Disclaimer: As before.

I know it took me ages to finish this chapter, but September's been really and absolutely crazy.

Many thanks to all reviewers, readers, visitors.

Chapter 10 especially for you. Enjoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

10. Expectations

It started to rain in the afternoon, right after the Basterds had left, and the atmosphere in the large kitchen of the Larmounts' house matched the weather perfectly; it was as dark and gloomy as the landscape outside. Sophie shifted uneasily in her chair, watching raindrops falling down the windowpane as a wave of strange dejection was slowly sweeping over her. She would rather go upstairs and stay in her bedroom for the rest of this particularly long day, but it was nearly impossible to escape from the family meeting her grandmother had called to talk through the latest developments.

Utivich's presence in the house was in fact only a pretext for the whole discussion – Gran had already decided that he should be moved to an attic room and delegated Mona to take care of him, which surprised Sophie, though she expected there was a good reason for that. Most likely the old lady wanted to find a suitable job for the ginger beauty to prevent her from floating about the house and getting on Jeanette's nerves with her irritating comments.

Out of all the temporary residents who were currently staying at the house, Mona was definitely the most problematic case. A nuisance, as Jeanette said, and Frank occasionally bet Sophie that her grandma would finally break and send Mona away, but for some unknown reasons the elderly lady seemed to have inexhaustible patience with the girl. And for her twin brother, who suffered his fate of a Jewish refugee with gallows humour. But he at least kept a low profile and spent long hours in his attic room composing poems and essays he was planning to publish after his exile was over. Which of course did not stop him from occasional night escapes from the house to wander around the forest or to sit by the river, in spite of Mrs. Larmount's clear orders about safety rules they all had to obey.

At least the Steinbergs followed their hostess's requests scrupulously, though in their case the cautiousness was taken to extremes – they were reluctant to leave their basement rooms and Gran usually had to convince them herself that it was perfectly safe. But they had escaped from hell. Unthinkable horrors from what Mrs. Steinberg had told Sophie. Something the two terribly spoilt brats had never really experienced.

Utivich seemed a perfect occasion to keep Mona occupied for a while; Dr Marceau had examined his wounds, removed a bullet from his arm and announced that the wounded man should stay in bed for at least two weeks. As usual, he had not asked a single question and no one had been willing to tell him what happened or to reveal Utivich's identity. Or, even better, to introduce him to the three threatening-looking men, who had been hidden in the sitting room, waiting impatiently for the results of the examination. The less information the doctor had, the better for him, as Gran used to say, and all the parties of this unwritten agreement spoke with one voice in that respect.

But after the wounded partisan's case had been briefly discussed, the grandmother smoothly changed the subject to what had been really bothering her for the last few hours and her loud voice filled the kitchen authoritatively.

'I know he helped you once and you may be grateful…'

'Even very grateful,' Frank said from his place in the corner where he was sitting silently, just waiting for the right moment to cut in. But before he had a chance to elaborate on his statement, his mother hit him across the back with a rag she was holding and he could only groan, looking at her resentfully.

'Don't you dare interrupt,' Jeanette snapped at him in response and – just in case – looked at Mona warningly, but the red-haired girl seemed to be extremely interested in her nails at the very moment and she had ostentatiously demonstrated the same air of indifference since the very beginning of the meeting. But she was listening carefully.

'I know,' the grandmother continued her speech obstinately, 'what he is and I'm fully aware of his previous achievements. You may be surprised but I know what he had done before he joined these partisans.'

Sophie was not surprised at all and she could only heave a sigh of frustration.

She had to admit that Gran had prepared well for that little family meeting and even demonstrated extraordinary slyness to obtain necessary information. She had first questioned Frank in private and that idiot was so delighted that – for the first time ever – the old lady had considered him a sort of expert in any subject that he happily answered all the questions she asked him about the Basterds in general, and Stiglitz in particular.

'I have enough problems, all of you know that well,' the elderly lady cast her eyes around the kitchen before her accusing gaze returned to Sophie again. 'So I don't need to worry about your relationship with a man of that ilk.'

'Relationship?' Sophie raised an eyebrow but even she could feel a false note in this demonstration of great astonishment. 'He's only a…'

'Acquaintance?' Mona prompted innocently and Sophie scowled at her.

Gran's lips were pressed together in a line so tight as if she was going to flatten them. 'Is my granddaughter in the habit of embracing half-naked acquaintances, not to mention in a house full of people?'

Mona's eyes gleamed with amused curiosity. 'Was he half-naked?' she asked doubtfully, but did not dare even to smile when Jeanette gave her an angry glare.

Sophie blushed, much to Frank's delight, but she bravely held the old lady's gaze.

