financier and three hundred bought cutthroats.

  I raised my chin. ‘Yes, of course we do!’

  ‘Miss Linton, please! I know your independent views, but I can’t let you do this! Two women travelling alone on a ship, one of them an old lady who can’t hear and is hardly able to stand? You don’t even know whether you can trust the captain, and even if he is an honourable man, anyone else could take advantage of you easily.’

  I opened my mouth to protest but, in a totally unexpected gesture, he reached up and cupped my face in his hands. I was so taken aback, my mouth remained open, unprotesting. His hands on my face felt so soft, so strong, and as he looked at me, his warm eyes shone like polished mahogany. ‘No sense in arguing, Miss Linton! You are coming back with me.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘Certainly.’ His grip tightened, tenderly. ‘Since the bandits are dead-’ he sent me a searching gaze, which I chose to completely ignore, ‘my mission here is complete. I’ll be returning to England in any case. There’s a Royal Navy vessel, the HMS Morning Star, anchored at Alexandria, and there is more than enough room on board for you and your grandmother.’

  What could I say?

  I’m sorry, but I can’t, because that old lady isn’t really my grandmother, and besides, I’m not really here with her but with a man who is pretending to be my husband but really is my lecherous, miserly employer, and he is going to go all frosty on me if I don’t get back to him presto!

  Yes, that would probably go over really well.

  So I said nothing. Captain Carter dragged me to the hotel where the old lady was staying, and with the authority born of years of military command, simply packed her up and loaded her on his ship. The old girl’s only comment to having her vacation abruptly cut short was ‘What? What did you say, dearie?’ Apparently, her hearing hadn’t improved since we last met.

  It was the evening of the same day we had arrived at Alexandria. The HMS Morning Star was preparing to cast off. I had taken a last walk around the harbour, in the hope of seeing a certain familiar ship somewhere, but to no avail. I was just about to step aboard the Royal Navy vessel, when I saw something that froze me in place.

  There he was!

  His ship was nowhere in sight. But he stood not ten yards away at the edge of the wharf: Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his black tailcoat fluttering around him like torn bat’s wings.

  He looked just the same as ever: hard, distant, towering in his cold splendour over all passers-by like the Colossus of Rhodes over ordinary humans. Our eyes met. Neither of us moved, neither of us said a word. We just stood there and stared into each other’s eyes. Could it be that just a short while ago, I went around pretending that this perfect, god-like granite statue was my husband? That I, Lilly Linton, convicted feminist, had actually come dangerously close to showing emotion for one of the most detestably chauvinistic members of the male species?

  I suppose there were unlikelier things in the world but, offhand, I couldn’t think of one. Still… for some reason, it had happened. And, for some reason, I couldn’t stop looking now. And neither could he.

  Why don’t you go to him, you dolt? Why just stand here like an idiot?

  Yes… why not? I could go to him! I could-

  ‘Miss Linton?’

  The voice from beside me made me jump. I hadn’t noticed the sailor’s approach. He saluted, and gestured to HMS Morning Star.

  ‘We’re ready to set sail, miss. Would you please come aboard?’

  ‘I… well…’ Licking my lips uncertainly, I glanced again in the direction where I had seen him. But Mr Ambrose was gone - vanished into thin air. Maybe he had never been there at all, and I had simply been dreaming.

  ‘Miss? Please?’ The sailor gestured again.

  ‘All right. I’m coming.’

  It was when I stood at the railing of the HMS Morning Star, the old lady who still was my pseudo-grandmother beside me, sitting in a deck-chair and knitting, that I saw the proof: I had not been dreaming. In front of me, from behind the hull of a massive trading vessel, emerged the sleek black form of the Mammon. At the prow stood a tall, dark figure, that, even from as far away as I was, could not be mistaken. The ship passed us and turned, sailing around the harbour and out of sight. The last thing I saw was that tall dark figure, still seeming to stare at me out of the immeasurable distance.

  I raised my fingers to my lips, where, if I let myself fall into memory, I could still feel the burning pressure of his last kiss.

  ‘Bloody Hell,’ I whispered. ‘What am I going to do now?’

 
Beside me, the old lady ceased her knitting and blinked up at me, owlishly. ‘What? What did you say, dearie?’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Theoretically, the return journey should have been much more enjoyable than the one to Egypt. I was actually quartered in a comfortable cabin - one of cabins usually reserved for important travelling dignitaries and diplomats - with a spacious, soft bunk to sleep in. Plus, Captain Carter, considering his cheerful disposition, should have been much better company than Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

  Theoretically.

