Part Two
Jonathan looked at the bottle, then decided. Not that it was exactly really a hard decision. He poured himself another drink and threw it back before deliberately placing the bottle to one side, in a gesture of removal. He didn't intend to get drunk today because, for once, his existence actually had a purpose, breaking up the endless monotony of boredom that it had fallen into since he had arrived back in England.
Initially he had looked forward to coming home. He hadn't been here in donkey's years and the change from the hum-drum of Egyptian life was welcome. And, when you were virtually penniless, Egypt became very hum-drum indeed.
Evelyn had entrusted half the profits from his share of the treasure into a trust fund on his behalf, reasoning that he would have to have something to live on in his twilight years. And the rest of it? Well, that had pretty much gone the way of the dinosaurs. Drinking and gambling were expensive hobbies. Sometimes rewarding, sometimes fun, but always expensive. It was surprising how quickly a man could whiter away a small fortune in a tavern, kasbah, gentleman's club or public house. Evelyn had, as usual, found out and had been predictably very cross. Angry, even. She had made him promise that he would keep out of the bars from then on. And since the oath had been on her life he had no choice but to keep it. Unfortunately it had left his sole pastime as the vague interest he had in Egyptology.
Technically, he supposed he could be called a scholar. He had had the appropriate training at least. The money spent on his education had been a reasonable sum, and his father and mother had tried to instil as much knowledge of the ancient civilisations into him as they could. And he had actually been interested in it as a boy. The stories of powerful kings, fantastic gods and fabulous treasures were a welcome change from the rigors of geometry and science.
He smiled briefly as he remembered putting his all into it. He had learnt his hieroglyphic alphabet, knew his Ptah from his Thoth and could name the pharaohs in order and by dynasty. But the enthusiasm of youth had given way to the recklessness of adolescence, the charms of alcohol and particular games of chance had luring him in. While Evelyn had constantly worked at her studies, Jonathan had let them slip. Now he found that, while he had the basic knowledge and resources to work in the field, it was much harder than it should have been had he been proficient in his academic work. Unsurprisingly his interest had also taken the easy shift from 'history' to 'treasure', as was often the case with those who found themselves terminally in debt. After a few weeks attempted hard slog in Cairo with very little reward, Evelyn had announced her engagement and the opportunity had arisen to go to London and once again laze away his hours.
So he had come here, full of hopes about the charms of decent society but had found himself sorely disappointed by the dullness of it all. London seemed simply pedestrian in comparison to the hustle of Cairo. There people darted and bustled, here they simply ambled or meandered. Nowhere was this more noticeable than in the drinking establishments, a subject which Jonathan considered himself to be an expert in. Unlike the bars in Cairo, the ones here lacked life. Men sat and talked about politics mainly, a subject Jonathan neither had the knowledge for or the interest in. Even the burden of work would have been a welcome distraction from another talk about the Prime Minister's foreign policies.
After three straight weeks of inane chatter on subjects such as the state of the military if he went to a club, or weddings and dresses if he spent half an hour with Evie, desperation had driven him to the river front and the seedy little ale houses that littered the area. It was here that he found himself now, with a bottle of brandy, that would usually be at least half empty, but which he was attempting to keep screwed shut as much as possible. He didn't want to ruin the first vaguely interesting day in a long time by not remembering it the next morning.
By nature though Jonathan was not a strong willed man and he soon gave in to the growing urge of temptation and poured himself another. If only to stop himself thinking about where he was. Despite the relief he often found here, he hated these London dock bars. Put him in a sleazy little kasbah any day. At least the drinkers there were honourable sleaze. They had strict codes of conduct, set laws.
This place was just full of genuine classless low-lives. And he had been born a man of class.
Jonathan had already decided that after Evie had married he would head back to Egypt. He didn't like the idea of leaving her. They'd never been apart since they were children and he would miss her terribly, in spite of her nagging. But he knew he had to go back. He belonged there, playing the English gentleman. The playboy scoundrel who everyone adored. Here, in London, he was just another drunken, lazy, toff. And he was damn well bored.