'He wasn't half-naked,' she said quietly. 'And what you saw was nothing.' She hesitated for a moment. Well, it had certainly been something, according to Gran's nineteenth-century standards, but at present it definitely did not fall into category "Scandalous". 'Absolutely nothing to make a fuss about.'

Gran shot her a razor-sharp glance. 'It was nothing because I was there at the right time.'

'So what's the matter?'

'He's German,' the grandmother twisted her lips as if the name itself suggested something nasty, like an embarrassing disease for instance.

'So what?' Sophie asked defiantly, though she had already known that this kind of tactic was not the best idea in this house.

'So what?' Gran roared. 'You really shouldn't ask such questions!'

There was something in the elderly lady's eyes that made Sophie close her mouth before she could formulate any reply and Gran smirked before she looked around.

'First of all we must remember what these people are. Partisans. Brave men who fight the Germans,' she paused for a while, but no one dared to cut in. 'But that of course doesn't make them saints. They're renegades. Live in the woods. Miss female company. Have terrible manners,' her gaze stopped at Mona, who was trying hard to hide her amusement.

'So why did you invite them here?'

The question came from the least expected side – Marta had been silent since the beginning of the meeting and now when she suddenly spoke up, all the eyes turned to her in unison. Especially as the question was legitimate.

After Dr Marceau's departure the grandmother had not left the scene even for a second, hovering over the Basterds like an evil spirit, her gaze vigilant and her expression occasionally murderous when she noticed any furtive glances the men cast on her girls. But when they had been just about to leave she had unexpectedly changed tactics and surprised everyone with the invitation she asked Stiglitz to pass on to their commander.

'Fair point,' Frank noticed from his corner and Gran's evil gaze found him at once.

'What are you still doing here, François? Shouldn't you be on watch at the moment? The Steinbergs may want to have a walk in the orchard.'

'In the rain?' Frank protested, but his mother nudged him and he stood up, unhappy that he was going to miss the end of the quite interesting exchange.

'So what about this invitation?' Marta repeated her question calmly, when the door was closed behind the boy.

'I have my own reasons,' the elderly lady said enigmatically, her face an inscrutable mask. 'Can you all kindly leave us for a while?' she asked, her tone too definite for it to be a simple request. 'I want to talk to my granddaughter alone,' she explained as if any explanation was needed and Sophie grimaced inwardly at the perspective of the face-to-face conversation.

'Are you going to tell me what's going on between you and that German?' Gran came straight to the point as soon as the others left.

Sophie looked at her with forced calmness. 'His name is Hugo,' she said, the name feeling a bit strange on her tongue and she gazed away.

'He's German,' the elderly lady repeated mercilessly. 'And you seem to forget what they did to your father and where your mother is at the moment because of them,' she added and Sophie met her eyes angrily.

'I didn't forget. But I'm not going to blame him for what happened to Dad. Or to Mum. Or to Grandpa,' she added and they glared at each other for a moment.

'Don't even tell me that he's different!' Gran spat.

Sophie snorted impatiently. 'You know as well as I do, Gran, that he is different.'

'Why? Because now he kills them instead of killing with them? Or because he's on their Most Wanted list?' The old lady paused for a while and when she continued her voice was only a bit calmer. 'I don't want my granddaughter, my only granddaughter in fact, to make wrong choices about her life.'

'Wrong choices?' Sophie frowned as if she – really, truly – could not follow the elderly lady's train of thought. 'What are you talking about, Gran?'

The old lady gave her a strange look.

'When you arrived here after…' She paused and Sophie shook her head impatiently.

'After Kamil's death,' she said, surprised that she did not feel a familiar choke in her voice. 'It's not a taboo subject, really. You don't need to worry that I'll get all hysterical about that.'

Gran watched her closely. 'Right. After that poor boy's death. So when you arrived here, looking like a ghost, thin as a rake… I told you to forget the past. To go on with your life. Find someone.'

'So maybe you should be happy I'm finally trying to follow your advice.'

But the elderly lady ignored the irony completely. 'I am happy. Really. But what I meant was someone… Someone who could…'

'Replace Kamil?' Sophie shook her head, snorting.

'Someone you could be happy with.'

'Like who exactly? Pierre Marceau?' Sophie winced to better express her feelings.

Dr Marceau's younger son had been a bone of contention between her and Gran for weeks if not for months and Sophie was wondering if the doctor and her grandmother were plotting behind her back each Thursday when they met for bridge at the doctor's house. Not that any plotting could really help much. She had met Pierre several times and regardless of whether it was a luncheon or an innocent, accidental meeting, the conclusion was always the same. A nice, well-mannered, sensible young man. Deadly boring.