  In reality, the return journey had one big drawback: I was alone with my thoughts of him.

  ‘It can’t have been real! No, it simply can’t have been! Why would he…? It’s impossible!’

  I was in my cabin, with the old lady for company. While keeping one eye on her knitting, she watched me marching up and down, agitated, clearly curious about why I was trying to stomp grooves into the floor.

  ‘It can’t have been real,’ I chanted. ‘It was pretence. Everything was pretence. You have to remember that. You have to…’

  I caught sight of my hopeful expression in the mirror on the wall, and groaned.

  ‘Don’t you dare look so damn girlishly excited?’ I growled, pointing an accusing finger at my mirror image. ‘Don’t you have any shame? You’re a feminist, remember! Any small hint of positive feeling you might have felt while he was… doing things with you that he shouldn’t have been doing - all that was simply a result of bodily fluids malfunctioning! Understood?’

  My mirror image shook her head.

  ‘Gah! How can you be so stubborn!’ Picking up a pillow from my bunk, I hurled it at the mirror.

  The old lady paused her knitting for a moment and looked at me, interested. ‘Something wrong, dearie?’

  ‘Yes!’ I groaned. ‘I have been molested by the richest, best-looking, most powerful, chauvinistic, annoying and ruthless man in the entirety of the British Empire, and I don’t know whether it was just pretence for an ulterior motive, which would be horrible, or whether he means to seduce me into a depraved, immoral affair, which would be even more horrible although part of me actually thinks it might be sort of interesting, or, worst of all, whether he might actually have meant the things he said and did, in which case I… well… I want to die! Or not! I don’t know!’

  ‘I see.’ The old lady nodded, philosophically. ‘That’s nice.’ She cocked her head. ‘Could you maybe just repeat it a bit louder, dearie? I don’t think I caught everything.’

  I opened my mouth and took a deep breath, preparing to shout ‘I have been molested and seduced!’ at the top of my voice when, from outside, there came a knock at the door. Deciding that it might be better not to shout after all, I opened it. Outside stood Captain Carter.

  ‘Good evening.’ He bowed, smiling. ‘I wondered whether you two ladies might want to join me for dinner this evening.’

  Over my shoulder, I took a look at the mirror on the wall and the pillow on the floor. ‘Yes,’ I breathed. ‘Thank you. I think I could use some company.’

  Dinner that night was quiet. In fact, dinner every night was pretty quiet, except for the creaking around us as the ship was gently tipped this way and that by the ocean’s waves. Captain Carter studied me a great deal, but didn’t say much. Most of the dinner conversation was provided by the old lady, who seemed just as skilled at not needing other people’s talk as she was at not hearing it.

  The days drifted by. I had several more, long, exhausting arguments with my mirror image, stubborn wench that she was! My pillow saw a lot of wear. Captain Carter kept watching me, his expression alternating between pensive and a secret, dreamy little smile I didn’t know how to decipher. Finally, the call came from the highest mast:

  ‘Land ahoy!’

  I could hardly believe it when we finally drifted up the Thames, and London’s houses and towers slowly rose above the horizon. This was the real world. I was back. I was awake again. The fights, the tantalizing touches, the heat, the darkness of the sandstorm - everything that had happened in Egypt suddenly seemed only like the faint echo of a dream.

  Almost involuntarily, my hand rose to touch my lips.

  Well… maybe not everything.

  Only a few minutes later, it seemed, the gangplank thudded onto the wharf. Captain Carter escorted my ‘grandmother’ and me off the ship. Once on solid ground, he stopped and smiled down at me this faint, dreamy, rather intense smile I didn’t know how to read.

  ‘Well, goodbye, Miss Linton. As always, it has been very… interesting, meeting you. I hope our paths will cross again, soon.’

  I smiled back at him. It seemed the right thing to do. Besides, smiling at Captain Carter was easy. He didn’t have an invisible sign taped to his forehead saying ‘Smiling Forbidden!’ like some people I could mention.

  ‘So do I, Captain.’

  ‘Will you find your way home from here safely?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you for all your help.’

  ‘It was my pleasure. Until we meet again, Miss Linton.’ He leaned forward to bow - or at least that was what I thought! But instead, he took my hand and pressed a gentle but firm kiss on its back. I stared at him, flabbergasted.

