Chapter three. - Drowning sorrows.
"So," Jonathan began eventually, after he and Rick had drunk their first two glasses in silence. "What's the problem?"
"The problem?" Rick played dumb.
"Yeah," Jonathan continued, the alcohol emboldening him. "The problem that means you're in here drinking with me, when I would have wagered on you being next door whispering sweet nothings to my sister tonight."
Rick choked on his third glass as Jonathan's summarisation hit home.
"Oh..." Jonathan realised as he watched Rick react. "Evie is the problem."
Although he was unaccustomed to having someone in whom to confide- having spent most of his adult life with acquaintances at best, and most of his childhood being shunted from one orphanage to another- Rick felt compelled to answer Jonathan when, after filling Rick's glass, he asked, "So, what happened?"
"She shut the door in my face," Rick answered, and then began to ponder whether it was the alcohol warming his gut that was responsible for this new compulsion to share. Although he didn't wonder for long because Jonathan's laughter broke his concentration.
"Oh yeah, that's our Evie," Jonathan chuckled, "although," he continued, pausing to get his breath back. "You must have done something pretty bad to get the door slam."
The word 'bad' echoed in Rick's head as he toyed with his once again full shot glass. There was no way he would ever have picked the word bad to describe his actions, but maybe Jonathan would see things differently. Taking a deep breath he brought the glass to his lips, imbibed the liquor, and exhaled another confession.
"I told her I loved her," he said as he slammed the glass back down and pulled himself another drink.
Jonathan's eyes almost fell out of his head, although Rick didn't initially see; after having received no response Rick finally looked up, and began laughing.
Jonathan had frozen mid-movement, his mouth wide open, and his hand holding his glass somewhere between the table and his lips.
"I know!" Rick said still laughing, although know he didn't know why. "I told her I loved her, and she shut a door in my face."
Jonathan, now moving again, quickly gulped his drink and proceeded to pour himself and Rick another one before finally speaking.
"Yep," he said. "That's definitely our Evie."
By the time Evelyn stepped out of the bath her skin was almost as red as the bloody water that was draining away, and although her wounds were thoroughly cleansed, the minute she stepped out of the water she felt as dirty as she had before she stepped in. Forcing herself away from the bath and the temptation to draw another, Evelyn strode forcefully into the bedroom and towards her trunk, in the pursuit of finding a clean nightgown.
As she looked through her clothes Evelyn remembered the last time she had done the same thing, after Rick had locked her in her bedroom. She remembered picking her gown very carefully, choosing the sexist one she owned, just in case Rick accidentally saw her in it.
"Maybe if I hadn't," she thought, "things might have turned out differently."
Suddenly, as if having a vision, the room around Evelyn faded to Hamunaptra, and Imhotep's gravely Egyptian tones assaulted her ears as his face came into view. The ancient Egyptian words faded, and Benni's weasely voice began unnecessarily interpreting.
"Prince Imhotep says he likes your dress."
"Approves of, actually," Evelyn corrected Benni defiantly. The smile soon melted from her face, however, as Imhotep commanded Benni out of the room and stepped towards her, smiling.
Standing in the bedroom Evelyn squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head, trying to force the vision away.
"No," she said loudly to herself, "not again!"
Pushing aside all of her black nighties she had packed hopefully at the top of the trunk she found what she was looking for, and slipped it over her head.
As she turned to the bed the mirror reflected momentarily the full length white cotton nightdress that now hid her body.
"Tell me something about your sister," Rick slurred as he stumbled across the room with the bottle in one hand and his glass in the other.
It was now the early hours of the morning and the men had nearly finished the bottle. Having found the chairs to be to problematic in his drunken state Jonathan was now lying across one of the day beds, and Rick was heading towards the other.
"My sister?" Jonathan asked, confused.
"Yeah, yeah," Rick agreed as he lay down and hooked his boots over the end of the couch. "You know- Evie."
"Oh Evie," Jonathan replied smiling wildly. "Did you know Evie is my sister?" he said triumphantly, waving his glass in the air and threatening to fall off his perch.
Rick thought seriously for a moment.
"Yeah," he said eventually. "I did know that."
"Oh," Jonathan frowned and stuck his bottom lip out petulantly. "Well, did you know that I" -he tapped his chest- "happen to be her brother?"
Rick thought again seriously. Although he had drunk as much if not more than Jonathan he was currently in a better state. "No," he said, humouring the man. "I did not know that."