He had just started to pour himself another drink, his resolve wavering yet again, when someone slammed down a bag beside him, making him jump and spill it onto his shoes.
He cursed aloud, more for the insult of the wasted liquor than the wet shoes. Preparing to say similarly harsh words to the gentleman's face, he abruptly stopped when he saw who it was.
"O'Connell!" he said with a smile, vigorously shaking the man's hand as his irritation was instantly forgotten, "How are you, old chap? Good to see you".
O'Connell sat down beside him, placing his bag on the floor, his enthusiasm for the reunion not quite equalling that of the other man. Didn't mean he wasn't pleased to see him though. He may not always appear to be the biggest fan of Evelyn's scoundrel brother, but he certainly didn't dislike him. Deep down he had a feeling Jonathan was a good man, he just tended to do some rather stupid things.
"I'm fine, thanks, Jonathan. And you?"
He nodded, "Oh surviving, surviving. Itching to get back out on the treasure trail as soon as possible though".
"You're still looking?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, amazed that he would want to go anywhere near ancient tombs again after their adventures.
"As always, my friend, as always", Jonathan replied, tipping the bottle in O'Connell's direction.
The American nodded, accepting the offer. After the journey here, spending days with just his own dour thoughts for entertainment, a good drink was a welcome friend. And say what you want about the man, he did have a fine taste in spirits.
"Thanks again for meeting me", he said as Jonathan poured a drink for both of them.
Jonathan shook his head, "No trouble. Wasn't exactly doing much here anyway. I'll be glad to get back to the Cairo riff raff".
O'Connell smiled ruefully, "Where you belong, eh?"
Jonathan handed him a drink, "Precisely". He held it up in a toast, "To old friends and ancient adventures, yes?"
O'Connell held up his glass, "Old friends and ancient adventures".
They clinked glasses and threw back the drinks.
Jonathan sat a moment to let the drink settle, savouring its sharp taste. Then glanced down at O'Connell's bag. He guessed it contained all manner of guns and blades. In many ways the man qualified a consummate pessimist, always going anywhere prepared for the worst. Which, he reasoned, when you have a three thousand year old reanimated corpse after you, isn't a bad thing. It was safe to say if it wasn't for O'Connell's help, Imhotep would never have been defeated. And Evelyn would have died. Jonathan shuddered at the mere thought. He could be accused of being a liar, a cheat, a thief and many things besides, but never of not loving his baby sister.
"Expecting trouble?" he asked, casually indicating the bag.
He nodded, "With you and your sister? Yep".
There was a small pause. O'Connell had brought up the topic they both knew would come.
"How is Evelyn?" O'Connell asked eventually, his voice unnaturally quiet and unsure.
Jonathan had been waiting for the question and he had practised the answer. He still felt uncomfortable though. He understood the whole thing must be terribly hard on the poor man - without a shadow of a doubt he loved Evelyn completely - but Jonathan was just not very good at giving condolences, his perpetual solution to any problem being a strong drink. A problem, he reasoned, was no longer a problem when you couldn't remember it.
"She's fine", he said, "Very well. Just great". He paused, awkwardly, already having run out of things to say. Unfortunately that led him straight onto the one subject he perhaps should have breached just a little more gently.
"She's looking forward to the wedding".
O'Connell nodded, stiffly.
"The wedding. Right".
There was something introspective about his tone, betraying deeper thoughts.
Jonathan felt terrible. His sister may be the proverbial bull-in-a-china- shop when it came to physical objects, but he could always be counted upon to surpassed her every time in the oral competition. Which was why he tried as hard as possible to stray away from any kind of delicate or tense situation. As he often reminded himself, 'You can't put your foot in your mouth when your mouth is shut'. Unfortunately he was about as good at listening to his own advice as he was at listen to other peoples'.
There was another pause before the second expected question came.
"What's he like?" O'Connell asked, starring into his drink as if it held the secrets of the world if only you looked hard enough, "This guy she's marrying - he okay?"
He tried to say it blasé, as though he was just making conversation. That he really didn't care. That the thought of losing her to someone else wasn't really tearing him up inside.