'Excellent example,' Gran admitted and the girl winced even more.

'Are you still going to choose my suitors for me?'

'So he's a suitor now? That German?' Gran raised her eyebrow mockingly. 'And you've told me that he's only an acquaintance.'

Sophie just gazed away, angry at herself for dropping her guard and the old lady decided to deliver the final blow.

'Have you ever wondered why he was promoted?'

'What do you mean?' Sophie looked up at her.

'When you met him, he was a mere corporal. But before he joined these partisans he had already become a sergeant. And forgive me if I'm wrong, but I highly doubt if in Hitler's army they get promoted for paperwork only. Just think about this.'

They eyed each other for a long moment and then Sophie stood up and left without a word.

As she had expected, Mona was standing just behind the door, not even pretending that she had not been eavesdropping and Sophie's scowl did not discourage the damn pest at all from following her upstairs. But she started to speak only when the bedroom door was closed behind them.

'You resign too easily.'

'Really?' Sophie glared at her.

'Your grandma always shoots well, but she often loses battles.'

Sophie answered nothing to this shaft of wisdom while she was furiously changing her clothes.

'She mentioned your fiancé,' Mona started again and Sophie gave her an angry look.

'I don't wanna talk about this right now. Or ever.'

'So she did.'

'It doesn't matter.' Sophie opened the wardrobe door. 'I'm tired, Mona, so tell me what you wanna tell and...'

'I can help you.' The ginger-haired girl announced happily and Sophie froze, and her hand reaching out to take another dress stopped in mid-air.

'What are you talking about?

'Why, about that Stiglitz,' Mona smiled slyly and that immediately put Sophie in motion and she took a dress off the hanger angrily.

'I don't need any help with him.'

'But you like him,' Mona cocked her head.

'Maybe,' Sophie admitted before she shook her head. 'No. He simply irritates me to the core. Just like you.'

'So you do.'

'Mona, I just… hardly know him. We… we met two years ago and now we meet again. By pure accident.'

'Oh, really?' Mona smiled doubtfully. 'But you slept in his tent.'

'How do you…'

'Sarah told me,' the ginger laughed at Sophie's expression. 'You like him. And he keeps staring at you all the time. I noticed that at once and your grandma did as well, though she's obviously been unhappy about this. She can be grateful to him for saving you, but when that German actually dares to touch her little granddaughter half-naked, well, that's where any gratitude ends,' Mona smiled devilishly. 'But you don't need to worry, we'll do something about this.'

Sophie snorted at the increasing absurdity of the whole conversation.

'Mona, what do you think I'm planning to do? To wait until Gran goes to Paris for shopping and elude with him?'

The red-haired girl simply shrugged and they both chuckled. Well, Sophie thought, if anyone here had wide experience in this area, it was definitely Mona.

After all, the outbreak of war had foiled her bold plans to escape with her parents' young and killingly handsome chauffeur, when she was barely sixteen. And although her admirer's feelings had cooled much when the Nazi terror increased and Mona's Jewish descent obviously stood in the way of their getting married, even in secret, the escape plan itself had been good. Cunning.

'Anyway, if you ever decide, I'll help you,' Mona gave her a roguish smile, 'even if it breaks my brother's heart.'

Sophie grimaced. 'Speaking of which, where's he?'

'Suffering in silence in his room.'

'He didn't think it fit to check what's going on in the house? He must have heard some noises.'

Mona shrugged. 'I guess so. But he probably assumed that it was nothing important. Perhaps if he heard the Germans shouting and running through the house, he could eventually become interested.'

Sophie scowled at her. 'Ghastly joke.'

'But a good one.' The girl shrugged again, still irritatingly unwilling to leave.

'Mona,' Sophie sighed, throwing herself onto the bed. 'You'd better go and see your patient.'

'It's no use. He's completely knocked out after the doctor's therapy. Doubt whether he wakes up today even if…'

'Mona!' Sophie groaned into the pillow and that stopped the upcoming monologue at once.

'Alright, alright. I'm going. I took the hint. In fact, half an hour ago,' the ginger added, her hand grabbing the door handle reluctantly. 'So see you later.'

XXX

If someone had told Utivich that the first sight his eyes would rest on after he woke up from his drug-induced sleep would be that of a woman's bust scarcely covered with thin cloth of a low-cut blouse, he would have never believed it. Or, most likely, he would have thought it to be a mockery, like a usual portion of snide remarks he had to bear on a regular basis. Most of all from Donny or Hirschberg.