"Ah ha!" Jonathan yelled triumphantly and laid back.
"Why don't you tell me what was going on this morning, between you two?" Rick asked, trying to sneak in the question and failing.
Jonathan turned so sharply to face him once more that he fell off the couch and landed on his hands and knees. "Oh, no," he said looking up, "I couldn't tell you that, Evie would kill me."
Rolling himself off his own couch and onto his knees, Rick looked Jonathan straight in the eye.
"And what makes you think I wont?" he asked quietly.
The question hit Jonathan like a cup of strong coffee, sobering him considerably.
"Rick," he said as he manoeuvred himself back on to the seat. "You know I can't tell you."
"Jonathan," Rick mimicked as he manoeuvred himself the same way. "I want to know!"
"It was nothing really," Jonathan persisted half heartedly as he poured himself a drink.
Rick was unmoved; he suddenly had an urgency to know what the argument had been about.
"Jonathan?"
As Jonathan knocked back his drink he began to wonder how he always ended up in these kinds of awkward situations. As the whiskey burnt his throat his brain kicked in, a little too late.
"Oh yeah," he realised "the drink." Looking up he realised Rick was still staring at him intently. "Look," he sighed, giving in. "I just saw she was hurt and I told her to get help, she said no and that was pretty much it."
"Hurt?" Rick asked, concerned he hadn't seen anything.
"Yeah," Jonathan said. "She had some bruises and cuts, here," he explained as he waved his hand in front of his chest and shoulders. "Look, I told her to tell you but she said no, and you know how stubborn she can be."
Rick was genuinely hurt. He couldn't believe she hadn't told him! He swallowed the drink Jonathan had just poured before asking the question out loud. "Why didn't she want to tell me?"
Jonathan shrugged "I don't know," he admitted, "she said it was nothing."
"Was it?" Rick asked.
Jonathan paused as he refilled the glasses, and tried to work out the best way to answer. "It looked pretty sore," he admitted honestly. "But nothing serious."
Rick didn't reply, he just drained his glass and lay back on the couch; he had some serious thinking to do. Realising he was off the hook, Jonathan did the same.
Over the next half an hour the men, in silence, took it in turns to fill one another's glasses.
As Rick lay silently on the couch he could not get Evelyn out of his mind. The fact that she was hurt, and that she hadn't wanted to share it with him, offended him so deeply even he was surprised.
Rick realised that he never wanted to be in the position of not knowing something about Evelyn ever again, and not only that, but that the idea of not being in her life repulsed him. Slowly he slid his hand into his trouser pocket and retrieved the artefact he had inexplicably hidden there earlier. As he turned it over and over in his hand he realised what he wanted to do.
Rolling of the sofa drunkenly, Rick crawled across the floor.
"Jonathan," he called and poked the dozing man. "Jonathan, wake up."
"What?" Jonathan asked sleepily, turning his head but not opening his eyes.
"Jonathan," Rick paused as he tried to steady himself on his knees. "Do you... do you think I'd make a good husband?"
Jonathan now opened one eye lazily.
"No," he said, having returned to his own drunken state and failing to comprehend the question. "You're too short."
Rick looked confused for a second before he realised what Jonathan was on about.
"That's because I'm kneeling!"
"Oh," Jonathan exclaimed as he finally opened his other eye. "Oh yeah." Fully awake now, Jonathan could see Rick kneeling on the floor, and that in his left hand he was clutching a shiny gold ring.
"So?" Rick prompted impatiently; his knees were starting to get tired
"I err..." Jonathan stumbled over his words "I'm sorry but you're just not my type."
"Jonathan!" Rick moaned, his patience finally leaving him at the same time as his balance did. Falling backwards Rick landed on the floor in a heap. Slowly he pulled himself up and leant against his own couch. "I want to marry Evie," he whined.
"Oh," Jonathan exclaimed once again, as he realised that that actually made a lot more sense.
"So?" Rick asked once again hopefully.
Jonathan just stared back. He felt like he was missing something. Then it hit him; Rick was asking for his permission.
Jonathan and Evie's parents had died when they were a lot younger, and Rick knew it. Consequently Jonathan was the only person Rick could ask for Evie's hand. Realising the seriousness of the situation Jonathan sat up with a straight face and poured the last of the whiskey into the two glasses. Standing up unsteadily he crossed to Rick and handed him one of them. Suddenly his face cracked into a wide smile. "Of course you can," he grinned as he smacked his glass against Rick's. "That's if you can get past the slamming door!"