Jonathan nodded, appearing positive.
"He's great. He's a....great guy. He's really....", he trailed off, his act faltering and starting to look pained.
"Great?" O'Connell offered.
Jonathan slammed the bottle down on the bar, "No he is not, damn it. He's a stuck up idiot. She doesn't love him and he doesn't love her. He treats her like an ornament and will change her into a prissy, boring little housewife within a month".
O'Connell looked at him, slightly taken back by the outburst.
"Oh", was all he could reasonably find to say.
Jonathan shook his head, "I just don't like the man".
"Obviously".
"I mean, damn it, she was even better off with you".
"Thanks", he frowned, pleased, if a little offended. That quickly faded though, and the fragile spring of hope bubbled up inside him, like an elixir bringing his broken heart back to life. Jonathan said she didn't love this guy. If he was right, that left O'Connell with just the smallest possibility that she may still care. That there may still be a chance. And there was nothing quite like clutching at the wispy threads of hope to raise a man's spirits.
"Have you told her what you think?"
"Of course I have", Jonathan said bitterly, "But you know how stubborn she is? Do you think she listened to me?"
"No".
"I'm just her brother. Her drunken, lazy, good-for-nothing brother, at that. She just says I'm being over protective". He shook his head in disgust, "And maybe she's right. But what brother in his right mind would want his baby sister marrying a complete moron?"
O'Connell nodded sympathetically.
"Do you have a sister, O'Connell?"
He shook his head, "I am my family photo".
Jonathan looked surprised for a moment, perhaps even a little sorry for him. Then he got back on his high horse.
"I've asked Evie if she should perhaps postpone the wedding a while, make sure that she's made the right decision, but she is adamant that it will go ahead in two months".
O'Connell shrugged with forced casualness, "Maybe I should talk to her...Give an outsider's view".
Jonathan looked at him and smiled. He knew that getting this man involved in Evie's life again could only be a good idea. He nodded, with a knowing look in his eyes, "Yes. Maybe you can make a difference where I can't".
Jonathan looked at the bottle, then decided. Not that it was exactly really a hard decision. He poured himself another drink and threw it back before deliberately placing the bottle to one side, in a gesture of removal. He didn't intend to get drunk today because, for once, his existence actually had a purpose, breaking up the endless monotony of boredom that it had fallen into since he had arrived back in England.
Initially he had looked forward to coming home. He hadn't been here in donkey's years and the change from the hum-drum of Egyptian life was welcome. And, when you were virtually penniless, Egypt became very hum-drum indeed.
Evelyn had entrusted half the profits from his share of the treasure into a trust fund on his behalf, reasoning that he would have to have something to live on in his twilight years. And the rest of it? Well, that had pretty much gone the way of the dinosaurs. Drinking and gambling were expensive hobbies. Sometimes rewarding, sometimes fun, but always expensive. It was surprising how quickly a man could whiter away a small fortune in a tavern, kasbah, gentleman's club or public house. Evelyn had, as usual, found out and had been predictably very cross. Angry, even. She had made him promise that he would keep out of the bars from then on. And since the oath had been on her life he had no choice but to keep it. Unfortunately it had left his sole pastime as the vague interest he had in Egyptology.
Technically, he supposed he could be called a scholar. He had had the appropriate training at least. The money spent on his education had been a reasonable sum, and his father and mother had tried to instil as much knowledge of the ancient civilisations into him as they could. And he had actually been interested in it as a boy. The stories of powerful kings, fantastic gods and fabulous treasures were a welcome change from the rigors of geometry and science.
He smiled briefly as he remembered putting his all into it. He had learnt his hieroglyphic alphabet, knew his Ptah from his Thoth and could name the pharaohs in order and by dynasty. But the enthusiasm of youth had given way to the recklessness of adolescence, the charms of alcohol and particular games of chance had luring him in. While Evelyn had constantly worked at her studies, Jonathan had let them slip. Now he found that, while he had the basic knowledge and resources to work in the field, it was much harder than it should have been had he been proficient in his academic work. Unsurprisingly his interest had also taken the easy shift from 'history' to 'treasure', as was often the case with those who found themselves terminally in debt. After a few weeks attempted hard slog in Cairo with very little reward, Evelyn had announced her engagement and the opportunity had arisen to go to London and once again laze away his hours.