  Smiling, he nodded one last time, then turned and left. I stared after him in silent amazement until he had climbed into a waiting coach and vanished around a corner. Then I shook off my paralysis.

  ‘Mental,’ I muttered, wiping my hand on my skirt. ‘Completely mental!’

  Taking a deep breath, I banished all thoughts of Captain Carter from my mind, and the tingling echoes of his kiss from my hand.

  ‘Come on, “grandmother”,’ I told the old lady on the wharf beside me. ‘It’s just you and me now. Let’s get you home, wherever that is.’

  The old lady bent towards me, cupping a hand behind her ear. ‘Sorry, dearie? Could you say that again?’

  *~*~**~*~*

  It took me some time to extract her home address from the old lady and drop her off at her - quite surprised - relatives’ house. Having thus successfully rid myself of one pseudo-grandmother, I turned my steps towards home.

  Before I even knocked at the front door, it flew open and Ella came rushing towards me. A moment later, her arms were around me, crushing me with a force I wouldn’t have thought my wisp of a little sister capable of.

  ‘I missed you so much, Lill!’

  ‘I’ve noticed,’ I wheezed. ‘Can you let go now?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Blushing, she eased her grip a little. ‘So… How was grandmother?’

  ‘Fine. A bit hard of hearing, these days, but there’s plenty of life in the old bone yet.’

  That moment, my aunt stepped out of the door to see what the commotion was about. The moment she caught sight of me, her eyes narrowed. ‘Oh. It’s you. And? Did you meet any eligible bachelors while you were at your grandmother’s?’

  I shook my head, grinning. ‘No. There was this one man I spent rather a lot of time with, but he was already married to a very stubborn and possessive young lady.’

  Harrumphing, my aunt turned on the spot and marched back into the house gain.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re back!’ Ella repeated.

  The welcome from the rest of the household was about as expected. Gertrude gave me a simple but sincere hug. Lisbeth smiled non-committally and said hello. Anne and Maria lost no time in pointing out how dreadfully tanned and ugly I had gotten while being away. Leadfield, our faithful aged butler, bowed so deeply he almost toppled over. My uncle kept his study door closed in a slightly more welcoming manner than usual.

  It was all a sort of blur to me. Yes, I was glad to be home, but…

  But what about him?

  Don’t think about him! Don’t think about him! You’re a feminist! Thinking about men is out of the question - except if you’re thinking about grinding them into tiny little pieces!

  Well, grinding sounded sort of nice…

  Not that kind of grinding! Stop this at once!

  But I cou
ldn’t stop. I couldn’t keep the same questions from forcing themselves into my mind over and over again: What is he thinking right now? What will he say when you arrive for work tomorrow? More importantly, what will he do?

  ‘Lilly!’

  I was ripped from my thoughts by the door to my room bursting open and Patsy, Flora and Eve storming in. They bore the expressions of fierce amazons on the hunt for gossip. ‘You’re back! So, what have you been up to while you were away?’

  ‘Um…’ Cautiously, I licked my lips, while trying to think of a way to describe to my friends what had happened in Egypt. ‘I, um…’

  They waited, their faces eager.

  ‘I did… um… I…’

  I went to bed that night, after some very inventive lie-telling, my head still filled with the same thoughts.

  What will he say? What will he do?

  I watched the handle on the bedside clock move from ten pm to eleven pm. It didn’t seem inclined to answer my silent question.

  Bloody, hell! What will he say? What will he do?

  Eleven thirty. Still no answer.

  It took me rather long to fall asleep that night. When I finally dozed off, I dreamt of the Sphinx chasing me through the desert, trying to kiss me. Apart from the fact that its nose was missing, the lecherous stone beast looked suspiciously like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

  Ambrose

  I woke up in the morning and thought Oh God! It is Monday!

  It was sort of a déjà vu, exactly like the first time I’d had to go to work. But in a way, it was even worse now, because this time I had to deal with… certain things.

  My lips tingled, and I clamped my hand over them, trying to rub the traitorous sensation away. Bloody hell! Stuff like this shouldn’t happen without my express permission!

  As fast as I could, I jumped out of bed and started dressing.

  Keep busy, I told myself. Keep very, very busy, then you won’t have to think about what you are about to do. About what is going to happen.

  In quick succession, I threw on my petticoats, a corset and a dress. It was agonizing, knowing I would have to take all this stuff off again in a minute anyway, when I changed into my male work clothes in the garden shed.