Denial (Storm and Silence fanfiction)

A chilling surprise

I was standing in front of the entrance to Cambridge University, trying to bring up the courage to step through the gates.

It really shouldn't have been so hard, but somehow the idea of stepping over the university threshold was even scarier than walking into Mr. Ambrose' office that very first time, so I stood there as other students walked by me.

I felt like even more of an imposter as I had in the beginning of my employment with Mr. Ambrose, perhaps because Mr. Ambrose had, save for a very short period of time before I was actually hired, known my true gender, regardless of the fact that he still refused to acknowledge it.

I instinctively reached for the hem of the sleeves of my suit to fumble with, when I realized that the sleeves of this suit were not too long, as it had been custom-made for me and my feminine height.

If I wasn't so determined to prove to all of Britain that women were smarter than men, I would haul a cab and get to Empire House. With a look at my newly-acquired watch I noted that I would be 5 minutes late -unacceptable to Mr. Ambrose' standards, but entirely reasonable according to mine.

But determined I was. Very. And excited. I felt great about not seeing Mr. Ambrose for almost an entire year. I didn't have to see his face everyday. I didn't have to withstand the icy glare from his dark sea-coloured eyes. I didn't have to sense his aura of authority every time he was in the same room as I. I didn't have to fetch him a million and three files. I didn't have to somehow keep up with him as he dictated his appointments and letters. If he and Lord Dalgliesh went at it again, I wouldn't have to worry about it. Even if I ran into him in the street, I wouldn't have to listen to any of his orders. If he would even acknowledge you, my subconscious added snidely.

I scoffed. Of course he would acknowledge me! I had worked for him for over a year, which was far longer than any other private secretary I knew about. I had accompanied him on business trips thrice. He knew more about me than my own family, and I was eighty-three percent certain that no one could read him, his carved-in-stone expression, granite body and his little finger like I could. Surely, he wouldn't just ignore me? Walk by as if he didn't recognise me, perhaps even like he didn't know me?

What if he really just didn't recognise me? Even worse, what if he would have already completely forgotten about me? Perhaps now, I was still fresh in his memory, but would he still know who I was in six months?

Why would he let me occupy part of his precious memory, which contained knowledge and thereby led to power and money, when he could store far more useful data, far more useful people? Mr. Ambrose was an important man. He probably knew hundreds of men and women, who were more important than I. The idea alone made something in my chest clench painfully.

The fact that I would recognise him anywhere, anytime just made it a thousand times worse.

I could imagine myself at a ball my aunt forced me to go to, aware of his presence as soon as he arrived, for whatever reason he had to come out into the society he so detested, while he remained oblivious of my presence the entire night.

Or myself sitting in a library somewhere in 60 years, after my retirement, my hair gray and wrinkles around my eyes, jumping at the sound of Mr. Ambrose' hoarse from old age, but somehow still commanding voice ordering the librarian to fetch him some newspaper from a few years back immediately.

To my surprise, and utter horror, my throat constricted and my eyes filled with tears by the idea of being in his presence without having any claim to his attention.

Snap out of it, Lillian, I told myself sternly. This is bigger than you. Besides, there is no way that he'll just completely forget about you -you have made yourself quite memorable to him.