So he had come here, full of hopes about the charms of decent society but had found himself sorely disappointed by the dullness of it all. London seemed simply pedestrian in comparison to the hustle of Cairo. There people darted and bustled, here they simply ambled or meandered. Nowhere was this more noticeable than in the drinking establishments, a subject which Jonathan considered himself to be an expert in. Unlike the bars in Cairo, the ones here lacked life. Men sat and talked about politics mainly, a subject Jonathan neither had the knowledge for or the interest in. Even the burden of work would have been a welcome distraction from another talk about the Prime Minister's foreign policies.
After three straight weeks of inane chatter on subjects such as the state of the military if he went to a club, or weddings and dresses if he spent half an hour with Evie, desperation had driven him to the river front and the seedy little ale houses that littered the area. It was here that he found himself now, with a bottle of brandy, that would usually be at least half empty, but which he was attempting to keep screwed shut as much as possible. He didn't want to ruin the first vaguely interesting day in a long time by not remembering it the next morning.
By nature though Jonathan was not a strong willed man and he soon gave in to the growing urge of temptation and poured himself another. If only to stop himself thinking about where he was. Despite the relief he often found here, he hated these London dock bars. Put him in a sleazy little kasbah any day. At least the drinkers there were honourable sleaze. They had strict codes of conduct, set laws.
This place was just full of genuine classless low-lives. And he had been born a man of class.
Jonathan had already decided that after Evie had married he would head back to Egypt. He didn't like the idea of leaving her. They'd never been apart since they were children and he would miss her terribly, in spite of her nagging. But he knew he had to go back. He belonged there, playing the English gentleman. The playboy scoundrel who everyone adored. Here, in London, he was just another drunken, lazy, toff. And he was damn well bored.
He had just started to pour himself another drink, his resolve wavering yet again, when someone slammed down a bag beside him, making him jump and spill it onto his shoes.
He cursed aloud, more for the insult of the wasted liquor than the wet shoes. Preparing to say similarly harsh words to the gentleman's face, he abruptly stopped when he saw who it was.
"O'Connell!" he said with a smile, vigorously shaking the man's hand as his irritation was instantly forgotten, "How are you, old chap? Good to see you".
O'Connell sat down beside him, placing his bag on the floor, his enthusiasm for the reunion not quite equalling that of the other man. Didn't mean he wasn't pleased to see him though. He may not always appear to be the biggest fan of Evelyn's scoundrel brother, but he certainly didn't dislike him. Deep down he had a feeling Jonathan was a good man, he just tended to do some rather stupid things.
"I'm fine, thanks, Jonathan. And you?"
He nodded, "Oh surviving, surviving. Itching to get back out on the treasure trail as soon as possible though".
"You're still looking?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, amazed that he would want to go anywhere near ancient tombs again after their adventures.
"As always, my friend, as always", Jonathan replied, tipping the bottle in O'Connell's direction.
The American nodded, accepting the offer. After the journey here, spending days with just his own dour thoughts for entertainment, a good drink was a welcome friend. And say what you want about the man, he did have a fine taste in spirits.
"Thanks again for meeting me", he said as Jonathan poured a drink for both of them.
Jonathan shook his head, "No trouble. Wasn't exactly doing much here anyway. I'll be glad to get back to the Cairo riff raff".
O'Connell smiled ruefully, "Where you belong, eh?"
Jonathan handed him a drink, "Precisely". He held it up in a toast, "To old friends and ancient adventures, yes?"
O'Connell held up his glass, "Old friends and ancient adventures".
They clinked glasses and threw back the drinks.