But the sight was here. Real. Almost touchable. And for a while he was blinking stupidly, desperately trying to remember where the hell he might be right now, while the breasts in front of him were heaving. Before they suddenly moved back. So did their owner and his gaze cautiously shifted to her face, taking in her gentle features, brown eyes and soft ringlets of long dark red hair, and that reminded him of an angel he had seen ages ago in one of his grandfather's old leather-bound books.

So it was heaven. And this heaven smelled like vanilla; a familiar, sweet, heavy scent that hit his nostrils and even irritated his taste buds with some reminiscence of cookies his mother had baked every Friday when he was a child.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his voice somehow got clogged in his throat when this angelic creature met his eyes.

'You're awake,' she said and for a while he just stared at her surprised that he had no problems in understanding what she had said. 'I was plumping up your pillows,' she explained and he nodded absentmindedly.

'I'm probably dead,' he muttered hesitantly and the girl chuckled.

'No. You're not. It's just that... you've been sleeping for the whole day.'

'Have I?' he raised an eyebrow and she chuckled again.

'My name's Mona,' she said, holding out her hand and he shook it clumsily.

'Smithson,' he mumbled uncertainly.

'Nice name,' she smiled, and though this smile was rather like a smirk, he grinned at her.

'I thought you were an angel,' he said, feeling himself blushing and she snorted with laughter. Melodic, infectious, rippling laughter.

'Sorry,' she said. 'That's not the kind of name I hear too often.'

He made an attempt to sit up, but he felt dizzy at once and his head drooped onto the pillows again.

'Don't!' she protested. 'Don't get up. You're supposed to stay in bed and if you get hurt, Mrs. Larmount will surely bite my head off.'

'Mrs. Larmount?' he asked in surprise.

'Sophie's grandmother,' the girl explained. 'You remember Sophie?'

Utivich closed his eyes for a while. He definitely remember something. Something. But right know his head was spinning and any details were escaping the moment he tried to focus on them, so he only nodded hesitantly.

'You're at her place now,' she smiled. 'And I'll take care of you.'

He noticed a movement behind her back and a boy – not much younger than him – who suddenly appeared in the doorway gave a loud laugh.

'Oh, man!' he winked at Utivich. 'You'd better make your last will right now.'

XXX

'I thought you didn't like her,' Aldo threw a glance at his second-in-command over a mug of particularly bad coffee and his face contorted hideously when he took a sip. 'Good Lord, what the fuck is this?'

'It's not about her,' Donny averted his eyes for a moment before he continued in a voice that was supposed to be both totally indifferent and highly convincing, a mixture somehow too complicated for The Bear Jew to control it smoothly. Especially as he had some difficulty in meeting his commander's eyes.

'It's that people are tired, sir, so I just thought… who knows… maybe it would be good to take a breather and check what's going on with Utivich. And the weather's fucking wicked,' he hastened to add, though this last statement was utter nonsense; it had stopped raining in the morning and the sky cleared up, which definitely raised morale in the squad.

'Maybe just a few days…,' Donny looked away and crushed a lump of earth between his fingers.

The lieutenant was watching him with an expression that clearly told, no, screamed that he did not buy it at all, but before he could reply, he suddenly realized something. Two seemingly unimportant factors. But when you've been a commander for so long, you just notice such things. Inevitably. Especially as they were hard to miss.

First, a silence that was hanging over the clearing; all usual talks and taunts had died away a while ago as if they were all listening carefully to Donowitz's words while pretending not to be listening at all.

Second, furtive glances some of them kept casting at him, averting their eyes at once when their met his. Which in all probability meant that the news concerning Mrs. Larmount's puzzling invitation had already spread among his men and in all probability the messenger responsible for that was now sitting right in front of him, waiting expectantly for the final result of his diplomatic efforts.

The lieutenant took another sip of his coffee, although he immediately regretted it, and he fixed his eyes on a nearby tree. Yeah, he had been planning to contact their new highly valuable assistant soon, but – honestly – it had been only five days since their meeting and he wanted to give her some time to collect all necessary information he needed. They could wait a few days more, even if Donowitz was going to nag him every fucking hour.

Then he darted a glance towards Stiglitz who was sitting apart from the others, checking a machine gun he had captured two days ago, his expression as impassive as usual and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. But when he felt the lieutenant's gaze he met his eyes immediately and they were eyeing each other for a long moment until the German threw the cigarette to the ground and a faint smirk appeared on his face.

'Alright, boys,' Aldo stood up to his full height and looked around, immediately catching their full attention.

'You wanna a holiday?' he asked, though right now the question was purely rhetorical. 'So you must deserve it first. Thirty more scalps and we'll take a few days off'. He smiled his lopsided smile that should have automatically aroused suspicion. 'Plus twenty for Utivich.'