Jonathan sat a moment to let the drink settle, savouring its sharp taste. Then glanced down at O'Connell's bag. He guessed it contained all manner of guns and blades. In many ways the man qualified a consummate pessimist, always going anywhere prepared for the worst. Which, he reasoned, when you have a three thousand year old reanimated corpse after you, isn't a bad thing. It was safe to say if it wasn't for O'Connell's help, Imhotep would never have been defeated. And Evelyn would have died. Jonathan shuddered at the mere thought. He could be accused of being a liar, a cheat, a thief and many things besides, but never of not loving his baby sister.
"Expecting trouble?" he asked, casually indicating the bag.
He nodded, "With you and your sister? Yep".
There was a small pause. O'Connell had brought up the topic they both knew would come.
"How is Evelyn?" O'Connell asked eventually, his voice unnaturally quiet and unsure.
Jonathan had been waiting for the question and he had practised the answer. He still felt uncomfortable though. He understood the whole thing must be terribly hard on the poor man - without a shadow of a doubt he loved Evelyn completely - but Jonathan was just not very good at giving condolences, his perpetual solution to any problem being a strong drink. A problem, he reasoned, was no longer a problem when you couldn't remember it.
"She's fine", he said, "Very well. Just great". He paused, awkwardly, already having run out of things to say. Unfortunately that led him straight onto the one subject he perhaps should have breached just a little more gently.
"She's looking forward to the wedding".
O'Connell nodded, stiffly.
"The wedding. Right".
There was something introspective about his tone, betraying deeper thoughts.
Jonathan felt terrible. His sister may be the proverbial bull-in-a-china- shop when it came to physical objects, but he could always be counted upon to surpassed her every time in the oral competition. Which was why he tried as hard as possible to stray away from any kind of delicate or tense situation. As he often reminded himself, 'You can't put your foot in your mouth when your mouth is shut'. Unfortunately he was about as good at listening to his own advice as he was at listen to other peoples'.
There was another pause before the second expected question came.
"What's he like?" O'Connell asked, starring into his drink as if it held the secrets of the world if only you looked hard enough, "This guy she's marrying - he okay?"
He tried to say it blasé, as though he was just making conversation. That he really didn't care. That the thought of losing her to someone else wasn't really tearing him up inside.
Jonathan nodded, appearing positive.
"He's great. He's a....great guy. He's really....", he trailed off, his act faltering and starting to look pained.
"Great?" O'Connell offered.
Jonathan slammed the bottle down on the bar, "No he is not, damn it. He's a stuck up idiot. She doesn't love him and he doesn't love her. He treats her like an ornament and will change her into a prissy, boring little housewife within a month".
O'Connell looked at him, slightly taken back by the outburst.
"Oh", was all he could reasonably find to say.
Jonathan shook his head, "I just don't like the man".
"Obviously".
"I mean, damn it, she was even better off with you".
"Thanks", he frowned, pleased, if a little offended. That quickly faded though, and the fragile spring of hope bubbled up inside him, like an elixir bringing his broken heart back to life. Jonathan said she didn't love this guy. If he was right, that left O'Connell with just the smallest possibility that she may still care. That there may still be a chance. And there was nothing quite like clutching at the wispy threads of hope to raise a man's spirits.
"Have you told her what you think?"
"Of course I have", Jonathan said bitterly, "But you know how stubborn she is? Do you think she listened to me?"
"No".
"I'm just her brother. Her drunken, lazy, good-for-nothing brother, at that. She just says I'm being over protective". He shook his head in disgust, "And maybe she's right. But what brother in his right mind would want his baby sister marrying a complete moron?"
O'Connell nodded sympathetically.
"Do you have a sister, O'Connell?"
He shook his head, "I am my family photo".
Jonathan looked surprised for a moment, perhaps even a little sorry for him. Then he got back on his high horse.
"I've asked Evie if she should perhaps postpone the wedding a while, make sure that she's made the right decision, but she is adamant that it will go ahead in two months".
O'Connell shrugged with forced casualness, "Maybe I should talk to her...Give an outsider's view".
Jonathan looked at him and smiled. He knew that getting this man involved in Evie's life again could only be a good idea. He nodded, with a knowing look in his eyes, "Yes. Maybe you can make a difference where I can't".